Yes Good

Bagaimana jadi nya jika Zahira diajak kembali menikah oleh mantan suami nya Zayyan yang sudah menalak tiga Zahira , tentu dalam hukum agama Zahira harus menikah terlebih dahulu dengan laki-laki lain. Namun siapa sangka Zahira yang menikah dengan Adnan yang awalnya Zahira niatkan agar bisa kembali pada mantan suami nya itu justru malah bisa meluluhkan hati Zahira. Zahira malah jatuh cinta pada Adnan dan mengurungkan niat nya rujuk dengan mantan suami nya Zayyan , namun Zayyan tak terima ia bertekad untuk menghancurkan rumah tangga Zahira dan Adnan , akan Zayyan rebut kembali Zahira dari Adnan .

Sebagai seorang istri, Ana tak pernah menuntut gaji suaminya, Arya, karena gaji suaminya sudah habis dipotong cicilan hutang bank. Ana pun diam-diam membantu tugas Arya memenuhi kebutuhan rumah tangga mereka, bahkan kebutuhan mertua serta adik iparnya dengan penghasilannya sebagai seorang penulis novel online. Sebagai seorang penulis novel yang cukup produktif berkarya, penghasilan Ana memang cukup besar yang semua itu dipergunakan untuk memenuhi kebutuhan hidup mereka. Sayang, Arya yang tak tahu pekerjaan dan bantuan keuangan dari istrinya itu menganggap bahwa gajinya masih banyak sehingga diam-diam ia pun ingin menikah lagi. Perbuatannya itu tentu saja membuat Ana yang selama ini tulis ikhlas membantu suaminya menjadi marah dan tak mau lagi menanggung biaya rumah tangga mereka, juga biaya hidup ibu dan adiknya sehingga akhirnya Arya sadar dan menyesal.

Five years and a divorce paper in my hand before I realized that I invested my time, effort and devotion to the wrong man. Trapped in a corner with nothing left to my name, I was willing to bargain with my ex-husband for my daughter’s sake. But then, a savior, my husband’s new boss came to rescue me from the financial quagmire I was in. He helped me recover what I lost: my dignity, pride and most importantly, he gave me hope. I thought he was the perfect man. But the illusion shattered when his motives came to bite me in the face. He was in this for revenge, and his target was me.

Having an Awakenist as my wife meant enduring her monkish attitude toward sex. We could only be intimate on the sixteenth of every month. Every detail—my position, rhythm, even my expression—had to follow her rigid rules. If I showed too much pleasure, she would immediately rise and leave. We had been married for five years. Was I ever tired of this? Yes. Still, I always gave in. I accepted these limitations because I loved her. "The Saintess loves me too," I told myself. That faith shattered the day I was sent to extinguish a hotel fire. Amid the flames, I found my wife pressed close to a man in disheveled clothes. Between their arms was a young boy.

WARNING! BUKU INI PENUH ADEGAN DEWASA! BIJAKLAH DALAM MEMILIH BACAAN! TIDAK UNTUK BAHAN OLOKAN PORNOGRAPHY. Mengisahkan seorang laki-laki bernama Steven Alessio. Dia terjebak pada seorang wanita yang baru dikenalnya hingga mengakibatkan terjadinya pembunuhan pada istrinya. Saat Steven hendak membalas dendam, dirinya terjebak pada keluarga wanita tersebut hingga terbongkarnya semua kebobrokan keluarganya. Itu adalah awal merasakan; Sebuah Penyesalan. Sebuah Penyesalan apa itu?

Setelah perceraian Gibran dan Alya. Ratna baru tahu jika mantan menantunya itu adalah putri konglomerat. Menyesal, tidak ada gunanya, bukan hanya Ratna yang menyesal, tetapi Gibran pun demikian. Wanita yang selama ini mereka hina dan rendahkan, perlahan akan menghancurkan Ratna maupun Gibran.

My husband, an anesthesiologist, deliberately increases the sedative dosage on an accident victim so he can get a new heart for his first love, Selena Quigley. After her operation, he cares for her and celebrates her rebirth. He only remembers to contact me after she's recovered. "It's been three months since we saw each other, honey. You shouldn't be mad anymore, right? Why don't you book a flight for tomorrow so you can come home? I'll pick you up at the airport." I won't be going home anymore, though. Not now, not forever. I've already died on his operating table.

By the third year of my marriage to Daniel Hawthorne, the war had already taken more than it ever returned, and this time it took his younger brother, Thomas Hawthorne. My sister-in-law, Eleanor, collapsed, and in the weeks that followed she tried to follow her husband into death— once with sleeping pills, once by the river beyond the officers’ quarters— only to be dragged back both times, each time clinging to me afterward as though I were the last thing keeping her grounded. I stayed with her, wiped her tears, and whispered that Thomas would want her to live, until the day she received the test results confirming she was three months pregnant, and the grief of losing her husband was slowly softened by the arrival of new life. I smiled too, believing grief had finally loosened its grip. That night, holding my own pregnancy test in my hand and thinking it was finally time to tell Daniel, I passed the study and heard his friend say quietly, “She’s carrying your child. You convinced the doctors to adjust the timeline so everyone would believe the baby belonged to your brother. Aren’t you afraid Margaret will find out?” Daniel didn’t hesitate. “She won’t,” he said calmly. “She loves me. She wouldn’t leave. I won’t let her know.” I didn’t step inside. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I opened the letter I had received weeks earlier— an official deployment order from the international medical corps, assigning me to a frontline war zone— and tapped Accept.

On our wedding day, Carter Hall's father took his own life in our new home. He left a suicide note, blaming me for his death. From that day forward, Carter despised me to the core. He said, "Lindsey Thomson, you deserve to rot in hell, atoning for your sins for the rest of your life." Eventually, just as he wished, I wandered the streets, mute and half-insane, living a life worse than a stray dog. But then, he regretted it.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."