Novelas y relatos de My Love Brought Me To My Death

And I… I couldn’t do a thing. I felt something inside me completely shatter. Something in me died. I knelt beside her when they brought her in, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I held her carefully, as if just touching her could ease the pain, undo the damage, turn back time. But it was too late. Death was far too close. I saw it creeping along the edges of her skin, climbing up her shallow breaths. She looked at me. Told me she was sorry. Told me to be happy. And then she told me she loved me.

He whispered my name, his voice carrying a terror and anguish I had never heard from him before. But the only answer was silence. I watched him bury his face in his hands, muffled sobs leaking through his fingers—like a lone wolf who had lost his entire world. Belated devotion is cheaper than dirt. I hovered before him and spoke softly, my voice calm and flat: "I've finally died, just as you wished. So why bother pretending you ever loved me?"

“And my love… please don’t blame yourself. I chose this life. I chose death because… because death felt like freedom to me, through and through.” The tears I had been holding back for hours now flowed uncontrollably. My chest tightened, my hands shook, my body quivered with grief. The video continued to play, but I couldn’t focus on anything except the raw, unfiltered love in his words, the truth of his sacrifice. My vision blurred, and the sobs escaped me in desperate, heaving gasps.

" Seeing the disdain on her face, it felt as if someone had squeezed tightly on my heart, so much so that I could not breathe. It looked like one could still feel disappointment even after their death. It was much more painful than when the doctors cut me open on the surgery table. The despair and suffocation I felt before death overwhelmed me once more. In my final moments, I remembered thinking about how no one would look after Christine once I died. Before dying, I had used up all of my remaining strength to call her. I pleaded with her, saying, "Christine, can you come and see me? I think I'm about to…" Before I could finish, she impatiently interrupted me. "Jason Lowe, enough! You only

I had brought the letter. I had read it to him, standing in front of the stone with my coat pulled tight and the city making its usual noise somewhere behind the trees, and I had said everything I should have said years ago when I still thought I understood what his death had been, before I knew it was not just loss but the first act of something that had eventually reached all the way to me.

Letting go of me, Sophie suddenly picked up the paring knife on the floor and plunged it into her heart without hesitation. She fell onto the floor, her gaze still filled with affection as she looked at me. "Ade… I've paid you back… with my life… Please don't hate me, okay?" I looked away. My tears were still streaming down my face, but my heart was unusually determined. The System's voice rang out. "Energy interference cleared. Teleportation sequence initiating." I felt the familiar tugging sensation on my body. Before I left, I heard their whispered apologies, their voices filled with regret and despair.

Then she pushed up her sleeve—showing me the old, dense needle marks. "Daniel," she said quietly. "I did all of this. For you." I pressed my lips together and said nothing. In her life, Emily had walked the razor's edge three times. The first was selling her own blood. Trading her life for cash. For me. That was the woman I fell in love with. The one who pulled me out of hell. The one who threw herself into fire for me. The second was marrying Ryan. Ten years we'd been together. Ten years of waiting for a marriage license. And she gave it to him.

George had also died a while ago. This letter went through multiple hands before it reached mine. It was the last thing he owned. 'If we are reborn, may we never be a couple again.' I thought the same.

"Mr. Lutherson, are you going after a dead man now? Trying to throw his ashes into the dump?" Christopher shuddered and stumbled a step toward me, reaching out as though he could still touch me. Disgusted, I took a step back and flung his attempt away. "Don't touch me. You're vile." The humiliation hit him full on, and he froze. His eyes turned red, and tears began to gather. "Nat, I had no idea. I…" "Of course you didn't." I picked up the wastewater bucket and turned to the staircase. "You were setting off fireworks for your first love and celebrating a win. Remember this, Christopher. You were the one who killed him." I walked away without looking back.

On my wedding day, my mother, Jill Turner, gets on her knees and pressures me to give my bride to my younger brother, Rupert Murphy. "Can't you be a bit more mature?" My sister, Hannah Murphy, urges me. "Rupert suffers from depression. He can't handle emotional distress." My father, Lawrence Murphy, slaps me across the face. "Stop crying, you jinx. Why couldn't it have been you who died back then?" "Don't worry, Dad," I reply inwardly. "I'll be dead soon enough." However, when the news of my death reaches my family, everything changes. For the first time, a flicker of panic crosses Hannah's usually impassive face. "That's not true. That must be a lie." Heartbroken, my father clutches