Sackboy Emotions

The day I give birth, I have to endure the pain of the scalpel cutting through my skin because I'm allergic to anesthesia. Marcus Lambert weeps by my side and says, "I don't care whether we have a girl or boy, sweetheart. We're not having any more children. You're all I want…" But later, he has an affair, even allowing his mistress to have his son. He indulges in her and allows her to torment my daughter, which I went through hell to bring into this world. Meanwhile, I keep Marcus' cancer a secret from everyone. Since he and his mistress are tormenting my child, I'll take his life. It's a fair trade, isn't it?

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

My sister, Cherry Nicholson, called me nine times before she jumped into the sea. But I didn't pick up once. Now everyone says it's my fault she's gone—even my fiance, my Alpha mate—Samuel Carver. He used to stay by my side through every painful treatment for my wolfsbane fever. Now, he shoves me to the ground like I'm nothing. His once gentle face is now twisted with contempt as he looks down on me and warns, "You don't deserve to be happy!" And truth be told, it isn't just them who believe that. Even I do. Since then, I've stopped going out, stopped dressing up, and stopped meeting anyone's eyes. Even when I run into Samuel holding hands with another she-wolf, I lower my head and walk past silently. But when the wolfsbane fever comes back, I drown in agony and despair. I decide to give my life to atone for what happened to Cherry. That's when they all start to regret it.

Matapos mag-graduate ng socialite training course, ang aking kapatid na babae ay nanumpa na magpakasal sa isang mayamang pamilya. Upang lumikha ng mga pagtatagpo kay Pierce Holden, ang prinsipe ng mga socialite, ang kapatid ko ang nagmaneho ng aking kotse, na gustong i-tailgate si Pierce at bumunggo sa sasakyan nito. Tinapakan ko ang preno at sinabi sa kapatid ko na hindi tanga ang mga Holden. Hindi namin kayang bayaran ang sasakyan ni Pierce, kahit na isuko namin ang lahat ng mayroon kami. Pagkatapos, nagkaroon si Pierce ng isang marangyang kasal na ikinagulat ng bansa. Nababaliw na ang kapatid ko sa selos, sinabing siya na sana ang bride kung hindi dahil sa pagpigil ko sa kanya noon. Dahil sa sama ng loob, binunggo niya ang kanyang sasakyan sa akin at pinatay ako. Nang muli kong imulat ang aking mga mata, nakita ko ang aking sarili sa front passenger seat. Kumpiyansa na ngumiti si ang kapatid ko, napako ang tingin niya sa mamahaling sasakyan sa harapan namin. "Sigurado akong mabibighani sa akin si Pierce kapag nakita niya ako. Hindi ko na kailangan magmaneho ng isang basura na ganito kapag nakasama ko na siya." Ngayon naman, hindi ko na siya pinigilan. Tinapakan niya ng madiin ang pedal ng gas, na naging sanhi ng pagbangga ng kotse laban sa sports car na may presyo na napakalaking halaga ng pera.

My son, Tyler, never really had his dad around growing up. Because my husband, Ethan, was a top doctor, always working late. He pulled countless patients back from the brink of death, but he misdiagnosed his own son's pneumonia as a simple cold. All because he was on the phone with his first love, Isabella, while he was supposed to be listening to Tyler's chest. That night, when Tyler's life was on the line, Ethan claimed he was in a critical surgery and hung up on me ten times. I rushed our son to the hospital, only to find out my husband was at a birthday party for Isabella and her daughter. In the dead of night, Isabella posted a photo of the three of them on Instagram. At the same time, my son, Tyler, died in the very hospital where his father worked. The next day, I held a funeral for my son all alone. Three days later, I boarded a plane out of Seattle, clutching a photo of my son. It was only then that my husband, Ethan, found out Tyler was dead, started searching for me like a madman.

On the day of my son's one-month celebration, my notoriously stingy sister-in-law surprised me with a branded baby bottle. But instead of accepting it, I turned away and gave it to the neighbor's cruel son who had XYY syndrome. In my previous life, I had accepted that bottle with genuine gratitude, using it day and night to feed my son. I never imagined that a month later, in the dead of night, my son would suddenly suffer a heart attack and die in my arms. Strangely enough, the very next day after my son passed, my sister-in-law's sickly child—who had been confined to the neonatal intensive care unit since birth—was miraculously discharged in perfect health. Losing my son shattered me completely. I spent my days drowning in tears. My husband called me a cursed woman, claimed I brought nothing but disaster, and demanded a divorce. Not only that, but he insisted I leave with nothing. When I refused, he and my sister-in-law joined forces and accidentally beat me to death. It wasn't until after I died that I learned the truth. The woman I had thought was my husband's younger sister wasn't his blood relative at all. She had been adopted by his mother years ago to be raised as his future wife. Together, they had plotted to destroy me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister-in-law handed me that baby bottle.

The day I recovered from my mental illness and got discharged, my parents held me in their arms with tears of happiness. My sister gave me a teddy bear and said she had been waiting for me to come home. I comforted my parents who were crying and accepted the gift from my sister. I slowly got used to ordinary life and became the real daughter of the Schmidt family. To show their preference for me, my parents transferred the family business into my name on my sister’s 18th birthday. But I cruelly murdered the family of three who cherished me on this day.

My mom is a famous perfumer who's well-known in town. But her perfumes are charged per session. One session costs 200 thousand dollars. She only takes in ten customers per month, too. Those who have used the perfumes my mom has concocted will be enveloped by the perfumes' unique fragrance that leaves an unforgettable impression on those who have smelled it. In fact, the fragrance is capable of covering up the customers' body odor, no matter how strong it is. One session will leave the customers with enough fragrance that lasts for a month. Countless celebrities and rich women specifically travel to this town just to frequent my mom's business. Everyone sings praises about my mom, claiming that she's the mistress of all fragrances who's here to bless humanity with her gift. But I know that my mom isn't as amazing as everyone thinks she is. The only reason why her business is booming like this is all thanks to the "thing" that she keeps locked up in that room…

Just because I ate one chicken leg more than my brother, my father kicked me out of the house in the middle of a snowstorm. Later on, my father of an archeologist dug up my body. Due to my missing head, he did not recognize me. Even when he saw that the body had the same scars as I did, he did not care. Later on, my mother dug out my heart and showed it to her students. "Today, we will study the heart of someone with congenital heart disease." She once said she would recognize me no matter what I looked like. Mom, now that the only thing left of me is my heart, do you still recognize me?

The day I died was Mommy’s birthday. For once, she left me an unusually large slice of cake. I hovered before it, greedy, leaning in to breathe in its sweetness. But the very next second, she handed the cake to my younger sister, Bella Tesla. “Have some, Bella. Better you than that ungrateful girl!” Then she turned to Daddy, who was filming nearby. “You recorded everything, right? When she returns, make her watch it. Don’t let her say again that we play favorites! “Of all things to learn, she learned how to run away from home! “We spoiled her! If she has any sense, let her never come back!” She sneered as she slammed the table and cursed at me, never noticing the panic on Bella’s face as she held the cake. She also failed to notice Bella’s disheveled hair. She noticed even less the dark stains of blood on her sleeve. Blood that belonged to me.