Emotional

My brother, Theo Sorento, died in a plane crash on his way back home just to celebrate my birthday. They never found his body—only wreckage. Ever since, my parents forced me to kneel in front of his grave every year on my birthday, demanding that I repent for surviving when he didn’t. Then came my eighteenth birthday. I realized someone was following me. Panicked, I sent a few messages asking for help. Just then, Mom called, not to check on me but to lash out. “I know exactly what you're doing. You’re just making up excuses so you don’t have to kneel in front of your brother’s grave! You’re a liar. Why wasn’t it you who died instead of him? You’re a walking curse!” Before my phone was smashed under a boot, the last thing I heard was the cold click of her hanging up. Then, I was cut up into pieces, and what was left of me was tossed across the city. My father, the lead forensic pathologist on my case, didn’t even recognize me. Later, Theo returned alive with his wife, whom he had eloped with eight years ago. When they found out the pile of rotting flesh was me, they all went insane.

The day my mother-in-law discovered she had uterine cancer, she packed up and moved in to our home. “I don’t have much time left. I’m all out of hope!” she choked out. “You’d be cruel to kick me out. Show me some mercy!” I looked at my speechless husband, then at my beloved son I had raised with so much love and care. I asked them, "What do you guys think?" My husband silently made a grim expression and grabbed my arm. “How long are you going to hold on to that little incident that happened after Everett was born? Mom's already so sick." My son echoed his sentiment, “Grandma doesn't have much time left. Of course we have to take good care of her!" I smiled at them and said, “Alright. You guys can take care of her if you love her so much."

On Valentine’s Day, someone stabbed my mother-in-law twenty times until she died. So, I took the murderer to court. My wife was a renowned lawyer, but she decided to defend him. I confronted her in anger, but she casually replied, “Derek’s younger brother is still a college student. Can’t you be a little more forgiving? “I’ll bring Derek and his younger brother along to visit your mother’s grave. Drop the charges. Don’t let this go to trial and embarrass me when you lose the case.” Looking at the mangled corpse full of stabbing wounds, I could not help but let out a bark of laughter. It looked like she was still unaware that the corpse was actually her own mother.

In order to protect my father, I was tortured for ten hours, but my father was busy celebrating his adopted daughter’s eighteenth birthday. With my dying breath, I called my father and said, “Dad, it’s my birthday today. Could you wish me a happy birthday?” “You crazy monster! You got your mother killed in order to celebrate your birthday! How could you still ask me to celebrate your birthday? You should just die!” With that said, he hung up. The next day, my corpse was placed in different flower pots and put in front of a police station. My father was in charge of inspecting my corpse, and he could immediately tell that the murderer did this for revenge. What they did to me was cruel and made a mockery of the police’s authority. But he did not manage to tell that the deceased was the daughter he hated.

During summer break, I took my son, Luke Thorne, diving at our private beach. Ralph Foster, a hotshot TV actor, suddenly showed up with a whole entourage and barged in. "This is a private beach that Gloria personally secured for me to entertain VIPs. You two nobodies had better get lost right now!" He threw his weight around and even dragged my wife, Gloria Stokes, out as a threat. When he learned who I was, he went a step further and mocked me as a kept man living off my wife. I actually laughed. I was the head of the Thornes, the most powerful family in Frenkinston. Since when did I become some freeloading, useless husband? On top of that, Gloria's film studio and every bit of her backing came from me. But when Gloria arrived, she sided with Ralph and actually tried to force Luke to put on a show for some sleazy investors. Sneering, I made a call that only the head of the Thornes had the authority to make. "Shark Vanguard, clear Crescent Bay. Now."

I knew that my father did not like me since I was young. When I wanted to commit suicide to end the pain caused by my illness, he was celebrating another child’s birthday. He hated my mother and me alongside her. So, when I told him that I was sick, he did not believe me. “Is this your new tactic to get money from me?” No one believed that the daughter of the Powell family could die because she was too poor to pay the hospital fees. My father did not believe it either. However, when he saw my dead body, the famous actor who hated his daughter actually went insane.

On the day of the wedding, Galen Shaw forces me to crack walnuts with my bare hands for his so-called female buddy. My expression goes cold, and I refuse outright. "My hands are for holding a scalpel, not cracking walnuts for her!" He only chuckles and orders someone to hold me down. Then, he glues the walnuts to my palms himself. One by one, he slams them against the ground. "You cheated while studying medicine. Now that you've married me, forget about ever being a doctor again!" I grit my teeth through the pain. My fingers are aching, but I try to explain. "I went abroad to study medicine for you!" His so-called female buddy sneers in a shrill voice. "All that talk about the Shaw family's hereditary disease is nonsense! Galen has been perfectly healthy for over 20 years. Don't tell me you just want another excuse to cozy up with your precious senior?" The moment those words leave her lips, the faint thought of having someone bandage my hand disappears. A shadow crosses Galen's face. "Looks like you haven't learned your lesson!" He throws me into the basement and locks me there for three days. By the time I crawl out, my hands are completely ruined. Later, when Galen's hereditary disease finally surfaces, the doctor tries to comfort him. "This disease may be terminal, but there is still a way. Dr. Robinson has just returned from overseas. She's the only one in the world who can perform this surgery. "I hear that she's your wife."

In my previous life, I, Ruth Spencer, fell seriously ill. Because of that, I managed to stop my husband, Zayne Colman, from going on a business trip to the country border. He immediately canceled his flight, pulled me into his arms, and gently comforted me. Over the phone, he gave instructions to my younger sister, Reagan Spencer. "The project comes first. You go in my place." But no one could have known that the so-called business partner was actually a ruthless scam syndicate. Reagan had her organs harvested and was tortured to death. I was devastated. Zayne held my frail body in his arms and hoarsely promised that even though Reagan was gone, he would still love me twice as much. And he kept his promise. For ten years, he never let me suffer at all. In fact, he spoiled me rotten. This went on until the day I gave birth. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious, but Zayne put his hand over the call button to prevent me from summoning help. The words he spoke were laced with malice. "If you hadn't gotten sick at such a convenient time back then, Reagan wouldn't have gone alone! I could have saved her. "It's your fault she's dead! She must feel so lonely down there. You and this bastard child can go keep her company!" That was when I finally realized that our love were nothing but a lie. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day he is about to leave for that trip to the border. This time, I release them to the path leading to freedom, or, in other words, to hell.

I spend an entire year preparing to get my daughter, Quincy Lindell, into a top international school. By the time the application review date rolls around, I have all the documents ready. I just need my wife's and my original marriage certificate to seal the deal. However, when I reach the admissions office, my wife, Wendy, blames me for taking matters into my own hands. I am about to explode when the school staff member says with a strange expression, "Mr. Howards, our system shows that you are not Ms. Lindell's spouse." My blood turns to ice. Before I can react, Zachary Shea, who has been quietly standing behind Wendy, passes his wedding certificate to the person in charge. The school staff member nods after checking her computer. "Ms. Lindell, Mr. Shea, your certificate was validated seven and a half years ago. You can now register your child for this school." Seven and a half years ago… That was the date of Wendy's and my engagement party. She held my hand in front of a room full of guests and said that I would be the only man she ever loved. That one sentence was enough to fool me for seven years.

After my eight-year-old twin sister was kidnapped, my dad became the person who wished for my death more than anyone else in the world. He would always say, "Zachary is an ungrateful brat! A good-for-nothing!" So, when the news of my disappearance reached the school, my dad leads everyone in cheers. He even spreads word of my misdeeds everywhere. "Zachary stole a poor student's tuition fees and even made a false police report accusing the teacher of hitting him!" "That's right! He even helped traffickers kidnap children—his own sister was almost sold by him! I hope he dies soon!" Five years later, my memories are extracted and projected onto a large display screen. And yet my dad, who hates me to the core and wishes for my death, falls to his knees and begs for my forgiveness the moment he learns of my death.