Tragic Story

On their third anniversary, Finley had all their friends over to celebrate. Claire walked in to find him on one knee, proposing to his childhood friend, Renee. "What is going on?" she asked. He shrugged like it was nothing. "It's just a game of truth or dare." But it wasn't until he shoved her down the stairs, causing her to miscarry, that she finally woke up. She'd given him five chances. Now? She was done. "Finley, it's over. Let's get divorced."

"Ms. Stout, please read the requirements carefully. Once you submit your personal profile and sign up, all of your information will be sealed. You must then enter the research institute within 15 working days. Until the research results are made public, you will not be allowed to leave." The response from the National Academy of Sciences Research Institute came quickly, accompanied by a form. Shermaine Stout stared at the screen, but the mouse in her hand suddenly felt as heavy as lead. The door to her room suddenly swung open, and Shermaine blinked, quickly closing the laptop without a trace of emotion.

I found out I was pregnant at the same time as my mafia husband’s childhood sweetheart Rosa. To protect her baby from being aborted by her parents, my husband claimed her baby as his own. As for mine? He coxed me, saying he will claim only after her baby was born. I confronted him, demanding to know why he would do this to me. His response was cold and unwavering: “Claiming her baby as mine was the only way to protect them both. I won’t let anything happen to her or the child.” In that moment, as I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, I realized my love for him had died. Not long after, my family condemned me, calling me a slut for having a child without a father and pressured me into getting an abortion. Meanwhile, my husband was in another city, with his sweetheart, helping her through her pregnancy. By the time he returned, I was already gone.

On New Year's Eve, I prepare a feast. The clock strikes twelve, but my husband, Vincent Porter, still isn't home. My daughter, Lorelei Porter, tugs at my sleeve and holds up my phone. "Look Mommy, Daddy is at this lady's house!" Vincent has posted an update on Twitter. He is with Christine Snow, his childhood sweetheart. They are smiling at the camera, with a boy who looks about ten standing between them. In front of them sits a swan-shaped cake. The caption reads, "The most special day for the most special you." My heart sinks into my stomach. A marriage that came later in life can never compete with a pair of childhood sweethearts. I accept defeat.

When I had only three months left to live after taking the cursed blade meant for my husband Lucian, his first love Lily returned. When I endured the pain and prepared a dinner to commemorate our anniversary, he did not come back, he was having a steamy car session with Lily. When I went to the hospital alone to buy medicine, he was accompanying Lili for her pregnancy check-up. I pretended not to have noticed, I just silently played the role of a perfect wife, and wrote him four letters as a gift for our anniversary. After I die, he saw the gifts I left behind and went completely insane.

Celeste Lodge has been married to Terence Ford for three years. He's hated her guts the whole time. The day Winona Ford returns, he finally can't take it anymore and begins planning to fake his death so he can run away with her. "I'll fake my death in one month. I'll give up my position as heir to the Ford family and be with Winona forever." Hearing this from outside the operating room, Celeste Lodge immediately contacts a lawyer to draft divorce papers. Then, she calls her brother, Hayden Lodge, who lives abroad. "Hayden, I'm done with Terence. I'm ready to leave and live overseas with you."

"Ms. Harris, you're already six months pregnant. The baby is fully formed... Are you sure you want to go through with the abortion? The hospital strongly advises against it." The doctor said hesitatingly. Phoebe Harris instinctively placed a hand over her swollen belly. Six months. The child had grown inside her, from something no bigger than a grain of rice to the size it was now. They say a mother and her child share an unspoken bond, and she could feel it too. If she weren't utterly broken inside, what mother would ever have the heart to give up her baby who was about to enter the world? After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Phoebe took a deep breath. Then, with a resolve that left no room for doubt, she said, "I'm sure."

By our sixth year of marriage, Derrick hadn't touched me in three months. Said he was swamped at work. Always tired. After everything, I still believed him. Then on my birthday, I caught his friend talking in Garmenian—a language Derrick didn't think I understood. "You cut off the side piece yet? You were with her nonstop. Surprised you didn't drop dead. Your wife cool with that?" Derrick let out a smoke ring. "Haven't touched Audrey in months. Sabrina's insane in bed—I'm not over her yet. Sucks she got pregnant. Audrey doesn't want kids, so I gave Sabrina some cash. She'll have the baby overseas." My hands curled into fists. Silent tears streamed down my face. He glanced over, nervous. "What's wrong?" I smiled. "The cake you made is amazing. I'm really touched." It was sweet—but when you understand Garmenian, all you taste is betrayal.

After six years by Archie Valez’s side, everything changed when his uncle died—and Archie took over the family legacy… and with it, the responsibility of caring for his “young” aunt, Betty Cruz, whose age was practically the same as Archie’s. Still, whatever Betty wanted, Archie delivered. I just never thought it would include a baby. Betty said she wanted a baby with the Valez bloodline. And with the uncle gone, Archie was the only one left to do the job. So he gave her that, too. “Just wait a little longer,” he would say to me, “Sabrina. As soon as she’s pregnant.” What started as once a month turned into once a week… Then it became a nightly routine. Of almost eight months that we lived in New York, Archie went to Betty over a hundred times. And she finally got pregnant. Shortly after, the Valez family announced that Archie would be marrying Betty. “Mommy,” my daughter asked softly, climbing onto the couch beside me. Elly—our Elly. My Elly. The daughter Archie never had time for. “Is someone getting married?” I held her close and kissed her hair. “Yes, sweetheart. Daddy’s finally marrying the love of his life.” Elly blinked at the screen. “But what about us?” I smiled. “We’re going home, baby,” I whispered in her ear. Archie forgot that I was Sabrina Marcellus. And the Marcellus women didn’t beg for rings. And certainly not love after betrayal.

The night before our wedding, my fiancée let her so-called "best friend" butcher the gown my late mother had sewn, chopping it into a revealing mini dress. I rushed over with the ruined dress in my arms, ready to demand answers: only to catch their voices through the door: "Imagine him expecting me to wear something a dead woman stitched. What a curse!" Through the narrow gap, I saw my distant, frigid fiancée flushed with color, straddling his lap. "What we did at the bridal shop wasn't enough," she murmured. "Tomorrow, walking down the aisle in this tiny dress you made me, it'll be even more exhilarating." Their lips met. My hand froze against the door, and inside, something broke with a soundless crack. If she longed for thrills, I would grant her some.