The Novel Unbroken Novels & Stories

Her livestream account was, of course, banned, and she was also expelled from school. Soon, the Watson residence was seized too, and the other Watson family members naturally wanted nothing to do with this ungrateful and unrelated adopted girl. Now, Evonne had nowhere to go and no one to rely on. While hiding in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town, waiting to die, the men she had scammed for donations joined forces to have her sent to prison. However, what awaited her in prison was a fate worse than death, and she ended up in a living hell.

The sun over Lagos burned without mercy, turning every metal roof into a sheet of fire. At the bus stop, the air quivered with exhaust fumes, impatient honks, and voices raised in the daily battle of survival. Promise stood apart from the crowd, clutching her bag tightly against her body. Her red heels pressed into the cracked pavement, the straps biting her ankles, but her chin stayed level. The words she had written the night before pulsed through her veins: Broken shoes, unbroken steps.

A girl who loved cookies, hated math homework, laughed with friends, and occasionally argued with her parents about bedtime. The bridge remained stable. The realms stayed balanced. And Luna learned that being exceptional didn't mean sacrificing everything. Sometimes, the bravest thing you could do was just be yourself. Even when yourself was impossibly unique.

They gathered outside the Winston estate and Winston Group's headquarters, pelting the buildings with rotten eggs. All the times they'd abused their power in the past came to light as well. Mr. Winston Senior slipped on a rotten egg on his way out, falling so hard that he was rushed to the ICU. He remained unconscious in the hospital. Diane was left alone and helpless. All her accounts were frozen, so she came begging to Mom again. "When you gave birth and had no one to help you, I was the one who made chicken soup for you every day. Have you forgotten everything I did for you?"

You've survived worse than this. And I had. That was the thing people like Killian Jnr never understood. Breaking me wasn't the end of my story. It was just the ugliest chapter. I'd kept going. I'd crawled when I couldn't walk. I'd worked jobs that made my back ache and my dignity buckle. I'd built something small and fragile and entirely mine from the wreckage he left behind. And I would not — I repeat‚ I would not — let the sight of him take that from me.

“It’s also a book about what happened to him. What was constructed and deployed against him by people who found him threatening and found it convenient to remove him. What it cost. What it took to correct it.” I looked at Michael Adeyemi in the third row. He met my gaze steadily. “But it’s also and this is the part I didn’t expect when I began a book about what comes after. About the particular work of building something real from the ruins of something broken. About the people who helped with that work and the surprising directions from which help arrived.” I paused. “It’s a love story, which I also didn’t plan. But the truth of the last two years insisted on including itself.”

Her grip on Melanie’s left hand tightened even more, until the sound of something snapping could be heard. Melanie’s friends were immediately shocked by the sight. They never expected that the girl they’d bullied earlier that day—simply because she’d been approached by Albert, Melanie’s boyfriend—could break Melanie’s wrist so easily. It was a stark contrast to the girl’s reaction earlier that day, when she’d only been able to tremble in fear and cry.