Motherless Brooklyn Novels & Stories

Then 40. Lights. Bridges. The East River black and silver. The whole city spread out like someone spilled diamonds. Lila’s eyes opened. She didn’t cry. She looked up. Up. Up. And then she smiled. Big. Gummy. Wondering. It was the first real smile she’d given me all night. Kael saw it. I saw his jaw unclench. Just a fraction.

"Why couldn't you have understood that it wasn't just her who was gang raped, but along with her, her twin sister also felt that sheer agony in her body and till date I can never feel peaceful." "If you were alive, then I would have killed you a thousand times more." "You weren't a woman, but a deadly poison, Alicia Silverstone." She kept on shouting looking at the sky while Ashton allowed her; he kept his both hands on her shoulder and raised her tired body to her feet. "What happened then?" I killed David and his army. Simone Thompson, the Mafia Girl was born that night.

I loved the name Stella, so I decided to keep using it. Mom came to apologize, holding the keys to the car she had originally bought for Annie. "Stella, I've prepared a big room for you. You love reading, right? I've bought so many books for you. When will you come home?" I only answered her after leaving the library, "Don't look for me. I won't come back." Mom rushed to put the keys into my hands. "Take this. Think of it as compensation." I tossed the keys back at her. "It's useless. Do you think these things can undo the pain I've been through?"

When Momma’s voice was shaky, answering my mind link I jumped up and wanted to shift and run home. My baby sister Brooklyn isn’t at home, and they can’t find her, she was there at dinner, and they were out in the garden playing, but when Momma called them to come in, she was missing. Brooklyn is only 6 and she is the only one of us that had a bad birth, Momma’s umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, and she died, they brought her back but she’s weak and frail and prone to getting sick, colds and such. The terror in Momma’s voice made my skin crawl and I’m driving as fast as this Jeep will go, without killing us. Gabe and I both scan cars as we drive bye, just in case the most horrif

ISLA'S POV Midnight hits the city like a physical weight. We’re moving again. Not to another hotel with room service and high-thread-count sheets. Not to the Hamptons estate with its glass walls and ocean views. We are going to a place Gabriel calls "the last resort." An industrial loft in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

Third Person POV - Diana The apartment smelled terrible like mold and desperation. Diana sat on the edge of a sagging mattress, her phone clutched in her trembling hands, surrounded by peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceilings. This was what her life had become. A run-down studio in the worst part of Brooklyn. No electricity after six PM because she couldn't pay the bill. No heat. Barely any food. All her money was frozen. Her accounts were locked pending federal investigation.

she adds. “Did you know I dragged him halfway across the country to New York? My aunt was dead set against it, saying we’d be swayed by the devil into doing ungodly things. It made us even more determined to get away from home. “We moved into a dingy apartment in Brooklyn. It smelled like spilt beer and moldy laundry, now matter how many times we cleaned it. Gosh, we loved that place. I imagine, had my folks been alive, they would have lost their minds and said we were falling prey to a dungeon of sinners,” she reminisces.

Instead, she was his unforgettable first love. Although Yohan and I were married, there was a saying that rang true—the one who was unloved was the actual third wheel. It was my first time seeing him fall head over heels for someone when he was 18—right during the height of his youth. The Walkers went bankrupt just a month ago, and Emily was forced to return from overseas. She used up all her savings to cover the Walkers' debt, yet it was hard for her to find a high-paying job with her music background.

A jagged, brutal scar ran from his temple down to his jaw—a white, puckered ravine of ruined flesh that marred the perfection I had memorized in the portraits. "G-giddeon..." The name was a sacrilege, a sob caught in my throat. "Giddeon Hudson. You’re... you’re supposed to be dead. The crash... the funeral... I stood at your memorial." He let out a short, dry scoff that sounded like grinding stones. "Giddeon Hudson died in that fire, betrayed by the very blood that was supposed to protect him," he said, the scar on his face twitching. "Maxwell Romanov is the man who crawled out of the wreckage. Giddeon was a fool who loved a faithless wife and a greedy son. Maxwell is the man who waited year

In that estate, no one remembers Mommy anymore. She is like a raindrop soaked into the mud, with not a trace of her left. The maids, the cooks, the drivers, they forgot the old lady of the house long ago, and they all revolve around Benita now. Daddy kept Mommy’s room the way I asked. But it is only a specimen, with no life in it. Every time I see Benita strutting through the estate, my heart starts to ache. By what right? By what right does she get to have everything that should have been Mommy’s?