Orange Pill Tl 175 Novels & Stories

"Laurette, you are not qualified to have a child." Hearing these words from her husband, Laurette's heart shattered into a million pieces, leaving her wondering if she'd be enough. Every time they had sex, he'd remind her to take her contraceptive pill, making sure she never got pregnant. For five years, Laurette found herself trapped in a loveless, secret marriage with Bryce – one that forbids pregnancy. No one knew about it – not even her family. It's been five years already; everyone expected children, especially her mother-in-law, who couldn't wait to cradle her grandchild. But the truth was, she'd had a miscarriage years ago, and the doctor said she couldn't get pregnant again. The memory still lingered, a painful echo of what could've been. She kept it a secret, hiding behind a mask of compliance, letting her mother-in-law cling to hope of carrying her grandchild one day. But today was different. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Ava, fueled by years of frustration, called Laurette "infertile." Bryce stood there, silent. He knew the truth. He knew about the contract, and he didn't defend her. Instead, he handed her divorce papers and said coldly, "Let's get divorced. My first love is back." Bryce Rodriguez chose Irene – his childhood sweetheart – over the woman who'd stood by him for five years. Laurette couldn't compete when her husband's first love returned. Heartbroken but dignified, she walked away without looking back. But fate had other plans. Months later, Bryce accompanied Irene to a prenatal checkup... only to run into his ex-wife, holding triplets! He went crazy and shouted, "Whose children are they?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "I thought you're infertile?" Laurette only smiled. Too late, Bryce realized the truth. He didn't just lose his wife... He lost his entire family.

After five years of marrying into the Loween City in place of my sister, the Gambling King finally passed away. My son and my ex-husband—at long last—gave me permission to fake my death and return to them. But they laid down three conditions. First: kneel before Vivian Gray, apologize for framing her all those years ago, and surrender my place as Mrs. Hartwell. Second: work as a live-in maid for my own son for five years, and never show up at his school in my former identity as the reigning queen of the nightlife scene—lest I embarrass him. Third: drink an abortifacient to destroy my fertility forever, as recompense for the infertility I once caused Vivian. "My lady, you've endured five whole years just to earn your freedom—how dare they humiliate you like this?" My maid's eyes were red, burning with indignation on my behalf. But I just tipped my head back and swallowed the death-faking pill, letting the servants toss my "corpse" into the overgrown brambles beyond the city limits. Then, from the mud and weeds, I crawled back to the Hartwell mansion—one knee at a time. Day one, I knelt as ordered and signed over custody of my son without a fight. Day three, I locked myself in the storage closet and stopped showing up at school to pick my son up like I used to. I also stopped pestering him to call me "Mom." Even when Vivian—knowing full well I'm terrified of the dark—deliberately trapped me in the basement, I bore it in silence. By the time my ex-husband Nathan Hartwell saw me again, I was barely hanging on. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face as he carried me out of that basement. But my son just sneered. "It's just another stunt to win our sympathy." When he caught the tears welling in Vivian's eyes, Nathan coldly dropped me to the ground. "Always scheming against Vivian with your dirty tricks—aren't you tired of it?" Right then, the system chimed in my ear: [Please proceed to the "disposable ex-wife death node" to complete the story line and return to your original world.] I let out a quiet laugh. "Not tired at all." And with that, I turned and dove straight into the swimming pool beside me.

When I was three years old, during a car accident, I was struck in the head by a car while trying to protect Mom. After that, the doctors said something inside my head had broken, and I'd never be quite right. Everyone back home called me the slow one. Late at night, I'd see her crying alone. On my seventh birthday, Mom took me to Manhattan, and that was when I discovered that she had a second home and another daughter, Charlotte. In front of strangers, she wouldn't claim me. She only let me call her Miss Eleanor. On the third night, She sat down at her vanity. On the table was a small black box. I thought it was a present. She opened the box and took out a black silicone bracelet, with a little light embedded in the clasp—small, dark, switched off. "This is called a TruthBand. It's something a company in California makes. The light turns green when you tell the truth, and red when you lie. If you wear this, Mommy will always know." She fastened it around my wrist. Tight. The little light blinked green. I thought that if I was good enough, she would love me the way she loved my sister. But then she made me do ski practice with Charlotte. Charlotte was a junior champion. "You're both my daughters. I don't play favorites. Whoever falls, gets punished." Charlotte never fell. I couldn't even keep my skis straight. Every single run, I was the one Mama dragged off the mountain and locked in the cellar. On Thanksgiving Day, Mama spent the whole afternoon cooking. I wanted to help. I dropped a bowl. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were red. She grabbed a little pill bottle off the counter, tipped my chin up, and forced something between my teeth. "Dumb as a rat. Are you happy now? Did you finally embarrass me enough? " I lay on the kitchen floor, gasping. While she wasn't looking, I scraped up three little pink pellets that had spilled and tucked them into my fist. Mommy, I told myself, I'll be good now, and then you'll be happy. Right?