Roman Too Lit Mother Novels & Stories

Isabella hesitated, then continued, "Actually... I don't mind if you start over. Neither does Matteo. We're grown up now, you don't have to hold onto Mom's memory forever." She looked at her father pointedly. "Even if it's with a... young, or even a special woman." Dante took a sip of his whiskey. "Don't overthink things. Go to bed." "Goodnight, Papa." Isabella stood up, kissed him on the cheek, and went upstairs. Dante sat alone in the dim living room, his mind replaying the image of Juliana at dinner, the way that damn short skirt clung to her legs. And the mark on her neck, a brand that sent a hot, possessive fury through him.

By what right does she get to have everything that should have been Mommy’s? And Daddy, except for today, has never once mentioned Mommy. Maybe he is afraid that mentioning her would hurt me. Or maybe he really does still love her. Or maybe, after all these years, with Benita there for comparison, he has only just realized how good Mommy was. So what? It is all too late. The man who broke the rose has no right to grieve for the rose. Daddy and Benita were the hurricane, and they tore Mommy’s world apart.

My mother, Sophie Nash, was also my homeroom teacher, and she loved nothing more than using me to assert her authority. She was convinced that the worse off I was, the more afraid my classmates would be, and the higher her authority would be. Once, when I passed an eraser to a classmate during class, she slapped me so hard across the face in front of the whole class that my face swelled up. Another time, after I secretly ate a crumb of a classmate’s snack during recess, my mom dragged me up to the front of the classroom and pricked my lip with a needle until blood gushed out. Later, when a classmate was caught by the vice principal for having a romantic relationship while underaged, my m

Inside was nothing but a photograph. Harlan sat on the doorstep of a rundown rental house. He wore a faded shirt that had been washed far too many times. In his hands was an old enamel mug. Behind him, the paint peeled from the walls. Beneath his feet, the concrete was cracked and uneven. He had grown so thin that I could barely recognize him. On the back of the photo was a block of shaky, uneven handwriting. "Dear Edward, the greatest blessing of my life was having your mother. The greatest sin, however, was betraying her. This house faces south and gets plenty of sunlight. I like to think she can feel its warmth, too."

Because if I say it out loud, it’ll be real. Roman opens his fingers, staring at his palms, squeezing them at the air. He's holding something I can't see. "Because of that other man?" The vision of Asher splayed out, blood staining everything like syrup on a snow cone, makes me ill. “Yes, because of that other man.” Roman tugs at his shirt near his shoulder. "I don’t want to be like him." Hugging Roman to her chest, my mother rubs her cheek in his hair. She fixes her solemn gaze on me. "You won’t. I promise you that you won’t"

He said nothing. Vittorio’s smile widened, a wolf scenting blood. “Your mother left because women are weak. Useless. Nothing but legs and a pussy. Do you think—” “That’s enough.” Every head turned toward her. The soldiers by the wall shifted. Even Dante’s eyes snapped to her, dark with disbelief. Rose swallowed hard, her voice trembling but steady. “Don’t speak about my mother like that.” Vittorio’s brow rose. For a moment, silence stretched. Then he laughed, a deep, rasping sound that ended in a cough. He slapped the table once, wine sloshing over the rim of his glass.

"I've learned my lesson! I'll never trust that software again! Please forgive me. Come back and live with me, alright? I won't favor anyone anymore. You're my only son. Whatever you want, I'll buy it for you. Okay?" Her eyes overflowed with tears. However, when she reached me, she grasped nothing but empty air. I sighed softly. Ignoring her desperate cries, I turned and walked away. A faint breeze drifted across the bedside. My notebook fell to the floor. It was the only thing she had kept of mine. Inside, she had written countless confessions. [I will never show favoritism again. My good son… Will you still be my child in the next life? I promise I'll be a good mother.]

Catherine's high-pitched tone stabbed at my ear. I pulled my phone away and coldly asked, "What do you want?" She continued, "What do I want? My son lost his job! Are you satisfied and happy now? "Listen, Whitney—I admit that we wronged you, but you can't just grind him into the dirt! Arnold was just momentarily confused, that's all. He knows he's wrong now!" "Does he, now?" I asked, "Does he know he was wrong when he painted me as a madwoman in front of everyone? Did he regret stealing Natalie's guaranteed spot and giving it to his illegitimate daughter?"

“Maybe I don’t want to run an empire.” I tilt my head. “No?” “I want to rewrite it.” I nod slowly. “That’s even better.” We ride in silence for a few miles. Then she turns toward me. “My mother knew about Roman’s betrayal. That’s what the letters were about.” “She tried to expose him?” “Or prepare me to. I don’t think she ever had a real chance.” “Then it’s on us.” She nods once. Quiet. Determined. “Every piece of this place is cracked,” she says. “But it’s still standing because no one’s had the guts to take the final swing.”

Roman commented, pushing away his second plate of butter tarts. I shrugged, downing the dessert I'd just finished with wine. "We aren't the best of buddies but I'm glad to not be an orphan I guess." Roman laughed, "That's funny when you put it that way. Reminds me of my mother." "Your mum?" He nodded, "Yeah. We aren't close." I adjusted in my seat, suddenly becoming more interested. "You never talk about her."