Yerno Abandonado Novels & Stories

Just as I was about to retort, a cold, low voice sounded from behind me. "If you don’t like it, throw it outside. My house doesn’t take in trash."

I was packing my hospital bag, weighed down by my belly, when I noticed a note sitting on the table. 'Babe, there's a planetary alignment that only happens once every 77 years and I just got pulled through a time portal. Don't miss me. See you when I see you.' The bag slipped from my hands and hit the floor. My husband, Jasper Wynn, had snuck off again behind my back, abandoning his wife who was days away from giving birth. In our three years of marriage, the excuses he came up with were getting more and more ridiculous than the last.

His gaze now hollow, he stared at the horizon, where our dark home was. Gerard, the coward with a history of sins, no longer possessed the courage to step into the house known as our home. The cityscape beneath Gerard's feet was starting to go blurry in his eyes. He could never figure out what meaning was there for him to live his life out in such a groggy and muddled state. So, he began laughing like a madman. "Oh, Gerard Frost… You thought you were smart, didn't you? At the end of the day, you're nothing but a pathetic joke! Your family is all gone now, thanks to the woman you trusted the most!

He could dream on. He was never getting out in this life. Perhaps, he won't even live out his life. I closed my phone, grabbed my suitcase, and left for the airport without looking back. I would never return to this city ever again, in this life.

Liana’s voice echoed through the house, her screams growing louder as she searched for Rich. The maids and butler, sensing the storm brewing, retreated to the shadows, avoiding her path like seasoned sailors avoiding a tempest. Rich, hearing the escalating chaos, plugged in his noise-cancelling air pods, attempting to create a bubble of silence within the storm. He picked up his phone, his fingers moving on their own accord, dialling Megan’s number. “The number you are calling is no longer in service,” the automated voice announced, its monotone a stark reminder of the finality of their separation.

Nora P.O.V The abandoned building was nothing more than a skeletal remnant of its past, a place where time had stripped away every ounce of dignity. Its shattered windows allowed the cold night air to seep in, carrying the distant sounds of the city. Graffiti covered the crumbling walls, years of layered tags creating a chaotic tapestry of colors and messages that no one would ever bother to decipher. Dust drifted lazily through the air, catching in the dim moonlight that filtered through the broken ceiling, giving the space an eerie, almost dreamlike quality.

On the fourth night, I waited until 11 PM before finally giving up and turning off the light. The house felt emptier without him. The silence pressed in from every corner. No footsteps on the stairs. No sound of his briefcase hitting the kitchen counter. No calls. No text messages. Nothing. On the fifth night, I gave up pretending. I went downstairs, turned on the TV, and clicked on one of my favorite movies on N*****x. I poured myself a bowl of popcorn and settled into the couch, determined to stop waiting for someone who clearly wasn’t coming back.

We were in the fucking Hollow Glen! Why didn't I realize it sooner! Before I could command the warriors who were following us—thank goodness, they hadn't crossed the line yet—the ground trembled. A crack split the silence beneath us. Warriors shouted and horses screamed. The ridge buckled and the ground under us collapsed. Fuck! "Move!" Lucien bellowed, spurring his horse. I looked back at the warriors. "RETREAT! AMBUSH—" I barely finished the word before the ground rumbled beneath me. A strangled cry tore from my throat as I slipped.

It wasn't until much later that I found out most of that money had gone straight to Derek and Chloe. I looked down at her hand on my arm. "Let go." She wouldn't. Tears kept falling. "Ryan, you can't do this. You're my flesh and blood—" I laughed. Flesh and blood? Then why had that flesh and blood spent its childhood sleeping in a space under the stairs, eating other people's leftovers, and nearly dying of a fever alone in an empty house? "Mom. You keep saying I'm your flesh and blood. Then tell me — how many ribs does a person have?"

I opened it to see a string of messages. March 13th: [Where are you? Stop playing these disappearing games.] April 21st: [Get back here immediately. Miriam's baby is kicking frequently. She needs your blood.] June 25th: [My patience is limited. I'm giving you three days to crawl back here, or you'll never set foot in the Thornes' residence again.] The final text was from June 28th at 11:59 PM. [Celeste, don't regret this.]