Widow Novels & Stories

Laura quickly accepted the white oversized hoodie and draped it over her head so that it looked like a veil of some sort before turning to him. "We can't get married for real because marrying the dead is frowned upon but if you don't mind, we can exchange vows here and now. At the very least, we can be husband and wife for however long I have left before returning to the light." Tynan found it incredibly difficult to hold back tears and he might have let one or two slip past his defences as he searched up the wedding vows. The crappy hoodie didn't do her beauty any justice and Tynan wished he could afford something better than that. Nevertheless, they exchanged vows that night despite missin

Xander Pov Miracle. I never thought can happen in my fucked up life. Sometimes I used to think that I was born to feel one-sided desperation. One-sided feelings. One-sided care. But indeed miracles happen. Like she happened. My beautiful wife happened to me. The woman I didn't have the slightest idea of before now has become a part of my soul. Without her the only thing I could feel is emptiness. I wish I would have met her before. I wish I had looked at her more than just Mrs. Stone before.

CHAPTER 108: THE WIDOW’S SOVEREIGN The "Lagos-grit" had taught me that a widow isn't just a woman who has lost a husband; she is a woman who has been forced to become her own shield, her own sword, and her own judge.

Leaving the one he got married to widowed . The stereotype for widows isn’t that great in the society. How will she cope after I am gone, Hmmm, What if I have kids? They would become orphans and would not have fatherly love and care they deserve! And she will have to be a single mother joined! Men rarely give the same privilege to marrying again ladies especially the one with kids. No, I don’t want that... Which is why is better I don’t get married and put someone daughter into trouble .

Chapter 15: The Widow’s Second Wedding "White is for the innocent, Bianca. You’re wearing the blood I spilled for you." Dante’s voice rumbled behind me as the seamstress tightened the corset. I stared at my reflection. The dress wasn't the virginal silk my father would have chosen. It was a heavy, structured ivory that caught the light like polished bone, but the underskirt was a deep, bruised crimson. Every time I moved, a flash of red peeked out—a secret wound trailing behind me.

Chapter 3-The Widow’s refusal Marriage. The word echoed through her ears and mind. It didn’t make any sense. She was still in mourning. According to psychologists, widows tend to suffer a small stage of delirium through their grief. Victoria posed what she just heard as that—her mind playing games with her. “Toria.” Her mother muttered from behind her, “It’s for the best. Marrying Vincent is for— “Marriage?” She cut her off, “This isn’t a joke?!”

The person he waited for never came. He possessed everything yet spent his entire life without a wife or a pup. His greatest regret wasn't faking his death or the deception. It was pushing away the person who truly loved him and watching helplessly as she lived a life without him in it.

He lifted her into his arms, and the frail woman clung to him with all her strength. "I love you, Jared. I love you," she confessed with great pain. "I've always been in love with you, but... this wedding not only ruined my life, but it consumes me. This marriage consumes me, it eats away at me and extinguishes everything in me. Sometimes I think Robert is crazy, and other times I think it's me who's crazy, or both of us. I feel like... my soul is fading with every passing second, as if he were capable of doing that. Who did I marry? Why does he hate me? What did I do to him? How far will this go? I know I'm not in a position to confess that I'm in love with you right now; you're his best fr

Domenik moved—closer, never touching, but every inch of him a barrier. “She’s not leaving with you.” The Widow tilted her head. “I never asked her to.” She leaned in, low enough for only Eirwen to hear: “Find me when you’re tired of letting men decide your price.” Then, louder, almost bored: “Run.” A crack split the stairwell. Gas hissed again. The Widow turned and was gone—slipping into the storm, a ghost made real by reputation alone. Chaos crashed back in. Boots. Orders. Guns primed for war.

With tears welling up in his eyes, my son, Luke, said, "Can I spend my final birthday with Mommy before we leave? It's my fifth birthday. Mommy promised she'll celebrate with me." My heart broke into a million pieces listening to his plea. "Alright, we'll spend your fifth birthday with Aunt Stella, then we'll go." After tucking Luke into bed, I opened the drawers and took out Sarah Grant's death certificate. This year was our sixth year of marriage. I never expected it to end with me becoming a so-called widower. I did not even have to sign any divorce papers.