Social

Drawn to the internet, Uwana had always wanted to feel among. For once all she wanted was to have that perfect social media character that no one ever insulted. Sadly her story is quite the opposite. Uwana faces a series of cyberbullying depression and worse she is being accused of murder. With all this surrounding her, she had thought long and hard about ending her life. Will, she ever survive this

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster. The caption? Oh, just this gem: [Legally welcoming our little one into the world.] Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote: [Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.] I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot: [She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

From the time I was ten until I turned eighteen, my parents made me write 299 IOUs. Every time I needed money, I had to borrow it and pay it back as an adult. Then I got into a car accident. I needed money for surgery but was still short by 3,000. With no other options, I went to my parents for help. But they just gave me cold smiles. “Clara, you’re eighteen now. We have no obligation to give you money anymore. If you need it, write another IOU.” While holding back tears, I wrote my 300th IOU. After my surgery, I saw my adopted sister’s social media post. In the pictures, she was celebrating her 18th birthday on a cruise. She was the center of attention, like a princess. My parents had given her a luxury apartment in the city and a Maserati as birthday gifts. Even my childhood friend was looking at her with love in his eyes. She said they were the ones she loved and thanked them for giving her the best of everything. I looked down at the crumpled IOU in my hand and suddenly laughed. Once I paid off my debt, I would no longer need such a family.

Three months after fleeing my wedding, I unexpectedly ran into my ex-fiancé at a high-society gathering in the capital. Out of the blue, someone asked me, "Teresa, I saw on social media that you're getting married again?" "Ms. Carter, when can we celebrate your big day?" Smiling confidently, I replied, "Next month." In an instant, everyone began congratulating me and Daniel. After all, everyone knew he had been my fiancé. After the party, Daniel cornered me, his tone sharp. "You're the one who ran away from the wedding, and now you're the one rushing to get married? Do you think this is funny?" I found his reaction amusing. Fixing him with an icy stare, I said with a faint smirk: "Who said my new groom is you?"

Two teenagers from two different social classes discover their feelings for one another when a strange viral disease outbreak forced them to mingle in quarantine.

My husband finally keeps his promise to take me on a trip abroad after I've given birth to his child. However, he disappears the moment we get off the plane. I roam the foreign land alone, unable to reach him. Two hours later, I stumble upon his childhood sweetheart's social media update. It's a photo of her and my husband sweetly feeding each other ice cream. It's captioned, "Someone who cares about you has you in their heart wherever they are." After a long silence, I comment, "Now you can live in his heart forever." I walk away after leaving nothing but a divorce agreement behind. That's when my husband, who's always been cold and aloof, panics.

George Sunther doesn't show up on the day we're supposed to get engaged. His family is nowhere to be seen either. Mom's and Dad's faces become increasingly darker as our relatives whisper disapprovingly. I'm about to contact George when I see a social media update from Winona Sunther, the Sunther family's adopted daughter. "From today onward, we're siblings and also spouses." A photo of her and George decked out in wedding attire while holding each other close is attached. Later, I find George, and he says guiltily, "Winnie is pregnant out of wedlock, and her boyfriend has made a run for it. I have to marry her first so that her reputation remains untainted. It's all so she can have the baby without any hitches." I'm stunned. The invitations for our wedding have already been sent out! George wraps an arm around my waist, his tone as gentle as always. "I'll marry you once the baby is born, okay? You're the only woman I'll call my wife, Mary. You have to trust me." I look into his eyes, which I had once loved with all my heart. My heart twists painfully. He's always like this. He always tells me I have to be more tolerant and magnanimous when it comes to Winona because she's his sister. I watch as he leaves in a hurry after answering a call from Winona. Then, I stop hesitating and call my parents. "Mom, is the Zowski family still up for a wedding?"

The day my brother, Chester Rodney, came to the orphanage to take me home, my boyfriend Dominic Huxley looked at me coldly and said, "If you choose to acknowledge your birth family, we're over." I knew he had his pride—he could never accept the difference in our social standing. So, for him, I turned my back on the family I had yearned for my whole life. In the decades that followed, I toiled without complaint, saving every cent to help him rise to success. By the time I was not yet fifty, overwork had worn me down. Lying on my deathbed, my breathing shallow and weak, I watched Dominic on television. He was now an acclaimed scientist, just awarded the nation's highest research honor. Tears welled in his eyes as he thanked another woman. "All these years," he said, "I never felt worthy of Alicia. But now, maybe I can use this award as the prologue to a love I've owed her for decades." The "Alicia" he spoke of was the woman mistakenly switched with me at birth—the false heiress the Rodney family raised as their own. The camera zoomed out. Alicia Rodney stood radiant, graceful, and perfectly preserved by years of luxury, blushing as she accepted the trophy. "I waited for you for decades," she said sweetly, "but marriage is still something I'll need to ask my brother about." Chester, who had long taken over the family, looked at her with an indulgent tenderness tinged with something unspoken. "I was adopted by our uncle back then for one reason—to protect Alicia. Making the only princess of the Rodney family happy has always been my life's mission." Only then did I realize—everything I thought I had chosen freely, every sacrifice I made without regret, was nothing but a trap, carefully woven by two men, all for Alicia. The betrayal pierced my heart. I died without peace. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Chester came to take me home from the orphanage. I glanced past the two men eyeing me with subtle disdain. Without hesitation, I stepped into the car. "Take me home," I said. This time, I'd send whoever stole my life back to the gutter they slithered from.

My husband's childhood friend says she wants her crystal beads to soak up some of the good luck in our home. Because of that, he scatters the beads on the floor, making me slip and miscarry. I'm in agony as I lie on the operating table. I call my husband incessantly, but all he does is block my number. I lie in the hospital ward after the operation. I see my husband's childhood friend's social media update—a photo of him worshipfully holding out a certificate while getting down on one knee. It's captioned, "He loves me so much! I said I'm interested in running a business and he actually set up a company for me!" On the day of the branch company's grand opening, my husband's childhood friend wears an expensive custom-made gown. Meanwhile, I wear her discarded goods. I'm barred from even entering the building. I suppress my bitterness and call my lawyer. "Are the divorce procedures done?"

It was my 30th birthday, and my husband said he had a surprise for me. However, on the day of my birthday, he was nowhere to be found. I called him countless times, but no one answered. Just as I was about to panic and consider calling the police, I happened to see a post on the social media feed of his female secretary. “A typhoon hit, and my boss was worried about my safety, so he personally took me home. How wonderful! I’ve got a guardian angel for myself!” My anxiety turned to cold calm in an instant. I commented on her post: “Traveling during a typhoon is dangerous. Tell him he doesn’t need to come back.” Not long after I posted the comment, my husband called. “Kelly, I was only concerned about the safety of my subordinate, and yet you’re thinking such vile thoughts. “Birthdays come every year. Missing one won’t kill you!” You were right. Birthdays came every year. But there was no way I would celebrate them with you.