Tragic

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.

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

Sawyer Patterson intended to leave me again for his childhood sweetheart, Mathilde Payne. We'd been together for ten years, and this was our seventh engagement party. For the previous six times, Mathilde always had some kind of emergency. This time, I wasn't going to let him go. "We're about to exchange rings. It won't take long. She's just got a slight fever. It's not a big deal if you go later, right?" Sawyer lost it. "Can you stop making a scene? Mathilde has always been frail. We've been together for ten years. We can do without a ceremony." He walked out, leaving me behind with a broken heart. This time, I was truly done with him.

People used to say Pierce Voss, my husband, also the boss of the largest mafia in Kingsburg, and I were the kind of couple others envied. He once lit fireworks across the entire coastline just to celebrate my birthday. He bought me a private island because I mentioned loving the ocean. He made the entire mafia respect me as the most esteemed woman in the world. He shut every woman out of his world so I would never feel insecure. I thought our love was unbreakable. After ninety-nine rounds of IVF, I finally got a positive result. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep the whole night, planning to surprise him at our tenth-anniversary party the next day. But instead, I cut into our wedding cake and found Lena Young’s pregnancy report hidden inside. She fell to her knees in front of everyone, sobbing. “Serena… I have cancer. I don’t have long. Please… let me stay with Pierce for whatever time I have left. Give my child a name.” The room erupted, with gasps, whispers, cruel amusement. And in an instant, the woman Pierce Voss had supposedly adored became the laughingstock of the entire Kingsburg city. The love I had been so proud of shattered like cheap glass. Clutching my own pregnancy report, I held back my tears and prepared to walk away with my baby, far from his world, far from the lies. But before I could escape, someone framed me for harming her. I was thrown into detention for three days. And in those three days, I lost my child. Pierce Voss lost me, and every last piece of love I ever had for him. No matter how desperately he begs later, there is no returning to who we used to be.

My husband, Jaxon Murray, was a renowned medical expert and owned a big company. He was participating in a clinical drug trial when someone tampered with his medication. Under the influence, he ended up entangled with an intern—ninety-nine times, right there on the lab table. When he regained clarity, he rushed home, locked himself in the bathroom, and submerged himself in the tub without food or water as he waited for me to return from work. "Lauren," he said, "my medication was switched during the trial. I made a terrible mistake. But I paid her off and had her dismissed. She'll never appear before me again." I wept miserably, clutching my belly that had once again failed to carry life. And in the end, I chose to forgive him. Several months later, he crashed into a guardrail while answering a phone call, causing me to miscarry. The injury left me unable to conceive for life. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice choked with remorse. "Darling, I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry… We don't need children. We have each other, isn't that enough?" One day, I went to bring him lunch, only to find him in the next hospital room, cradling and feeding the woman he swore he'd never see again. "She's too weak to eat by herself," he said. "She has early-stage stomach cancer. There's no one else to take care of her… she's all alone." I chose to believe him. Again. Until one day, a pair of twins appeared in our home. Sophie Dixon knelt before me, wearing the postpartum gown he had once lovingly picked out for me, clutching my hand with tears streaming down her face. "It's all my fault. Please don't blame Jaxon. If you say the word, I'll leave with the children immediately." Jaxon grabbed my other hand, desperation thick in his voice. "Lauren, you've always been the kindest person I know. The children are still so young. How could Sophie possibly raise them alone? You wouldn't be that cruel… would you?" I looked down at the hands gripping mine from both sides, and suddenly, I laughed. "Jaxon, let's get a divorce. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

My husband and mother-in-law fell off the cliff in my past life. I was pregnant and fell into a coma. I could not take the blow and had a miscarriage. A few days later, the neighbors informed me that my child could not be saved and urged me to see him for the last time. The corpses of my husband and mother-in-law were nowhere to be found. A year later, our house was demolished. However, I accidentally consumed paraquat. I saw my husband and my mother-in-law when I was dying. "Finally, we got rid of you. My grandson and my daughter-in-law can finally marry." Next to my mother-in-law was Jessie Charles, the girl next door, and a little boy.

Ang boyfriend ko ay forensic doctor. Nakidnap ako at may nakadikit na bomba—meron na lamang sampung minuto bago sumabog. Ang mga nagkidnap sa akin ay pinilit na tawagan ko ang boyfriend ko, pero napagalitan lamang ako. “Ano bang kailangan mo, Michelle? Anong pinaplano mo, ginagamit ang buhay mo bilang palusot dahil lang nagseselos ka?” “Ang pusa ni Vi ay hindi makuha mula sa puno ng tatlong araw na. Mahal niya ito na parang ang buhay nito ay buhay niya! Kung idedelay mo ako sa pagligtas dito, magiging mamamatay tao ka!” Nakarinig ako ng malanding boses sa kabilang dulo ng tawag. “Salamat para dito, Kev. Ang husay mo!” Nakilala ko ang boses na iyon—pagmamay ari ito ng childhood friend ng boyfriend ko. Tinext ko ang boyfriend ko ng sasabog na ang bomba. “Paalam habang buhay. Pinagdadasal ko na hindi na tayo magkita pang muli sa ibang buhay.”

When I opened my eyes, I found myself supposedly transmigrated to some ancient era. Every morning, before light touched the sky, someone would yank me out of bed to haul trash, chop wood, and do whatever filthiest job needed doing. Somehow, I'd become the lowest-ranked servant in the entire estate. The estate lord's son would climb onto my back and ride me around the courtyard like some pet he was proud to show off. Anyone in the household could hit me, kick me, or shove me aside, and not a single soul would speak up. Five years passed like that, so awful that I almost lost my mind, as if I were living in hell. Then one day, a group of servants cornered me. They didn't bother hiding their intention. The moment I saw their faces, I knew I was in trouble. Fists flew, boots landed, and everything blurred. Just before I passed out, I heard them whispering, "We're going to kill him if we keep this up." "Come on. This place only looks like some old noble estate. It's not an actual one. If he dies here, we're the ones who'll get dragged to court!" "Relax. Ms. Shaw will handle it. The idiot pissed off her childhood sweetheart. Getting tricked into this place is exactly what he deserves." Fear swallowed everything, and the world went dark. When I woke again, the lady of the house had conveniently "returned from visiting her family." The lord threw a grand celebration with tables full of food, wine flowing, and musicians playing like nothing had happened. I carried dishes into the banquet hall and lifted my head. Her face was the same as my wife's, Melissa Shaw. I set the final dish down, stepped closer, and in a voice only she could hear, asked, "Ma'am… are you enjoying your little game?"

Our third wedding anniversary was coming up, but my wife, a programmer at a major tech company, suddenly claimed she had to work overtime to meet deadlines. She said she couldn't go on the trip we'd planned. That very afternoon, however, her intern posted a video on social media. My wife—the same woman who normally wouldn't even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure—was holding a screwdriver, repairing an old flip phone. The caption read: [Having a programmer wife is the best. Even when Grandma's phone breaks, we don't need to pay for repairs.] I chuckled, liked the post, and commented: [Right up her alley.] Within minutes, the company group chat exploded. There were over ninety-nine unread messages speculating on when I'd finally snap. Not long after, my wife called. Her voice was ice-cold. "What was that comment supposed to mean? How is Shawn supposed to face anyone at work now? "His grandma's phone broke, so I fixed it. What's the problem? Your parents have always spoiled you. You can't possibly understand real hardship. "Delete the comment. I'll make it up to you over the New Year; we can take that trip then." The New Year? I'd already waited through two other major public holidays. I'd even taken special leave for this trip, and she still bailed. Now she was dangling empty promises again? I hung up on her. My leave ended around the same time as our divorce cooling-off period.

My girlfriend had one of those guy friends she insisted was basically family. On a group hike, he knew I had diabetes and couldn't eat anything high in sugar, but he still coaxed me into eating a high-sugar energy bar, and my blood sugar spiked almost instantly. When I pulled out my insulin to inject, panic shot through me. My medication had been switched out for saline. I collapsed to the ground, shaking and retching. The fake nice-guy just looked down at me with a smug twist of his mouth. "Seriously, man? You're being dramatic. It's just a little sugar. Good thing I told Selene to swap your meds, or we'd never know how far you'd go to fake it. With a body this weak, how are you supposed to protect Selene?" I turned to my girlfriend, my breathing already turning shallow. "Selene, give me my insulin. If I don't inject it right now, I'm going to die." She frowned as if I were the one being unreasonable. "You're overacting. I've never heard of someone dying from a bit of sugar. Adrian's right. You're always looking for attention. Everyone finally got together today, and you're here ruining it." I felt everything inside me go cold. I didn't even bother arguing anymore. I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and rasped, "Mom, your son's about to get bullied to death. Are you going to step in or not?"