Middle Neck Tattoos Novels & Stories

When Peter, my father-in-law, suffered a heart attack and needed an urgent transplant, the hospital miraculously had a compatible heart. Helen, my mother-in-law and I were overjoyed. We thought it was a blessing from above. However, just as we were getting ready for surgery, Nate, my husband, disappeared with the compatible heart. When we finally reached him by phone, it was Camile, his first love. “Nate is busy prepping for my dad’s heart surgery. Stop distracting him!” Helen was trembling with fury. On her way to confront Nate, she got into a car accident and ended up in a critical condition. I begged Nate to come back and operate on her, but he walked into another operating room. In the end, my in-laws died. Their bodies were donated for organ transplant. It was not until later that I found out that their organs had been donated to Camile’s family.

To ensure fairness, my daughter said that she would draw lots to choose whose family to spend the New Year’s with every year. However, for the past nine years, she had spent the New Year’s with her in-laws. The latest draw was no different. On New Year’s Eve, my daughter gave me specific instructions. “Mom, we’re spending the New Year’s with my in-laws. We’ve made a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. Please help me save some money. You can just make some food at home for your dinner.” Hence, on New Year’s Eve, I ate alone while watching TV at home. When I stood up, I accidentally knocked over the raffle box. All the lots inside the box had my daughter’s handwriting. The words ‘in-laws’ were clearly written on every single one of them. For the past ten years, the lots had been fake. My daughter was willingly spending the New Year’s celebration with her in-laws, and she had never once thought of spending it with me, her biological mother, who had spent so much money on her. At the same time, I got a notification on my phone. Her mother-in-law posted something on social media. [My daughter-in-law is so lovely. She bought me so many gifts and chose to spend the New Year’s with us. It’s as if she’s our own daughter!] They smiled brightly in the video. On the table were gifts that she bought using my retirement fund. I did not sleep for the whole night. The next morning, I called the bank. “Please remove all the auto-debit accounts from my retirement account.” From then on, I would only spend my money on myself.

I took my parents-in-law, Edmund and Macy Hale, out to a restaurant. When it was time to pay, we ran into my husband’s female assistant, Vera Rhodes. Seeing Mrs. Hale packing up the leftover bouillabaisse she had been drinking, Vera marched over and slapped the takeaway bag out of her hands. The soup splashed all over Mrs. Hale in an instant. "If you can’t afford to eat here, then don’t come," she sneered. "Look at you, reeking of poverty. How do people like you deserve to be Mr. Orion Hale’s in-laws? Don’t embarrass him." I asked the restaurant to prepare a fresh portion of fish soup to go. Before anyone could respond, Vera slapped me to the ground. "This is a members-only restaurant. You’re using Mr. Hale’s card, aren’t you?" she mocked. "Can’t you earn your own money? You need his money to support your hillbilly parents?" Mr. Hale was so enraged that he was rushed to the hospital. I called Orion and asked him to come sign the surgery consent form. He laughed coldly. "Vera already told me everything. Your dad even needs to trick me into paying medical bills now? Has your whole family gone insane from poverty? "If you’re going to die, then hurry up and die. Just don’t die in front of me. It’s bad luck."

The day before I am supposed to move into a nursing home, my daughter-in-law, Emily Freeman, cancels the deposit I have already paid without my permission. "It's not easy for Ryan to earn money. Instead of helping us save money, you want to stay somewhere so expensive," Emily complains. I frown and explain that I paid with my own money. Her expression darkens as she rants, "Isn't your money our money? Besides, how much money can you possibly have? Didn't you get all of it from Ryan anyway? "You don't help take care of the kids or do any housework. Now, you're just bleeding us dry so that you can enjoy yourself!" My son, Ryan Pratt, sides with her and criticizes me as well. "Mom, this is such a waste of money. If you ask me, you might as well go to a senior community and get a bed there for ten dollars. Someone will still take care of you." I am so furious that I faint on the spot and am rushed to the hospital. With the refunded money, Ryan takes Emily and goes on vacation abroad with his in-laws. After being discharged, the first thing I do is put the apartment I once gave my son as a wedding gift up for sale with a real estate agent.

When my parents got old, they needed someone to take care of them. Katerina—my younger sister—was off to Amiraka with her smug husband Chris. Meanwhile, I was crammed into a two-bedroom in Bellavaro with my husband Pavel, who drove a taxi. Mom had no retirement savings, so guess who she dumped herself on? Yep—me. Dad took the cash and ran straight to Katerina. Our place was tiny, but we still gave Mom the master bedroom. She hated it. Constant complaints, constant drama. According to her, life with me was pure misery. Every night, she'd hop on video call with Katerina, gushing about Amiraka like it was heaven, while throwing shade at me for not "taking care of her properly." Meanwhile, I was drowning—trying to hold it together for Mom, help my daughter prep for exams, support a husband with spine problems, and check in on aging in-laws. Mom didn't care. She wanted a plane ticket to Amiraka to party for Katerina's birthday. I snapped. We had a blowout fight, and she collapsed—brain hemorrhage. Even in her hospital bed, she stared me down, whining Katerina's name like a broken record. Then she spat out, "I should've never picked a useless daughter like you!" My chest cracked in half. I blacked out. When I woke up—I was ten years younger. Back to the day they decided who'd get stuck taking care of them. This time, Mom didn't wait. "I want Katerina to take care of me. It's my turn to enjoy life!"

I was reborn. Right back to the day I adopted Peter. The wind cut sharp, baby cries slicing through the cold. That's when it hit me—this was the day Stuart Pete, my oh-so-loving husband, dumped his illegitimate child right in my path after work. He knew me too well. The second I picked the kid up, he'd spin it into an adoption, making the boy ours. Last time, I fell for it. This time? I walked away without a second thought. Later, I heard the kid got pneumonia from being left out in the freezing cold—fever so bad, it wrecked him for life. I laughed until my stomach hurt. What I didn't see coming? Peter was reborn too—about to experience the life he was meant to have.

As soon as my neighbor, Shirley Lambert, walked past my house and peeked inside, her eyes lit up. "Mrs. Fisher, this place is huge. It has great lighting too. It'd make the perfect playroom for my son. "You live alone anyway. Just move into our living room. A two-bedroom apartment has more than enough space. "Since we're neighbors, I'll let you stay for free. No rent." I felt so irritated that I nearly gagged. She actually shoved past me into the house and started pointing around like she owned the place. "This crappy couch has to go. The living room would feel way bigger without it. "Oh, and the whole floor needs carpeting. That'd make it safe for my son when he runs around. "Also, why don't you have an air-conditioner? What if my precious boy gets a heat stroke? Could you even afford his medical bills?" She suddenly turned around and glared at me. "Mrs. Fisher, I'm talking to you. Are you deaf? Haven't you got any manners?" Anyone who didn't know better would've thought I was her servant and not her neighbor. I snorted. Clearly, she had no idea about my reputation as the neighborhood menace. "Well, I see you've got plenty of money, and I've got deep pockets. Why don't you hand all your cash over to me for keeping? "And if you like other people's houses so much, I'll write that for you in my letter to Santa this Christmas!"

Since my daughter, Lucy Shepherd, is an only child, my husband, Felix Shepherd, and I have decided to find her a live-in son-in-law. I ask on an online forum, "If my future son-in-law has a master's degree from a top university and earns over 10,000 dollars a month, what kind of wedding gift would seem appropriate to welcome him into the family?" Someone jokingly replies, "You'd probably have to be loaded to get a son-in-law like that. Why not give him ten million dollars as a wedding gift?" Without any hesitation, I take the person's advice and give Paul Cranston, my future son-in-law, and his family ten million dollars, along with a riverfront apartment. However, to guard against the possibility of Paul and his family seizing Lucy's inheritance for themselves once we're gone, I make Paul sign a prenuptial agreement. It clearly states that all their children must take the Shepherd family name and that the family's assets will not go to anyone with a different last name. Paul agrees to it and even thanks me profusely for everything. Yet, when Lucy gives birth to her second child, he immediately grabs the baby and changes his tune. "Even though I married into the Shepherd family, that doesn't mean I'm no longer my own person! My son must take my family name! This affects my dignity as a man!" I scoff in anger, but before I can say anything, Lucy, who is completely blinded by love, tearfully takes Paul's side. "Just go along with it, Mom. We're all a family anyway. Why must you harp on whose last name is used?" I hold my ground and refuse to back down. But the very next day, Lucy flies abroad with Paul, bringing along her two children. They have no qualms about moving into the property that Felix and I had bought abroad, as if it were their own. Despite being 58 years old, I am so enraged by her foolishness that I drag Felix to a fertility clinic. We start the IVF process. After turning 59 years old, I give birth to a son. Just as the nurse brings him to me, the door to the hospital room flies open. The family of four, who have just rushed back in a hurry, freeze in place.

Bored of having nothing to do at home, I hide my identity and apply for a job as a designer at the company my son, Jonathan Grady, runs. A few months later, I'm informed that the company wants to optimize its workforce, and I'm the first to get axed. "Why?" "Because you're menopausal. You can't get pregnant." Hearing that makes me scoff. What kind of absurd reason is that? "A designer uses her brains to do her job, no? When did a womb become so important?" I point at Sasha Johnson, who'd been hired before me and was now sitting at her desk, snacking on popcorn instead of working. "Her line compositions are still a complete mess, and she spends all of her time watching TV shows in the office. But just because she's pregnant, she's not included in the company's layoffs?" Fiona Lewis, the HR manager, looks at me as though I'm an idiot. "How can an old hag like you, who still has to work, compare yourself to her? She's pregnant with the boss' baby, you know. She's the future Mrs. Grady! The money we save from having to pay your salary can go toward buying her prenatal supplements." I freeze in shock. Did my son knock up one of his employees? But he told me he didn't want to have any kids!

My son, Caleb Yates, is publicly known as the most caring son ever. But I've written a letter just to cut off all ties with him on New Year's Eve. The community workers take turns in trying to mediate the situation. "Your son cares a great deal about you. Since young, he has never caused trouble for you, and he often visits you at home. Whenever he comes back, he makes sure to bring gifts, too. "Are you going senile, Bruce? You already have one foot in the grave, so why are you still cutting off ties with Caleb?" I never waver in my decision. Instead, I snatch up a pole and drive Caleb out of my home. Even though I keep berating and hitting Caleb, he refuses to leave. He then jumps off the fourth floor without hesitation. When I walk past him, Caleb does his best to grasp my pant leg despite still lying in a pool of his own blood. I merely take a step backward. "If you want to die, do it somewhere else." My neighbors can't take it anymore. They claim that I'm a bad father before dragging me to the hospital by force. Once Caleb regains consciousness after undergoing surgery, he keeps apologizing to me even though he has tubes connected to him. I refuse to even spare him another glance. The next day, I sue him at the relationship severance court immediately.