Psychological Realism

At Ryder Quinn’s kindergarten parent-child sports day, I expected my husband, Michael Quinn, to be away on a business trip. Instead, I found Michael on stage, dressed in a ballet tutu, dancing as one of the "little swans" in the fathers’ performance. I had barely taken a step forward when a little girl in a floral dress darted into his arms, calling out to him in the sweetest voice, "Daddy!" There they stood: Michael, his assistant, Janine Carter, and her daughter—all in matching family outfits. The moment our eyes met, Michael quickly pulled away from her, fumbling for an excuse. "Janine’s a single mom. It isn’t easy for her. I was just helping out." I smiled, cold and steady, and handed him the divorce papers. "Then, do me a favor too, Michael. Stop wasting my youth."

My childhood friend suffered complications during labor and entrusted her child to me before she died. “Shea Wilde, I trust you the most. I’m counting on you to raise this child!” After she passed away, I endured every hardship while raising the child. Eighteen years of hardships and sacrifices later, I raised my foster son. He became the valedictorian and the top scorer in the college entrance exams. But on the day of the celebration banquet, my childhood friend returned with my childhood sweetheart. “Shea, I never imagined you’d raise my son so well! “Congratulations! I hereby announce you as the best childhood friend ever!” Her childhood sweetheart wrapped an arm around her shoulder while looking down on me. “Shea, Lilian Reyes is the daughter of the richest man in town. We’re taking our child back to claim our rightful inheritance. Here’s 30,000 dollars as compensation for you!” My adopted son was equally arrogant. His face twisted with pride. “I always knew a prodigy like me could never have a mother like you!” The rage killed me instantly. When time turned back, I sent the child straight to the orphanage.

"Julia, the money's gone." "What money?" In a sheepish tone, Mom explains, "We used the 68 grand you left with us to help your brother buy a house for his upcoming wedding." At that moment, dread swallows me whole. Just last week, I left my hard-earned savings with my parents to keep it from being discovered by my abusive husband. But now... I choke up, and my voice trembles as I speak. "Mom, that is the only money I have for myself after the divorce!" My father scolds me from the side. "Why are you getting a divorce in the first place?" I shoot back, "You know he has been hitting me. If I don't leave him, he will beat me to death!" Dad slams the table angrily. "All women put up with stuff like that just fine! If your brother can't get married, it will be the end of our lineage. That's the more pressing problem!" I look at them, my blood running cold. "Take that 68 grand as my final payment to you for raising me. We'll cut ties right here and now. In the future, don't ever come to me and ask me to support you when you grow old."

On the day I'm supposed to get promoted as the deputy director, I pick up a 40-pound barbell before breaking my right arm with it. Because of the injury, I missed the only title-evaluating surgery available in five years. Everyone feels sorry for me, seeing as I've practically ruined my own future with my own hands. But I, on the other hand, am so excited about it that I've downed two bottles of vintage wine in one go. Because in my past life, I spent ten hours in surgery and pulled the patient back from the brink of death. But my wife, Megan Reese, immediately accused me of abusing my power as a doctor just to resolve a personal vendetta by killing her first love, Pierre Hopkins, on purpose. She bribed the nurses who were in the same surgery as me. They were adamant that I used the wrong medication purposefully, which led to the patient dying from a rupture. Not only was my career destroyed, but I also became a public enemy, hated by everyone. My mom tried to seek justice on my behalf, only to get cyberbullied by the Internet users, who knew nothing about the truth, to the point that she broke down. In the end, she accidentally fell into the river and drowned. When I received the tragic news, I chose to end my life by jumping off the hospital's rooftop. After I died, Megan spent my assets however she wanted. She also lived happily ever after with Pierre, who apparently "came back to life". When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm supposed to perform a surgery on Pierre.

On my wedding day, my sister was drugged by my fiancé's best friend and viciously assaulted by a group of groomsmen. When she came to, the shame and horror drove her to leap to her death, her broken body crumpling at my feet. Herbert Brady shielded my eyes from the grisly sight, vowing to make things right. But when the truth came out that Lori Reilly was behind it, he smashed my phone to keep me from calling the police. Lori shrugged with mock innocence. "The guys were just messing around. So what if they tore her clothes off? I've been half-naked around them plenty of times. Why was she so fragile?" She slung her arm around Herbert's neck, whining, "I told you not to marry some broke nobody. Poor people have such brittle pride. Look at the mess Mona has made." When I demanded justice, Herbert stayed cool, sliding a Centurion card across the table. "Ten million dollars. Enough to buy your silence? Lori is one of us, part of the city's elite inner circle. Push your luck, and you're making enemies of everyone who runs this town. Come on, it was just a wedding prank gone wrong." I seized the car and snapped it like a twig. Ten million dollars? To buy the life of the Woodard family's cherished heiress?

For as long as I can remember, my family and I have been living in an underground basement that's completely shut off from the outside world. My parents have told me that the zombie apocalypse is terrorizing the outside world. The air is completely plagued with the zombie virus, and we'll die if we ever leave the basement. In order to save the supplies—which are already dwindling, to begin with—I've starved myself to the point I'm all skin and bones despite being only 18 years old. When I realize that there's only one last can of food left, I leave behind a suicide note. "Mom, Dad, now there's one less mouth to feed. You'll last a few more days." After that, I slit my wrist right away. Once I'm dead, my soul phases through the thick and heavy metal door. Bright sunlight illuminates the entire world. It's a beautiful, peaceful world filled with greenery. I can even hear birds chirping in the distance. Mom, Dad, and a bunch of people are throwing a barbecue party on the lawn. The mouth-watering smell of food being grilled permeates the air. So, it turns out that the zombie apocalypse is just a lie that's designated to trap me inside the fortress. I'm the only one who has died in this sunny, peaceful world.

At the award-giving ceremony of the end-of-the-year gala, my boss, George White, suddenly announces that he will be adding a bonus round on a whim. "This is the annual department evaluation! The department that comes last shall come onto the stage and receive a tiny encouragement from me!" The huge screen lights up at that moment. The sales achievements accumulated by all departments are being shown in a ranking system. The sales department is ranked first. The operations department comes second, and the marketing department gets third place. As for the administrative department, the sales achievements shown on the screen are none. After all, that department has no KPI to achieve at all. George beams at us from the administrative department. "Everyone from the administrative department, come on up and receive your prize!" Two people can be seen carrying a basket of brooms up the stage. Everyone bursts into laughter instantly. "Come now, sweep away your bad luck with the brooms! Try not to come up as the bottom-ranked department again next year!" George personally thrusts the brooms into our hands. Camera flashes go off beneath the stage—people are clearly taking photos of us. The people from the sales department are the ones laughing the hardest. "Finally, the peeps from the administrative department are getting the recognition they deserve!"

I was the heir to a wealthy family, yet my biological parents were drowning in debt and living on the streets. Out of pity for them, I decided to give up my status as a young heir and care for my family. To help them live better lives, I worked three jobs, working myself to the bone. But one day, I discovered the truth. Their so-called "bankruptcy" was a lie. They had been living a life of luxury all along. To make matters worse, my fiancée had already gotten involved with my younger brother. I was heartbroken and devastated. I decided to return to my foster father and seek his help. To get revenge for me, he ruined my biological parents' business, bringing them down for good.

We’re preparing to move into a new house, and when my husband’s best female friend found out, she decided to move in with us. I was about to object, but my husband immediately agreed. To make things worse, he even gave my daughter’s master bedroom, which was meant to be her children’s room, to her son and made our daughter move to the basement. When I voiced my disagreement, he dismissed it, saying, “Grace is my close friend; don’t overthink it. Her son is like my son; of course, I want him to have a better room.” When I still stood my ground, my husband and his family began criticizing me, calling me selfish. Unable to stand their unfairness, I moved out with my daughter. It was then they realized my absence and became anxious.

My parents' enemy kidnapped me and live-streamed cutting off my fingers, just to force them to show up. For a time, the entire internet was searching for my parents. But what no one knew was that the police chief on the live connection was my real father. At that very moment, he was on a beach in Havai, lighting fireworks for his adopted son. And on their barbecue table, the live stream of my fingers being cut off was playing. Later, I survived long enough to be rescued, and I reached out with my severed fingers, wanting to touch my parents. But they recoiled in disgust and, without so much as a backward glance, took their adopted son out for steak. What they never realized was that hidden inside my severed fingers was something that would make them regret everything.