Emotional Realism Short Stories & Novels

I was the one who first spotted the pimple on my husband Ryan Bennett's back. It was plump, red, and swollen, topped with a whitehead that looked ready to burst at any moment. I rubbed my hands together in excitement and told him not to move. Once the extraction tool I'd ordered arrived, I was going to perform a little "operation" on it. He laughed and said sure, adding that he loved this weird little hobby of mine. Two days later, he came back from his business trip. I rushed over with my brand-new "surgical instruments," only to find that patch of skin smooth and clear, with nothing left but a faint red mark. My heart deflated just like that pimple. Someone had beaten me to it.

The year my parents "divorced," I was twelve. My twin sister, Lily Reed, and I were split up between them. Lily left for California with our mother, Rachel Reed. I moved with our father, Grant Reed, into a moldy basement in Newark. Dad got hooked on gambling and buried himself in debt. Every day after school I washed dishes at a restaurant, and even my free school lunch had to be split into two meals. Six years later, Lily sent me a link out of nowhere. "Here's an eighteenth birthday present for you, sis." It was a paid livestreaming platform for the rich. The hottest stream on the homepage was called "Raised Poor vs. Raised Rich: Which Child Turns Out Better?" The screen was split in two. On the left, I sat in the leaky basement, doing homework by a broken desk lamp. On the right, my parents sat with their arms around Lily on the couch of a mansion in Alpine, cutting into a birthday cake. [The sister still has no idea, right? Her parents never divorced.] [The gambling debts and debt collectors are fake too. It's all for the show.] Lily looked into the camera and smiled sweetly. "See, sis?" "This is our real home."

When the kiss cam swept across the stands at the baseball stadium Warren Doyle, a married investor in the league, had his arms around his PR director and was kissing her. The two of them went up on the jumbotron, and the crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. Warren stormed into the camera bay and demanded I hand over my camera. I told him the camera pointed wherever the control room told it to. He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly let go and let me leave. I thought that was the end of it. The next day, audio from the crew channel shot to the top of the news feeds, with nothing left in it but two ambiguous lines from me. "Camera locked on row seven. Keep rolling. Don't cut." Overnight I became the shameless camera operator who'd filmed them on purpose. I was suspended from my job, my father's food cart was trashed, and Warren sued me for a million dollars. But he didn't know that the recording he was using to convict me could only ever convict him.

After I started college, my mother announced that she would be giving me my living expenses in installments. "Hank, you're grown up now. To teach you how to manage your money, I've decided to give you your living expenses in installments." At first, I assumed she meant she would send my allowance once a month. At worst, maybe once a week. But on the day I checked in, she walked around the cafeteria, then transferred $6.80 to my bank account. I stared at her in confusion. "Mom, you sent the wrong amount." She shook her head with a smile. "Silly boy, that's your lunch money for today. I already picked out the cheapest meal for you. Just get the set lunch from that place. From now on, you can apply to me for the cost of each meal based on this amount." I was completely stunned. So when she said "installments," she did not mean monthly or even weekly. She meant every single meal. But by the third day, I was standing at the breakfast counter, struggling to come up with the $1.50 I needed for an egg. When I asked my mother for money, she refused. Instead, she simply said, "I paid for your brother's house in full yesterday. I don't have any extra cash on hand right now. Missing one meal won't kill you, will it?" The cafeteria lady looked at me with surprise and pity. That look burned a hole straight through my already fragile pride. That day, I held the egg the lady had given me and searched for a part-time job. Yet, when I no longer needed my mother, she was the one who panicked.

When I was fifteen, my father brought home the daughter of the man who had once saved his life. He told me, "Stella, Hazel is your sister now. You need to be more understanding with her." From that day on, everything I had became something my father could freely give to Hazel. I cried and asked him if he no longer loved me. But he stroked my head and reassured me, "I am only doing this to repay a debt. Don't worry. I'll leave all my assets and the company to you." It was not until I graduated from college that I happened to overhear Hazel sweet-talking my father. "Dad, I like Julian. Could you get Stella to break off her engagement with him and let me have him? "Besides, Stella didn't study business management in college. Why don't you let me join the company and help out? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders." I clenched my fists, anger churning in my chest. For all these years, I had given in to her again and again. And now she wanted to take not only my fiance, but my inheritance as well?

Jodie Stafford, the wealthiest heiress in Jensford, suffers a horrific car crash that leaves her paralyzed from the waist down, jeopardizing her claim to Stafford Corp. When the news reaches home, my adopted brother, Liam Gordon, drops to his knees in the living room and begs me to take his place in the arranged marriage. Holding my glass of water, I sneer as I take a step back. "Back then, you looked down on me—the real heir you brought back from the countryside—saying I was too uncultured to be presentable, so you forced the marriage alliance with the Stafford family on Liam instead. "Now that Ms. Stafford is paralyzed and a liability, you want me to take his place? Not a chance in hell!" As soon as I say that, my girlfriend, Vivian Collins, enters the room. She rushes to shield Liam and throws me a look of pure disgust. "Don't forget your place, Hank. That marriage alliance was yours to begin with. This is just setting things right. "We're done. I'm getting engaged to Liam tomorrow. Once the press gets wind of it, you'll be the only Gordon left to marry Ms. Stafford." I stare at the woman I grew up with, stunned by the sheer absurdity of it all. "The Staffords asked for the publicly recognized heir. I haven't even been legally registered as part of the family. You think they're stupid enough to accept a nobody?" Just then, my biological parents come down the stairs with cold expressions and toss a stack of legal documents in front of me. "As of tomorrow, your status is official. Liam has a bright future ahead of him. He's not wasting it tied to a cripple. Do your duty as a Gordon, marry Ms. Stafford, and enjoy life as their son-in-law." A harsh laugh escapes me as the last bit of warmth inside me dies. "Fine. I'll do it. Just don't come begging for me to come back later!"

I have always been a stickler for the rules. In elementary school, our class holds an election for class president. The teacher ignores the vote and appoints the principal's son instead. I follow the school's rule that whoever receives the majority vote should win, gather all 42 students, and take the election straight to the principal's office to redo the vote. When I grow up and start working, my boss hands me a thousand-dollar expense receipt and orders me to file a ten-thousand-dollar reimbursement claim. I refuse, as it violates company policy. The manager laughs. "Here, whatever the boss says goes. Learn to bend when you can, or the company may decide it needs someone more obedient." I nod, write down my boss' exact words in the approval section, and forward the invoice to the tax authorities. "This is a new company policy. It's not my call. I'm sure you can decide whether it passes inspection." After that, no one ever asks me to break the rules again—not until the Sylvester family finds me, 25 years after I've gone missing. On the day I'm to be officially acknowledged as their biological son, I discover something strange in the family records. Among my parents' children, the adopted son who has taken my place is listed above me. "The day Mom and Dad adopted me, they added my name to the family records," Cameron Sylvester explains casually. "It'd be a hassle to change it now. You're not going to make an issue out of this, are you?" I look at him without an ounce of humor on my face. "What exactly are you asking me not to make an issue of? That your name is listed above mine so you can keep calling yourself my older brother, or that you have no intention of returning everything that belongs to me?" Cameron's smile stiffens. Dad frowns. "It's just an order of names. Do you really think we'd cheat you out of your inheritance?" I raise my eyes to him. "So, am I to understand that my parents know perfectly well that our family charter says the eldest legitimate son inherits the family business, yet they still intend to hand the right of succession to an outsider? "That'd violate the family charter. Don't you think so?"

Mom raises me and my brother, Cameron Joyner, by herself after she gets a divorce. Cameron was born with congenital asthma and has to take medication every day. Although I'm healthier, Mom treats me better than Cameron. She always says, "You're the apple of my eye, Cassie. I don't want you to feel troubled because of Cam." From the very beginning of my life, I've always been number one in Mom's heart. However, the year I turn 15, Cameron suddenly disappears. Mom completely changes after he goes missing.

I have a congenital heart defect, and the doctors say I won't make it past 18. When I am ten, my parents bring home a blind child, saying she is my twin sister, Everly Wallace. My family spoils me rotten, but they treat Everly like a ghost. Everyone says Everly exists only to give me her heart. I try so hard to be good to this sister who shares my face, desperate to ease my guilt. When I reach 18, I lie on the operating table. Except they don't take my heart. They take my corneas. I die after that, while Everly finally sees the light.

In the sponsorship group chat, I notice someone has used their aid money to buy the latest LV handbag. I send a friendly reminder in the group chat, saying, "Please use the financial aid for your studies and avoid unnecessary spending just to keep up with others." Ella Lowe, the campus belle, immediately makes a post online to attack me. "He's sponsoring all these poor students because he wants to find a sugar baby! He's only doing it because he wants our bodies!" I am left stunned. For the past five years, I have never interfered with their personal lives and simply tried to help students who can't afford an education. Yet these indignant university students actually report me to the Charity Federation. I have helped dozens of students in the group chat, yet none of them steps up to defend me. The moment I receive the formal notice to investigate my motives, I instantly drop a statement in the group chat. "I'm withdrawing all sponsorships effective immediately in order to avoid any suspicion and prove my innocence." Less than ten minutes after sending the message, the group chat erupts into full-blown panic.

On New Year's Eve, my little brother begs me to play hide-and-seek with him. The moment I cover my eyes and count to 30, the "eraser" in my mind starts moving again. I stand frozen for a few seconds, then turn around, go back inside, and start watching TV. An hour later, Mom crouches down in front of me. "Sweetheart, where's your little brother?" Little brother? I blink, confused. "I don't have a little brother…" Her expression drops instantly. Leaving the New Year's Eve dinner untouched, everyone surges out into the heavy snow. But no matter how hard we search, we can't find my brother. Mom raises her hand and slaps me hard across the face. Her eyes bloodshot. "Didn't I tell you to keep your brother company? Didn't I tell you not to let him out of your sight?" she screams. "Where is he now? Which way did he go? Answer me!" I'm shoved to the ground, tumbling into the snow and ice. "Why couldn't it have been you who got lost, you idiot? It's not like you can remember a single thing anyway! "You forgot your brother this time. What's next? Are you going to forget your father and me, too?" Mom lunges forward, wanting to strike me again, but Dad grabs her and holds her back. They won't stop crying, and my heart aches alongside them. She's right. Why couldn't it have been me, the idiot, who got lost instead?

My name is Jacob Brewer, and I'm the oldest child in my family. Both my parents are top graduates from elite colleges. My younger sister, Willow Brewer, is in third grade and gets perfect scores in every subject. My little brother, Ivan Brewer, has only just learned to talk, yet he can already recite the periodic table from memory. And then there's me, forever scraping by with barely passing grades. So when Willow cashes in her perfect grades for a family trip to Serova over the Christmas holiday, I volunteer to stay home. "I'll stay behind and take care of Grandma since she's paralyzed." Mom hesitates, but Dad simply turns to me and says coldly, "Fine by me. Being a good son might be the only thing you've got going for you anyway." I force the bitterness down and nod resolutely. I know this is already the highest praise they can give me. Being a good son is the only thing that gives me a place in this family. But I never expected that, right after my parents leave, Grandma dies unexpectedly while she's in my care. Then, moments later, I hear my parents' car crash through the phone. As I stare at Grandma's lifeless body on the bed and listen to the crash through the phone, I decide the useless me might as well go with them. Only later do I learn that the crash was nothing but a recording Dad had prepared for me, just to test whether my devotion to my family is genuine. And in the end, I give him my answer with my life.

My mother, Sophie Nash, was also my homeroom teacher, and she loved nothing more than using me to assert her authority. She was convinced that the worse off I was, the more afraid my classmates would be, and the higher her authority would be. Once, when I passed an eraser to a classmate during class, she slapped me so hard across the face in front of the whole class that my face swelled up. Another time, after I secretly ate a crumb of a classmate’s snack during recess, my mom dragged me up to the front of the classroom and pricked my lip with a needle until blood gushed out. Later, when a classmate was caught by the vice principal for having a romantic relationship while underaged, my mom flat-out claimed it was me. Without a word of explanation, she dragged me into the hallway and stripped me naked. She then went to the vice principal’s office while laughing along. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lennon. It’s my fault for not raising Stella Nash properly. Rest assured, I’ll make sure to punish her severely this time!” The vice principal had furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by Stella Nash? This isn’t the student involved in the early romance.” Sophie paused for a moment. Then, she said nonchalantly, “Oh, never mind. Let’s just make an example of her. “Stella gets into trouble all the time anyway. She can handle one more punishment.” She did not know that every time she struck me, I secretly deducted one point in my mind. Just a moment ago, I had already accumulated 100 points. Without hesitation, I leaped out the window of the sixth-floor hallway. ‘Mom, is asserting authority through death enough?’ I thought.

After the SAT, the five of us childhood friends got together and played a game to test how well we knew each other. In the first round, my best friend, Millie Thyme, asked, “If one of us was stranded in the countryside in the middle of the night, who would you rescue first?” The three boys, all of whom others had teased to be my future husbands since we were kids, wrote her name without hesitation. Someone joked that they had read each other’s minds. Millie’s face turned red as she explained, “Maybe because I’m the biggest scaredy-cat. Hailey is so capable. She wouldn’t need anyone to rescue her.” They all nodded in agreement. However, they had forgotten that when I was stranded in the mountains at 16, they were the ones who braved a torrential downpour to find me, then fought over who would carry me down the mountain. Back then, they told me, “No matter what happens, we’ll always choose you first.” In the second round, it was my turn to ask a question. I looked at them and smiled as I read the card aloud, “If only four of the five of us could go to college together, who would you leave behind?” The room instantly went quiet. Millie bit her lip and was the first to flip over her answer board. Her own name was written on it. However, when the other three boards were revealed, every single one had my name on it. Marcus Hayes, the one who had always cared about me the most, said first, “It’s just a game. You won't actually take this seriously, will you?” Ryan quickly chimed in, “Millie isn’t in the best of health. She can’t handle going to some unfamiliar city by herself.” Julian gently ruffled my hair, his voice as warm as ever. “You’re applying to a college here anyway, so you'd be coming home every day anyway. It’s not like we’d actually be leaving you behind.” I stared at the four answer boards and suddenly smiled. What they did not know was that I never even applied to the local college they thought I would be attending…

When my parents divorced, they agreed that my sister and I would each live with one of them for a year, then switch. Every September, we traded houses. One daughter with Mom for the school year, the other with Dad. But every handoff turned into a fight over my younger sister, Quinn. "Quinn, come away with Mom for fall break." Dad frowned. "She's with me this year. Stop interfering." Mom's smile went thin. "Last year I had a business trip and left her with you for seventeen days. I want those days back." "It wasn't a full seventeen days. It was sixteen days and eight hours." Quinn sighed sweetly. "If only I could split myself in half." They argued for a long time, and in the end they each gave a little. They would both take Quinn to Seabreeze Island for fall break. Quinn asked, curious, "What about Gwen?" Dad looked away. "She isn't mine this year anyway." Mom, who hadn't looked me in the eye once since walking in, finally turned my way. "Work is busy this year. I don't want to be raising a kid. Go stay with your grandparents."

On the day of my wedding anniversary, I receive a strange photo from a friend back home. "Why is your wife working at a nightclub?" his message reads. In the photo he sent, my wife, Gwendolyn Shaw, is wearing a tight-fitting skirt. She looks utterly miserable as a group of men forces alcohol down her throat. I am the richest man in Shenton City. So why on earth is my wife entertaining men for money at a nightclub? Before I can question her about it, she sends me a selfie from a hospital checkup. "It's been three whole years since you left the country, honey. I miss you so much…" I stare at the photo in disbelief. My beautiful wife has shaved her head. Her skin is dry and sallow, and she's draped in a filthy black trash bag. I rub my eyes again and again, unable to believe that this is what has become of my beautiful, elegant wife. I've always encouraged Gwen to be frugal, but surely she didn't need to go to such lengths to save money? Shocked, I immediately book the earliest flight back home. The moment I arrive at the airport, my father's adopted daughter, Peyton Young, comes to pick me up. She's all decked out in designer clothes and lavish jewelry. But the instant she opens her arms to hug me, I freeze. The limited-edition watch on her wrist is worth millions—and it's the exact watch I gave Gwen as a birthday present last year.

"For Kate's year-end bonus this year, let's just give her 500 dollars to keep up appearances." My boss' nonchalant conversation with the accountant drifts through the half-closed break room door. "500 dollars? But Mr. Ribeiro, she's our top salesperson this year," the accountant reminds Rupert Ribeiro cautiously. "The new guy, Carter Stevens, just closed a small deal, and you just approved a 5,000-dollar bonus for him…" Rupert scoffs. "You don't get it. Carter's a man—a rising star. You have to throw money at him to bring out his killer instinct. "As for Kate, she's a 40-year-old woman. She's old. Even if she leaves us, who's going to want her? Giving her 500 dollars is already doing her a favor. In fact, she should thank me for even giving her a paycheck." My fingers tighten around my coffee mug until my knuckles turn white. As it turns out, my relentless hustle is nothing more than a cheap commodity to them. When I get back to my desk, I find Carter kicked back in his chair, legs crossed and absorbed in a mobile game. The moment he sees me walk in, he pushes a stack of documents toward me. "Kate, Mr. Ribeiro wants you to review this contract for me. We men are careless. This kind of detail-oriented work is best left to the women." Looking at his smug face, I pull out my phone and call the recruiter from a rival company. "That offer with triple my current salary? I'll take it. And one more thing. My five biggest clients have already made their stance clear—wherever I go, their business goes with me." After I hang up, I look Carter straight in the eye and calmly push the stack of documents back toward him. "I'll leave this kind of detail-oriented work for the pillars of the company to tackle. Take your time." Without me, let's just see how long it takes before this company comes crashing down.

My mother-in-law, Matilda Holmes, is celebrating her 60th birthday today. My husband, Joshua Allen, insists I give a toast to his female intern, Lila Deleon. He says Lila's fresh out of college and has no one looking out for her. As his wife, I need to be the bigger person. My eyes fall on the watch circling her wrist. That 38-thousand-dollar watch was an inheritance Mom left me. I don't cry or throw a scene. Instead, I swap out all 12 high-end courses at the birthday party for takeout. Every single box comes with an IOU taped right on top. "Course one, my parents paid 80 thousand dollars for the down payment on our house." "Course two, I raised your startup capital of 50 thousand dollars by selling my wedding gifts." "Course three, that watch you gave her was my mom's inheritance." Furious, Matilda slams her hand on the table. "Shannon Lott, have you lost your damn mind?" I set the final bowl of soup right in front of her. "Calm down, Matilda. This one's called the Bloodline Ender. Finish it, and I'll call the police and report Joshua for transferring marital assets."

I've been back at the Levine residence for four months. The whole time I have been back, I'm like an invisible person whose existence is barely acknowledged. One day, I wake up and suddenly start seeing everyone's health bars above everyone's heads. The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a frog's face. I jump in fright and slap it across the face. Then, I hear my younger brother, Jacob Levine, roar furiously, "Ruthie, what the hell is wrong with you? I came to tell you breakfast is ready. Why did you hit me?" I stare blankly at the frog. The frog is glaring at me furiously. The health bar above its head has dropped by a chunk, and it looks like it's about to leap up and hit me. I rub my eyes. When I open them again, it's still the same frog face. Its mouth opens and closes as it curses at me in my brother's voice. I stare at him for three seconds before saying, "Uh… There was a mosquito on your face." The frog's face turns even greener with rage as it rages, "You kill a mosquito by giving people a slap to their faces?" I don't answer. Over his shoulder, I see Lorraine Neal standing in the doorway. She has a hideous, demonic face and protruding fangs. The health bar above her head is even shorter. My "kind and adorable" adopted sister, Thalia Levine, is peeking out from behind Lorraine. Live snakes are coiling around her neck. They're sticking their tongues out at me and hissing. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them again. Everything is still there. I sit on the bed, clutching the blanket, with only one thought running through my mind. I'm screwed… I think I've gone insane.

I am the only student in the entire nation to achieve a perfect score for my SATs this year. My high school has only just posted the list of top scorers on their notice board when the neighborhood's HOA group chat explodes in awe. "Did someone from our neighborhood just get full marks for the SATs? We're already a prestigious neighborhood close to the best high schools in town, and this news will only drive our property values up even more! We might even be able to rent for 1,500 dollars per square foot soon!" "I bet it must be one of those kids from the huge mansions. They've been attending the most elite boarding school since they were young." The HOA vice president, Karen Myers, then posts an announcement in the Emerald Green neighborhood group chat. "Reporters will be coming to interview us tomorrow. Please be mindful of your appearance." Mom digs out her old, faded shirt and looks at herself in the mirror. She smiles so hard that her forehead creases in smiling wrinkles. She awkwardly taps at her phone screen and posts in the group chat, "Thank you for your well-wishes, everyone!" One of the homeowners, Marianne Barnett, replies at once, "Isn't this Mrs. Marshall from the burrito stall? What the hell are you thanking us for?" "Yeah. Don't you feel any shame posting that? Delete that at once." Then, Karen calls us up, her tone filled with disgust. "The chairman of Bloomberg Finance will be visiting our neighborhood tomorrow to personally congratulate the top scorer. It's going to be a huge event. "But since you don't own any proper clothes other than those tattered rags, you'd better keep your filthy stall out of sight so you don't ruin our neighborhood's upscale image!" Mom hesitates. Then, she places her phone face down on the table and says nothing. I then receive a text message from Jonathan Bloomberg, the real estate tycoon who sponsored all of my studies. My finger hovers over the screen as I read his message. "Congratulations, Cathy! I'm bringing the entire board of directors to congratulate you in person tomorrow!"