Her Story Novels & Stories

Her response came immediately: Thank you for being part of my story. He stared at the words. Part of her story. Not the hero. Not the center. Just part. And that was enough. That was everything. --- He read the article again. And again. Each time, he found something new. The way she talked about her work, her process, the long slow journey of becoming. The way she talked about her daughter, her mother, her best friend. The way she talked about healing—not as something that happened to her, but as something she'd done. Herself. Alone. With help, with love, with years of work.

Unable to hold back anymore, tears poured down her face. No one knew that she had already learned Haranese long ago, just to bridge the gap between her and Matteo. So, she understood every single word he and Alex had exchanged. Each sentence echoed in her ears like a sharp dagger piercing her heart. Along with the shattering of her love, long-buried memories came rushing back. Matteo was born into wealth and power while she was the maid's daughter. That year, she had followed her mother into the Gallaghers' grand mansion for the first time and saw him playing the piano in the sunlight.

Choice. Her shoulders lower, just slightly. The kind of release you barely notice until you’ve been watching her this long. I step closer. My hand brushes hers on the railing, not forcing, not demanding. Just there. The world believes her story ended in revenge. They’ll print it, sell it, turn it into legend. But I know better. This, her standing here, alive, choosing to stand still instead of fight—that’s where the story actually begins. She doesn’t look back at the hall, at the crowd, at the ghosts. She just keeps her eyes on the horizon.

he said, standing up to follow me "I do"I said although I didn't believe him "It's the story of a girl who can't go out during the day since she has a skin disorder or something like that and she meets a guy who loves her...." "Let me guess they didn't end up together"I said opening the freezer to get the ingredients needed "Yes"he seemed surprised. "But it was because she died" he concluded and stared at me. "What?"I asked "Isn't that a touching story?"he asked

She reassures and I just stare at her. “See, you are the problem. You tell me these stories and then when I repeat the same story to other people they don’t believe me.” I whine as I look at her with annoyance. “Honey, trust me I would love to tell normal stories but you don’t have one and that is what makes you special.” “Well, not all my stories are crazy,” I say as I defend myself. “Okay, I am sorry. So how did you two meet?” she asks with a smirk, knowing that I have a crazy story to tell.

Her breathing changed, just slightly, but I noticed. “But?” I prompted. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walked a few steps away, stopping near the wall, her back half-turned to me. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “There is one,” she said quietly. My pulse quickened. “One what?” “One story,” she replied. “One story that I can’t… shake. One that even up until today I can't get it out of my head.”

Deca threatened. I clenched my fists. This was already way messier than I’d expected. “Beg them for mercy!” the system ordered again. I know this step will lower my self-esteem , but I forced a wide, shameless grin and knelt to massage the old woman’s feet. “Mother-in-law… I’m just emotional because I’m pregnant. My hormones are all over the place,” I blurted out. “What? Pregnant?!” everyone gasped. Hold up. 'Wait, Helena is pregnant in this story, right? I vaguely remembered a pregnancy scene.

Back then, I told myself they were just like family, so there was no need to get jealous. However, all those little signs I had ignored played back in my head, over and over. When she came back, we launched our design studio. I landed a whale of a client, a deal that put us on the map overnight. On the night of our big bash, I had one too many and wanted her to pick me up. I called over and over, but got nothing. Finally, a coworker ended up driving me home. The morning after, she came to me with puffy, red eyes, spilling the story of how Yoel was heartbroken, how he had drowned his sorrows in booze at the bar, and how she had stayed with him through the night.

she finally spoke, but I would rather not speak to anyone. I'm in a battle alone while Kade enjoys his life with his mistress. "I want to tell you a story," she whispered again, but my silence wasn't broken. "Me and my mate once came to raid a village—not to harm anyone but just for hunting. That night changed us as we raided a home of a woman who had just given birth," she spoke, but I didn't understand the essence of her story. "I didn't feel sorry for her, as it was a normal raiding. Her and the baby were fine, so she’d end up finding something else to eat. I didn't know she was a witch," she spoke, and that caught my attention.

"If it hadn't been for that arranged marriage I couldn't get out of, do you really think I would've stooped so low?" Her laugh grew bitter, and tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She felt sorrow for her old self. If she could have chosen, she never would have gone that far. After all, she came from a wealthy family. She had her own pride. Of course, she had feelings, and it hurt every time they trampled on her. She had endured all of that humiliation. Now, it was their turn to face it. They only went through it once, and they already couldn't handle it.