Nothing Left For Us Novels & Stories

Outside the window, the moon over Lethor hung large and bright, its light pale, yet carrying a quiet sense of sorrow. Harrison walked to the window and raised the binoculars, looking toward the temporary media station glowing faintly in the distance. He knew she was there. She was living in a world he could no longer enter, trying, freely and stubbornly, to keep going. A thought surfaced quietly in his mind. It was time to let go. He'd already ruined half her life. Was he going to destroy her future, too? He couldn't give her the freedom she wanted, and he couldn't give her the respect she deserved.

she whispered, her voice breaking completely. My chest tightened painfully. “I miss us,” I said. Because that was the truth. More than anything else— I missed us. At some point… We stopped crying, not because it didn’t hurt anymore. But because we didn’t have anything left. The silence returned. And this time— It didn’t feel empty. Just… full of everything we couldn’t say. I can't tell when I fell asleep, but I must have, cause when I opened my eyes again— The room was quiet. Too quiet.

"It can't be restored. Damon, dead people don't come back, and destroyed things don't return to what they were." His lips moved, but no words came out. Once, he could always force the world back into his rhythm. He was gentle, decent, patient in the way powerful men are patient, allowing me the occasional anger, allowing me to struggle a little inside his palm. It had never occurred to him that one day I would walk out of that palm for good. Commission men began clearing the room. Selena's screams had faded, leaving only rain tapping against the glass. Damon asked in a low voice, "Is the divorce part of the Commission ruling too?"

I leaned against him and looked at the hydrangeas, the rosemary, and Finn's crooked tag that said Home. "Yeah," I whispered. "I'm good." The girl who once waited behind Bianca for leftovers never imagined she would be loved this firmly. Not accepted after comparison. Not picked up because someone else left. Not a shadow beside another woman's bright life. The only one. The night was good. The wind was good. I was good too.

For the first time, the sentence was not hope. It was fact. We remained together, breathing in a forest that was slowly beginning to remember how to be alive. No one celebrated with grandeur. There was no need. Talus was finished. And we were still there. Tired. Wounded. Whole.

On the day I was released from the psychiatric hospital, my husband, Steve Machleit, spoke up out of nowhere, "The day Jess hit and killed your mother, I was the one who hired a lawyer to defend her." My father, David Plaxton, the most elite doctor in Melhorn City, kept his hands on the wheel and said breezily, "I forged your psychiatric records myself." For three years, I was tormented in that psychiatric hospital, and not a moment went by that I didn't relive the horror of my half-sister, Jess Plaxton, running down my mother, Catherine Eaton. Yet, my husband had chosen to defend her, and my father had locked me away in a psychiatric hospital. I forced myself to stay upright, my voice t

Ever since I can remember, every person who crosses my path has a floating number above their head. It shows the exact number of times we will ever see each other again in this lifetime. When that number hits "1", it means this meeting is our final goodbye. At ten years old, my grandmother's number dropped to "1". That afternoon, she brushed my hair one last time before passing away peacefully in her sleep. When I graduated from college, my mentor’s number stood at "2". After our second meeting, he moved his family abroad and never returned. At twenty-five, I married Lucas Bolton, a star defense attorney. He was an absolute powerhouse in the courtroom, yet he gave all his tenderness to m

For three years, I, Julian Chase, was in a long-distance relationship with my girlfriend, Claire Winston, video calling her every single night. The first time I noticed a black tie that wasn't mine lying in the background of her call, I took a screenshot and confronted her. Her brother messaged me about it. [Julian, that's my tie. I left it at her place the last time I visited.] The second time, I caught a glimpse of two used condom wrappers in the background. Her best friend showed me a hotel booking to explain it away. "This one's on me. I was just messing around with Claire as a joke and ended up upsetting you. I'm sorry." The third time. The fourth time. Every single time something

On the day of my mother's funeral, I sat outside the chapel, crying so hard I could barely stand. Three days earlier, my father had told me she'd died in a car accident. He said her body was so badly damaged that I shouldn't see it. I wouldn't be able to handle it. I believed him. I put on a black dress and sat beside her casket all night. Ten minutes before the cremation, my phone buzzed. A notification popped up for a hotel livestream. I opened it and froze. My mother was on the screen in an evening gown, smiling as my younger sister, Nina Whitmore, handed her a glass of champagne. My father sat beside her, his eyes red. "From now on, Nina doesn't have to live in Evelyn's shadow or suffer

Melissa Mills, my wife, had allowed her lover to stay in our home for an entire week. Normally, I would've asked her to pay me for putting up with it. This time, I didn't. She must've thought I was finally learning how to be a good husband because she tossed me a check without me requesting one for the first time since… well, ever. "Nathan's moving out later. Pack his things for him. Do it, and the check is yours." That was how things had always worked between us. Every dollar Melissa gave me came at a cost. I would receive 50,000 when she wanted to parade me around as "Melissa Mills' husband." I'd be paid 100,000 to stand by and watch her flirt with Nathan Reid right in front of me.