The Mercies Novels & Stories

She added, turning towards them before rushing off to her room. “I was scared to utter even a single word with you because I always thought I was given a great rescue by the marriage of mine with Harsha. I didn’t want to make them feel any uncomfort when they actually helped me to be alive. And I also know you will not be spared by the one person who thinks me as guilty more than anyone if I was normal with you. I tried to meet and I wished to cry, telling you how much I love you, but I always knew I didn’t deserve your forgiveness or anything else.” Mom said staring at me while I stared back with shock. “And now I don’t want to miss any time without being spent with you and I even know all

Weiz. Mr. Weiz sighed, "I invited her to dinner, Dayna. Can you please act civil just for a little while? You're beig rude." Mrs. Weiz pouted her lips, "But, honey..." "Dayna." He warned. The tone of finality from him had her shut up and sulk in her seat. My insides were smirking with joy. The door that was connected to the kitchen swung open and Mercedes came in with a tray of food. When she saw me, she gasped and ran over to my seat and engulfed me in a hug, "Senorita Reagan!" she squealed.

“Being the heir is messy. You cannot be heir if you cannot accept the clean and the unclean.” “Then teach me how to clean,” I said, and there was a raw edge to my voice I hadn’t intended. He looked at me as if assessing a patient. “You will need to script mercy,” he said. “Protocols that mitigate fallout. But mercy takes bandwidth. And mercy can be gamed. You’ll have to accept imperfection—either as a cost or a failure.”

"I already got what I wanted. You've come too late, but I can still offer you … mercy." The words came out cracked, as if his throat tightened with each one, straining against disuse or some inner decay. In his mind, perhaps he weighed her potential—another tool, or just a loose end? Mercy, for him, wasn't kindness; it was control, a way to extend his reach. Katrina shuddered, her pleas echoing hollowly in her head, realizing too late that bargaining with him meant losing herself.

I called out to the monster that birthed me but he just smirked at me, being very careful soonas not be caught by the mafia man. I had no idea why I even tried, but in this moment, I called out to everything and anyone as I was being dragged away but nothing and noone helped me. I was dragged like a heavy bag being carried by a weak person, through the mud and dirt like a dirty rat but I guess that was what I was to everyone. Filthy, useless, a burden and not even human My plea for mercy fell on deaf ears because to them, I didn't deserve it. After being dragged for a little while, my skin was bruised and felt like fire but I had stopped fighting because there was no strength left in me.

Choking up, she replied with deep insecurity, "How could you like me? I've been divorced, and I've had a child. I'm someone with such a marred past. I'm not worth loving." She started to lean away, but Adrian reached out and grabbed her. He said firmly, "I don't care about any of that. I like you as a person. When I first met you, you were already the Henley who personally led Johnstone Group to success. For the company, you tested the drug yourself. You left those who betrayed you without hesitation. "Everyone says you're ruthless and ambitious, but I just feel sorry for you." Henley looked up. Her dead and wounded heart seemed to come back to life.

A dog slips free of its leash and darts toward the street, only to pause at the curb, distracted by a scent, missing the wheels by inches. Small mercies. Not miracles. Just softness. As if the world has decided it is allowed to be kind when she is near. That is not how fate works. That is not how the system works. Mercy is not a default state. Mercy is an anomaly. And Nora carries it without force, without prophecy, without demanding a rewrite. She simply stays, and the world behaves differently around her. The weave still does not react. Fate is not here. That is the other wrongness.

For a heartbeat, it looked like there were two of us kneeling before the altar and two shadows behind, larger, looming. Paul’s breathing slowed. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You said mercy isn’t earned. That’s given.” I nodded. “But what if it’s given to the wrong person?” “What do you mean?” He looked up at the crucifix. “What if someone like me doesn’t deserve it at all?” I felt something sharp twist in my chest. “None of us deserves it,” I said. “That’s the point.” He smiled weakly a broken, almost mocking smile. “So even you?”

A mixture of gratitude and embarrassment settled within her as he gently wiped away her tears, creating a unique connection between two souls traversing through the unexpected twists of fate. The hazel eyes that had witnessed much silently communicated a profound understanding, leaving Hiya to contemplate the depth of compassion that had unexpectedly entered her life. She lowered her gaze, and he continued, "I am sorry... I know I shouldn't have done this, but you were crying nonstop for a long time, and I couldn't resist.” --------------------

she murmured, feeling cherished in his embrace. Grace felt a rush of warmth surge through her as she gazed into Noah’s eyes, their depth conveying a sincerity that touched her soul. She nestled closer to him, feeling the comfort of his embrace enveloping her. With a soft smile gracing his lips, Noah continued, “It’s because you are all these things, Grace. Your beauty isn’t confined to what meets the eye; it’s in the compassion you show for others, the strength you possess even when things are rough for you.”