What Become Of A Broken Heart Novels & Stories

The letter had cracked open the fortress I had built around my heart, and now I was left standing in the rubble, unsure of what to do next. I knew I couldn’t make any decisions right now. I needed to clear my head, to find some distance from the storm of emotions raging inside me. I needed to talk to someone—someone who wasn’t Ethan, someone who knew me well enough to help me make sense of it all. The thought filled me with dread, but I knew I couldn’t keep this from Lily. I had to be honest with her, to share what I had learned. If we were going to find a way forward, we needed to do it together.

It was the divorce agreement signed by Zach. He left just four words. "I'm sorry. Take care." I heard that after he signed the papers, he completely broke down and needed sedation. He'd wake up crying, shouting both Shawn's name and mine, before spiraling into madness, only to be sedated again. After a ton of painful surgeries, Zach finally wrapped up his treatment for the acid burns, and the Sorensens sent him to a psychiatric hospital. I ran into him again later. By then, I had started a new chapter in my life and had a lovely, well-behaved daughter. I took my daughter to visit Shawn's grave, and she was holding lilies.

Roland barked. I burst into uncontrollable tears as my knees fell to the ground immediately. I wouldn't let him go like that. I loved him with all my heart and begging for his love in front of everyone is the least I can do to prove it. What would happen to me then? My life was already screwed from being born as an Omega, what would I do without him. "Psst.....Shameless woman" I heard someone say. I shot a dirty glance to the direction the sound came from and ignored it. Ladies were already gossiping and whispering in low tunes.

The realization that he might never be able to mend what he had broken was a torment all its own. The darkness enveloped Carver was more than just the absence of light. It was the darkness of a soul lost, a heart broken by its own actions. As night fell, he was left alone with his thoughts, a man haunted by the echoes of a love lost and a trust shattered beyond repair.

In the night's silence, behind my closed eyelids, so many scenarios play out in which I don’t find myself dead inside. The endless possibilities prevent me from getting any of the sleep that I hope for. Lack of sleep further perpetuates my discomfort at the appointment. Everything’s worse when I’m exhausted. And, believe me, I don’t need it to be any worse than it already is. Compounding the hurt further breaks my heart. Before that fateful night, I thought heartbreak could only come from a break up. I thought that all heartbreak was the same. I didn’t realize that sometimes, the heart continues to crack and fracture, little pieces falling away with each passing day.

How was that even possible when they hadn’t found a body? They went on and on, displaying grief they never felt, while I grappled with the lengths they were willing to go just to erase me. My brakes had failed. And now that I thought about it, my Jeep had been in perfect condition—even though I barely used it. How could the brakes have suddenly stopped working? And why were they so quick to declare me dead? I thought I had known heartbreak before. But this—this shredded my heart completely, setting it ablaze with red-hot pain. Wounds that nothing could heal except vengeance.

He then furiously beat Flora until she miscarried. After being taken to the hospital, Flora died not long after. Thereafter, Adrian lost both his pup and his mate and suffered a tremendous psychological and emotional blow. He was soon imprisoned in the pack's jail for intentional homicide. Meanwhile, life for Blaise and me became increasingly fulfilling. I gradually healed from my past wounds, and together with Blaise, we nurtured many pups. In fact, we became the happy couple that everyone admired.

I couldn't find a single word to say. Hearing my quiet sobs, Diego's tone softened. "Hey, why are you crying? The principal position is gone, but there's still a place for you here. Just come back." Listening to his reassurance, my tears flowed even harder. Five years ago, I played Chopin's "The Farewell Waltz" in this piano shop. I never imagined that the sadness in the music would someday mirror my heartbreak, as if everything had been destined. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my lawyer. "Ms. Tucker, your divorce documents are ready and have been sent to your email. Please check them at your convenience."

Would always. The realization followed me to bed, so I buried my face into my pillow and I cried. Cried as I hadn’t done for eight years. Cried as though my heart had been broken all over again, because it had. Because the band-aids I’d used to tape it all back together were coming unglued. You couldn’t mend a broken heart with band-aids. A doctor should know better. So, I cried. I cried and cried and cried, because my broken heart had come apart at its band-aided seams. And when the tears ran out, I lay, hollow and empty, in bed to watch the sun rise through the pale curtains.

It did click when I was already halfway to her house, and, at this point, I did not feel like turning back. The last time I’d given my heart to someone, she had broken me in ways I couldn’t fathom going through again. But who wanted to be healed? One thing was certain: women loved broken men and were inevitably attracted to them. They hoped for the impossible—changing them. But the change in a broken person was rare, and I was beyond repair. The word 'broken' for me was like a chronic disease that was slowly yet painfully consuming me. No one. Not even Joy could do anything to make it better, I was sure. Yet, I was running towards her.