The Fairness I Never Got Novels & Stories

It didn't seem fair but what about my life or anyone's life was fair. Everyday good people find themselves doing things we never thought we would do, being people we never thought we would turn out to be while assholes like Nick get to live happily ever after. Nothing about this life screams fair and I should be used to it by now but each time life knocks the air out of my lungs and I am left standing outside a mansion reliving the most painful part of my existence, just struggling to catch my breath. I can't breathe. I am struggling and I can't breathe.

Not again. He closed the distance between us in two steps. The blade pressed to my neck—not hard enough to cut, but hard enough to make my next breath falter. "You don’t get it," he said quietly. "This place isn’t about fairness. Never has been. People like us—we don’t rise by waiting our turn." "You’re insane," I said, frozen. "No," he whispered. "I’m just done losing to people who didn’t earn it." My hands stayed at my sides. My mind raced.

She just said, "Celine looks just like me." The money for my further education all came from the money Grandmother saved little by little. The money my parents earned would be kept for Bell. After completing my further education, I was kept locally with them, begging for them to love me. What did I get? I was ridiculed by Belle, the main beneficiary in the entire ordeal. I was raised by Grandmother with love. Why should I be treated so unfairly? I got up the next morning and headed straight back to the office to report to work and cancel all my leave.

"You let a smell break your focus. What happens when you're in real danger? When the stakes are life and death?" "That's not fair," I said, my voice shaking. "You know what that smell means to me." "Fair?" She laughed. "Nothing is fair. Your father wasn't fair when he burned you. The administrators won't be fair when they hunt you down. Life isn't fair, death isn't fair, and this game certainly isn't fair. So stop expecting fairness and start expecting cruelty." She held the cigarette close to my face. I could feel the heat. Could see the burning ember.

Unfortunately, the situation remained exactly the same. “Right.” Liam nodded. “Right.” A strange numbness settled over me because there was something deeply unfair about hearing a sentence like that delivered so casually. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Casually. Like he was discussing weather. Or architecture. Or particularly stubborn horses. “The first time,” Liam continued, “there were complications.” I swallowed. “The first time there were doubts.” His gaze remained fixed on me. “There were people willing to argue.” The silence stretched. “This time is different.”

“They’re painting us like some kind of love story.” Alexander sat beside me and pulled me into his lap. “Because we are. The wrong start turned into the right ending.” My phone buzzed. Messages from Dad. From old friends. Even Sophia sent one: Enjoy your fake fairytale while it lasts. I showed Alexander. He deleted it without a word and kissed me softly. “They can say whatever they want,” he murmured. “We know the truth. We fought for this. We chose this.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “It feels surreal. A few weeks ago they were calling me a gold-digger. Now they’re rooting for us.”

"Don't touch me, Damien. We're done." I moved to go around him— He blocked me again, arms spread. "Please. Just one more chance. I know I screwed up." The live comments blew up— [This jerk really begging right now? Gross!] [Girl, don't cave. You can't trust him!] [Tell him to get lost!] Weirdly, it helped. It made me steadier. Done with him, I yanked out my phone and shoved the auction poster in his face. "Look. This is tonight's charity auction. You ever stop to think who this 'Enya' really is? Doesn't something about her feel off to you?"

I stared at myself in the mirror, clad in the dress, and felt dazed for a long moment. I had once been a girl who loved beauty, who loved wearing pretty dresses. But ever since I had to earn money to ransom Joe, I had never worn one again. Years of relentless labor had roughened my skin, leaving it dark and coarse. This dress felt stolen—my tanned, worn skin could never do it justice. I shook my head with a bitter laugh, about to change back into my work clothes.

I lifted my shirt, revealing the jagged scars crisscrossing my abdomen. “Have you forgotten these? What about the justice you promised me back then?” Sienna fell silent. Suddenly, she snatched the scalpel from the doctor’s tray and drove it hard into her own palm. Her movements were so fast that no one could react in time. Warm blood spattered across my face. The coppery smell was sharp in the air. She held her hand, blood pouring from it, and stared at me. “Is this enough? Does this make it fair?”

I have always been fair to my sons, but Tim, the eldest, always complains that I'm never fair to him. It's unfair for him that I stopped him from eating seafood because of his allergies. It's unfair for him when my husband and I refused to take him to the amusement park, when his brother was bleeding profusely after a bad fall. It's unfair for him that we didn't buy the exact same shirt as Joe's because he wasn't the same size. As long as I don't do what he wants, he will keep calling me unfair. Later, he brought home a delinquent, saying she's his fiancee. When I refused to give them my blessing, he took to the internet, complaining that I was a control freak and I had been unfair for