Tearjerker Books Novels & Stories

Her gaze shifted then, drawn to the rustling in his other hand—a bloodstained note, crumpled but still clutched tight. With shaky hands, Miracle unfolded the letter, her heart breaking more with every word she read in her mind: 'Though I know that reading this will tear your heart apart, it's okay, my children. Trust me when I say that no one is to be blamed. Trust me when I say that I do not seek revenge but wish for this world to be saved. Hatred kills, but kindness has the power to heal countless souls. As you stand to protect this world, never forget who you are. Let your hearts remain full of love and compassion, for it is through these that you will find strength and peace...'

The realization that her own cousins are siding with her perceived enemy intensifies her emotions. With a surge of exasperation, Alexa snatches the book away, her nails digging into the pages. Without hesitation, she begins tearing the book apart, starting from the middle and ripping it completely. The sound of the paper tearing echoes through the silence of the classroom, intensifying the emotional impact of the moment. Rose stands there, staring in disbelief at the torn remnants of her notebook. It's as if her world has shattered along with the torn pages. A single tear escapes her eyes, silently tracing its path down her cheek. Overwhelmed by the loss and the cruelty inflicted upon her, R

The tears were that of pain, regret and heartache. They say men don't cry. That's a very wrong concept because men do cry. When it gets to a point when the pain becomes too difficult to bear, strong men do break down in tears. I can vividly remember a book, Mira and I read together about a year ago. The book was titled, The Better Place. It was written by a sixteen year old female writer. I could vividly recall the scene where the male lead, who was not only a businessman, but also the CEO of a multimillionaire international organization, broke down in tears after he lost his precious daughter to sickle cell anemia.

Rayyan asked her to stay at home as he will take care the rest until Ahad regain his consciousness. Everyone was really upset but Haya felt betrayed, she couldn't hold up her anger nor control her tears. she hugs her tearstained pillow close when she is alone and cries out silently, she knows that her day and night would start and end with tears. everyone around her think she's doing well but she really isn’t, time hasn't healed her pain at all or quieted her fears so every night, alone in bed she sheds those silent tears.

A stern look set across his face, eyes dark and angry. "I said you will not read this stupid fucking book," he commanded while grabbing the book from the middle and tearing it in two. Tears ran down her eyes as she watched him rip the book into countless pieces. It seemed he had lost his sanity. Asher shredded the book into several tiny pieces. If only he could also shred his past like this. This book had triggered a deep-buried fear within him. He looked at her after he was done tearing up her book beyond repair.

The book is making cracking and popping sounds. As I rush over to the fireplace, my hand reaches for the book, but the intense searing on my hand causes me to wrench my arm back, keeping it against my chest. A tear falls down my cheek as I watch it scrunch into nothing. Ash falling to the bottom of the fireplace. I feel a warm hand come into touch with mine, pulling it away from my chest, while they run their fingers over the source of the pain, causing me to recoil back. I hear a sigh before being lifted off the floor by hands, corridors passing me by in a haze owing to my crying.

"And I'm only going to say it one last time." Terry tightened his grip by a fraction of a millimeter. Julian’s knees buckled slightly, a whimpering gasp escaping his lips as he was forced onto his tiptoes to relieve the agonizing pressure radiating up his arm. Tears of pain pricked the corners of his eyes, his polished, untouchable corporate mask completely shattered into pathetic, terrified fragments.

Rosalind was unusually quiet that night, playing the part of a devoted spouse. It wasn't until the third course arrived that she suddenly said, "Do you know what a marriage certificate looked like, Mr. Stevenson?" Before Peter Stevenson could even reply, Rosalind pulled ours out of her handbag and tore it into pieces in front of everyone. "Just like this." She scattered the pieces over the table. "As long as I'm happy, I can tear it apart anytime I want." The private room went dead silent. A scrap of paper clung to a slice of fatty tuna, making an absurd, grotesque decoration.

She didn't look up, her presence radiating a calm, untouchable stillness that made Preston’s blood boil even hotter. She was resting on the very silk sheets Vivica had imported, completely unbothered by the storm she had caused. Blinded by a toxic mixture of alcohol, pride, and the guilt of breaking Vivica's heart over the phone, Preston lost all control. He rushed to the bed and said, "Get out. Who do you think you are to occupy the love of my life's bedroom?" Brooklyn slowly placed a sleek silver bookmark between the pages of her medical journal and closed it. Her movements were precise, clinical, and completely devoid of fear.

But now, her fingers flipped through the worn pages as if searching for treasure. And there it was. A page in her own childish handwriting: "Saw a boy today. They hurt him and pushed him into the river. He looked scared. I jumped in. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t let him drown. He said thank you. He held my hand like I was magic. I want to remember that.*" Maya stared at the page for what felt like eternity. Her chest ached not just from the memory, but from all the years she’d been taught to forget. To abandon that brave little girl.