Tragic

I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, so I went online to hire an undertaker in the hopes that he would collect my body. That way, I could die and be buried. I would like to finally be at peace, even if it meant that I could only achieve it after death. I packed up my bags and left home in search of a place to die, only to receive a message from my undertaker. [Sorry, something came up. I can’t come now.] …Excuse me? I’m already half-dead, and you’re blowing me off?

Sepharine cared for Draven, the crippled son of an Alpha, for three long years. After painstakingly helping him regain his strength, he scorned her—for she was merely a lowly maid, unworthy of an Alpha's heir. Heartbroken, Sepharine left the pack. Only after losing her did Draven realize the depth of his feelings for her.

My boyfriend, Landon Schmidt, has sold his assets just to support me in building my livestreaming career. But when I become a famous streamer, I steal all of his money and dump him right away. Landon slumps near a river and drinks from it while begging for money in the 104 degree weather. He's exposed to the heat for so long that he almost goes into shock. Meanwhile, all I have to do is push the boundaries on camera, and I'll earn millions of dollars' worth of tips. My best friend, Yvette Carter, thinks that it's unfair for Landon to suffer like this. She advises me not to bite the hand that had fed me in the past, only for me to slap her in return. "If you pity him this much, you should pay for all of his expenses, then! Why should I pay for a broke and useless man in the first place?" That night, Yvette exposes the recording of our conversation and takes me to court. Tens of thousands of Internet users flood into my stream instantly just so they can ensure that I get judged for my sins.

My stepbrother hated me. He hated me and my mom for coming into his life, for ruining what he believed was his perfect family. Whenever he saw me, his face would turn cold, and he would tell me how disgusting I was, asking cruelly when I was going to die. In the end, I gave him what he wanted. But then he regretted it. He cried, begging me to come back, saying he never should have broken up with me and never should have treated me so cruelly. But I was already dead. Who was he putting on this show of affection for now?

Isaac Chance and Madeline Snow were once the model couple of Shorestone City and the target of everyone's envy. After getting engaged, everyone thought they would soon walk down the aisle together. However, there is no news of a wedding for six years. In the end, all Madeline gets is the news of Isaac returning to the country with another woman by his side. He doesn't hesitate to hurt her countless times for the woman's sake. When her grandmother is on the brink of death after an illness, Madeline has no choice but to get into a shotgun marriage. After leaving city hall with her marriage certificate, she ponders the situation. It turns out getting married is simple… as long as her husband isn't Isaac.

My in-laws accidentally fall off a cliff in the middle of a mountain hike. But my wife, Stella Covington, who's also the leader of the search and rescue team in charge of that area, refuses to accept the rescue mission. Instead, she sets off fireworks with her junior, Noah Reid, to celebrate her birthday. By the time my in-laws are found, they've already died. Their corpses are left broken and battered. Only then does Stella call me on the phone casually. "Have your parents' bodies delivered to my team. Noah needs to dissect two more bodies in order to receive his license as a forensic doctor." It turns out that Stella thought my parents were the ones who died. I just chuckle in return. After that, I have the mangled and unrecognizable bodies delivered to Stella's team.

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.

Wendy Lloyd's first love, Hudson Clark, treats me like a walking blood bank. Because of that, I end up dying in the rented apartment Wendy has given to me out of contemptuous pity. Today is the third day of my death. My six-year-old son, Terry Heath, finally realizes that something is wrong with me. When he accidentally cuts his finger from playing with his toys, I don't coax him at all. When he tears open a pack of cookies and feeds one to me, I don't stop him at all. When he lies in my arms and grips me by the hem of my shirt while calling out to me softly, I don't respond to him at all. Feeling rather uneasy, Terry finds my phone and calls Wendy. "Mommy, why is Daddy still asleep?" Wendy responds by sending a photo of her and Hudson enjoying a holiday feast together. She then says coldly, "He's just asleep, not dead. Today is Christmas Eve, so I'm very busy right now. "Tell that arrogant father of yours that he's only free to visit me whenever he's ready to acknowledge his mistakes." After that, the call ends. Terry is left feeling stunned for a long time. Finally, he digs out the last cookie from the trash can and snaps it in half. Then, he feeds it to me again. "Daddy, let's eat."

The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth. Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count. To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don. He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne. I bought every word. When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won. But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cellar and locked the place down. "Lucy came from nothing. I just wanted to give her kid a name. You started rumors, pushed her into despair, and now she's dead—her and the baby. You're vile. Not fit to be the Don's wife. Think about what you've done. I'll open the door in three days." Then he had the butler seal it shut. What he didn't know? That night, the cellar caught fire. Me and my babies? Burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right before labor. This time, I'm not staying. Soon as I deliver and get back on my feet, I'm taking my kids and disappearing for good.

I've had a crush on my fiancée for years, and we're finally about to get married. Yet I'm willing to jump off a building just to avoid marrying her—all because I've been reborn. In my past life, she and I were married for over two decades. We were the perfect couple in everyone's eyes. However, the fairy tale came to an abrupt end on our 25th wedding anniversary. She took her own life, and she did it with her true love. As I kneeled before her grave, I asked, "Did you regret marrying me?" I knew I wouldn't hear her response, so I answered myself. "I regret marrying you." When I open my eyes again, I find myself back to before the wedding happens. I decide to run away. This time, I want us to become nothing but estranged acquaintances. To my surprise, she comes to me, looking like she's terminally ill. She says, "I've never regretted marrying you. Whether in this lifetime or the past, you're the only one I've ever wanted to marry."