Slice Of Life Novels & Stories

Just everything about her makes my heart skip a beat now. "Oh sh*t!" I was snapped out of my day dreaming by a slice of cake smashing on my chest. The maid tripped and I noticed Heather's leg was sticking out before she could retract it. I looked around and that's when I noticed that everyone was looking at our direction. "Are you okay?" Psyche asked the maid and helped her stood up. "I'm okay, Miss." She said cautiously but then panicked as soon as she saw my shirt covered with icing. "I'm so sorry, sir." I suprisingly let out a light laugh as I started wiping my shirt with my napkin.

I said. My face was pale as death, and a nagging ache twisted in my stomach. It was an old pain that had been with me ever since I spent those three years in that cellar. Every day, I ate stale bread and lumpy mashed potatoes that had been sitting out forever. The bread was so thick and dry that it was almost impossible to swallow. Panic flashed across Henry's face. It was something I hadn't seen in ages. "Sabrina, I swear I didn't know! Do you think I'm lying?" he asked.

I just regained my senses when I saw my husband, Kyle Cromer, sitting beside me with a bottle of water in his hand. "You've been asleep for a while, Sylvia. Here, have some water," he said, unscrewing the cap before offering it to me. In the past, I might have been touched by his thoughtfulness. But now that I experienced death and just got a second chance at life, I questioned everything. When I was eight months pregnant in my past life, Kyle abruptly insisted on taking me back to his hometown to give birth. He claimed his mother could take care of me and forced me onto a high-speed train that would take seven to eight hours.

"Lucky for me, I was born with a silver spoon, unlike some people, born to parents who abandoned them." I couldn't help but think back to when Freddie had sat next to me on my bed in my past life, sipping from the bowl of nourishing soup that was supposed to help me recover. He had sneered, "Tyler, you're going to die anyway. Drinking all that soup won't change a thing. I'll just enjoy it for you; no need to thank me." I wanted to rip him apart right then and there—just the thought of him made my skin crawl.

I had forgotten about it until that moment. Brandon chuckled as he handed me a slice. "That might be the most depressing thing I’ve heard today." I took the pizza cautiously. "It’s not depressing." "It absolutely is," he said. "What kind of life doesn’t include pizza?" "The productive kind." He laughed. "Sure, Joan. Keep telling yourself that." We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he said, "You’re going to need at least two slices if you’re going to repair that statement."

After I unzipped the compressed file, I played the video. In a church that had seen better days, a young man, looking to be about 18, was playing an old piano. The sunlight streaming in illuminated his bleached shirt, causing him to almost glow. The clean, innocent vibe he gave off was like a breath of fresh air, a gentle spring breeze caressing one lightly. Despite only half her face being visible, it was clear from Sylvia's profile that she was smiling gently. Her gaze was also full of adoration as she lost herself in the soothing music.

The clatter of knives and the hiss of the stove were no longer reminders of chaos—they were a rhythm, ordinary yet grounding. Jordan leaned over to taste the sauce, brushing his lips near Grace’s ear. “Do you think life always has to be this complicated?” he whispered. Grace turned to him, her eyes searching. “I don’t know. Maybe it does. But complexity isn’t bad when it comes with this—” she gestured between them, “—with moments like this.” He smiled, feeling a flutter in his chest. “Then let’s not rush. Let’s savor every uncharted moment, every ordinary miracle we can claim.”

She wanted it sharp enough to cut something clean. Night came. Dinner was delicious and tasted like nothing. Lenny told a story about someone named Casale trying to sell him the same acre of docks twice, and the men at the table laughed appropriately. Mazzo texted Tomorrow with a smirking emoji she deleted with a practised flick. Grace sent 7 a.m. Sunday. Wear a hoodie and a knife and a heart and a stack of pancakes, which was not a sentence anyone in this house would have understood. Sasha sent back Knife? and Grace answered for the pancakes obviously.

I grumbled and he chuckled, holding my from behind. ‎ ‎“Of course, I appreciate what you are doing wife, that's why I want us to cook together. How about I help you with the slicing?" He offered, and I nodded in approval. ‎Swiftly he grabbed my hand, helping me slice through the tomato with great ease. ‎“Now it's your turn,” He commanded after a couple of perfect slices hand in hand. ‎ ‎I grabbed the knife feeling a bit skeptical, my hands shaking but I willed myself to cut through, and there it was... the best slice of my life.

LENA The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as I made breakfast. The smell of pancakes filled the air, and the kids were already scattered around the table, their laughter echoing in the room. For a moment, everything felt calm—normal, even—but I knew it was anything but. The shifts in our lives had been profound, and today was going to be one of those moments when we’d have to face the new dynamics.