Seven Days Until Novels & Stories

The empty road offered no answer. Only silence. Then— Buzz. My entire body froze. The phone. My shaking fingers reached for it. A new message flashed across the screen. Unknown Number. Instantly, dread curled through my chest. Slowly, I opened it. The pale glow illuminated my tear-streaked face. One sentence. Only one. Yet it felt like a death sentence. My blood turned to ice. YOU HAVE SEVEN DAYS LEFT.

I reached out and pressed my palm flat against that pink paper like it might change if I touched it. Behind me, inside the apartment, I could hear Kelly humming to herself while she got ready for school, happy, contented and utterly unaware that the floor under both our feet had just given out. Seven days. I didn't know yet where we'd go. I only knew I had exactly one week to figure it out, and a little girl with a fragile heart was counting on me to have an answer.

Right before my wedding, I suddenly discovered that Rhett Calder had been making a mysterious transfer every month. The recipient was his first love, Colette Branson. For seven years, it had been seventy thousand dollars a month, more regular than my period. I put the statements in front of him and demanded an explanation. He was busy working and didn't even look up. "Colette once had an abortion for me. This is my way of making it up to her. "Don't worry. Money's the only thing I'll ever give her." I cried. I made a scene. My friends all tried to talk me down. "It's only seventy thousand. Rhett's so rich he'd think seventy thousand was too cheap to even buy you a handbag. "The firs

I'm born with the ability to see how much time remains in every relationship between two people. Throughout my 13 years of marriage to my wife, Francine Spence, the rare word "Forever" glows above both our heads. But on the eve of our son Oscar Baxter's birthday, I stumble upon a conversation between Francine and her client, Dale Stratton. In it, I discover that she has been letting Dale use Oscar as a substitute for his deceased son, Zachary Stratton, to ease his grief. In an instant, the golden word "Forever" vanishes, and in its place is a glaring crimson number—7 Days.

"I'm here..." But for a short period of time. And that scares me even more. 😢😢😢😢😢 Seven goes to the washrooms to take meds the next morning. He woke up coughing and looking a little bit more sick than usual this morning. I would advice him to go to the doctor but Seven has made his decision. He "feels" his time is up... Seven comes back looking a little better and that's when I sit up on the bed. "Hey... I've been thinking about... Our wedding."

Realization dawned on them and they suddenly looked ashamed while Emilia looked severely unhappy. “Seven days.” I said. “I give you all seven days. Send me a letter of loyalty. If I don’t recieve yours, you will be cut off from my protection completely.”

He frowned. “You’re negotiating the wrong direction.” “I know.” “Four.” “Seven.” “Three.” “Seven.” “Fine. Seven.” I smiled. “Good boy.” His eyes darkened. Everyone went silent. Chase groaned. Damion looked confused. Lydia started laughing. Nicholas stared at me. “You are playing a dangerous game.” I leaned closer. “Seven days.” His hand came carefully around my waist. “Seven days.” “Rest.” “Yes.” “Doctor’s orders.”

There was a freshly baked cake on the table, but I never got the chance to eat them. As I closed my eyes for the last time, my mind was still replaying past events. After my death, my soul drifted in the sky. I heard that after one dies, they could become a spirit for three days to accompany their loved ones. I returned to my wife’s side, watching her start a new life. I remembered the last man I saw next to her. I vaguely remembered that his name was Ronan. During those three days as a soul, I kept my distance from her.

"You have just 7 days to convince Adrian, or else you'll hear bad news about your mom." The words leapt from the screen and settled upon my brain, all sense of dread and foreboding. Seven days-what in heaven's name was Samuel wanting me to do in seven days? And bad news about Momma-what bad news could he have about her? It swirled in my mind, the questions piling upon each other in a dizzying vortex.

Waves splashed her skirt as he turned and smiled, “Hold on tight, Mrs. Carter!” Seven years of love were just like a bubble. She pulled out her phone and sent a message: [Pick me up in seven days, as planned.] No sooner had she pressed send than a deafening bang echoed from downstairs.