Karma

Awalnya, Yumna merasa biasa saja, ketika ada chat masuk di mesenger. Dikarenakan suaminya mengatakan bahwa itu adalah anak SMA yang dia jumpai saat kunjungan kerjanya di daerah Jogya. Namun, lama-kelamaan chatnya terlalu menjurus. Isi chatnya pun tidak sesuai dengan usianya, yang seharusnya masih senang berkumpul dengan sahabat-sahabatnya. Attar-- Suami Yumna pun tidak terlalu serius menanggapi gombalan dari anak SMA tersebut. Akan tetapi, Yumna merasa ada yang berbeda dari suaminya setelah tiga bulan kepulangannya dari tugas dan saat menanggapi chat dari anak SMA yang bernama Shanum. Yumna mulai menyelidiki tentang Attar--suaminya dan remaja yang akan menjadi perusak rumah tangganya. Apakah yang didapati oleh Yumna, saat dia mulai curiga pada suaminya? Akankah rumah tangganya hancur oleh kehadiran remaja yang diduga sebagai pelakor?

In my past life, my selfish son stopped caring about my husband and me after marrying a woman who followed her mother's words like they were holy commandments. In fact, he orchestrates an accident to kill my husband and me under the influence of his wife and her family. It's all so he can inherit our fortunes earlier than expected. When I'm reborn, I look at my son, who's rotten to the core, and decide that I don't want him anymore!

The whole world knows that Rachel Saffron is Matt Quillon's and Sean Coal's true love. My best friend, Winnie Hamilton, and I are merely substitutes for Rachel. It seems like I'm the love of Matt's life, and Winnie is the only woman Sean has ever had eyes for. However, we both know this is nothing but an act.

I was the real heiress in a case of a mistaken identity. Three months after my return, the imposter heiress disappeared.   My brother, Caleb Carter, accused me of jealousy, believing I had driven the fake heiress away. The disappointed look on my parents’ faces revealed their true thoughts.   I was confined in the basement, subjected to daily torture.   Even after my death, my family donated my brain to a research institution.   Later, I watched from heaven as my family broke down upon watching my memories.

My fiancé’s first love and I fell down the stairs at the same time, and he chose to save her instead, leaving me to lie there in a pool of blood as I waited for an ambulance. On the brink of death, I begged him not to abandon me, and he only kicked my hand away, saying, “Elodie, can’t you show a little kindness? Don’t you see that Celeste is unconscious?! “…I’ll make sure you pay for this later!” ‘Later’, as he put it, didn’t come to pass. As he left with his first love in his arms, I died along with the baby inside my womb.

At the height of my love for Seth Scott, he gave his heart to someone else. The winter chill seeped through the walls, and I lay beneath my blankets, trembling through the long, dark hours. He was out there, holding another woman close, warming her feet against his chest. He dismissed me as dramatic, refusing even a final glance. But what he didn’t realize was that I was dying. And he would never have the chance to see me again.

The housekeeper became my stepmother, and together with her son, they humiliated and murdered me. After being reborn, I exposed a video of her affair with her lover at her wedding, destroying her reputation completely. I watched as she and her son were kicked out. They left with nothing, wandering the streets like outcasts. I smiled and tossed a moldy piece of bread into their begging bowl. “This is all you deserve.”

My twin sister died on her 18th birthday. She died of respiratory failure in a dark corner of a hotel after being raped. Her dearest friend, Joanne Lowe, whom she always cared for and supported, turned around and anonymously spread photos of my sister being raped. I then slowly ruined the face which had so badly wanted to replace my sister with a knife. With blood everywhere, I cradled Joanne's face as if it were a piece of art and said, "My beloved sister is gone, and you people who harmed her won't be let off so easily."

Le jour où j'ai décidé de donner mon corps à la science, ma famille s'est rassemblée autour de ma sœur adoptive, Chloé, pour fêter son admission dans un programme expérimental de pointe. Celle qui était censée avoir un cancer du cerveau, c'était moi. Mais Chloé avait profité de la position de mon mari, Zane, à l'hôpital pour échanger ses dossiers médicaux sains contre mon diagnostic en phase terminale. Elle m'a volé ainsi la seule chance que j'avais de survivre. Et le pire ? Tout le monde l'a applaudie. La douleur est devenue insupportable. J'ai lutté pour rester présente, jusqu'au moment où j'ai surpris les infirmières chuchotant : « Heureusement que le docteur Zane a obtenu cette place pour Chloé. Ils disaient qu'il ne lui restait que trois jours à vivre. » Alors, pendant les soixante-douze dernières heures de ma vie, j'ai tout lâché, en silence. Quand j'ai remis à Chloé les manuscrits originaux de mes romans, dans lesquels j'avais mis toute mon âme, mon père et mon frère m'ont adressé un sourire satisfait. Quand Zane a décidé d'exaucer le vœu soi-disant ultime de Chloé en l'épousant, il m'a tendu les papiers du divorce. J'ai signé sans la moindre hésitation. Il a soupiré et m'a félicitée d'être enfin raisonnable. Et quand c'est moi qui ai poussé notre fille, Olivia, à appeler Chloé « maman », Olivia s'est exclamée que sa nouvelle maman était la meilleure. « Ne t'inquiète pas, » m'a rassurée Zane. « C'est juste pour la protéger pour l'instant. Une fois qu'elle sera partie, tout reviendra vers toi. » J'ai tout donné à Chloé, exactement comme ils le voulaient. Alors pourquoi, quand ils ont découvert que tout cela n'était qu'un mensonge abject inventé par Chloé, sont-ils venus pleurer pour ça, en disant que c'est moi qu'ils avaient toujours voulu ?

To encourage overall development, the kindergarten had asked each student to create a hand-drawn poster. My daughter Holly refused my help and insisted on doing it all on her own. Little did I know, most of the other children had their parents do the artwork for them. In comparison, Holly's delicate strokes were quickly dismissed. Not only was her work discarded into the trash, but her teacher also called her out in the parent group, criticizing her for being careless with the assignment. As I racked my brain trying to figure out how to help Holly regain her confidence in drawing, I was surprised to see Holly's artwork among the winning entries in the state-level children's art competition. But the signature wasn't hers—it belonged to another student from her class.