Tragic

Three months pregnant, I doubled over in agony, blood pooling beneath me. I called Milo Prince in a last-ditch effort for help. The moment he picked up, his voice dripped with irritation. "What is it now?" My vision was blurring. Before I could cry for help, I heard his childhood sweetheart's teasing laugh. "No interruptions today, okay?" The line went dead in the next second. When I opened my eyes again, my belly was flat. I checked Jessica Clay's social media. A photo showed their hands intertwined, her wrist adorned with the Prince family's heirloom bracelet. Her caption read, [He said this bracelet was made for me, so I'm keeping it.]

When I'm at the hospital for a prenatal checkup, I find out that the husband of the woman sitting beside me is Rupert Hensley, a renowned businessman. It's such a coincidence. Rupert is my husband, too. As we chat, I learn that her husband isn't with her because he's out of town for a meeting. This is even more coincidental—my husband is also out of town for a meeting. After a long silence, I decide to get an abortion instead of going for my prenatal checkup. It's only when I later ask for a divorce that I remember he and I never registered our marriage in the first place.

I'd loved my childhood friend, Colleen Decker, for ten years, until a car accident changed everything. She loses the ability to walk and never stands again. Her fiance, Ronald Coleman, and other self-proclaimed admirers disappear overnight. Even the Decker family turns their backs on her, cutting her off as the heiress. I'm the only one who stays by her side. I drop out of school and spend two years caring for her, doing everything I can to find the best specialists in the country. However, the moment she gets back on her feet—during the proposal I'd prepared—she announces in front of everyone that she's continuing her engagement to Ronald. When I confront her, Colleen grabs my hand, her voice soft and earnest. "Lucius, I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm marrying him to get back at him for walking away from me back then. You have to believe me. I only love you." But during a game of Truth or Dare, Ronald draws the King card. He points at me and says, "Lucius, choose any girl here and kiss her for one minute." I look to Colleen for help, but she turns her head away. "Don't look at me. I belong to Ronald now."

To make up for past regrets with his first love, my husband, Pierce Ronan, lied that he could see everyone’s lifespan. He told me I had sixty years left, but his first love, Jessica Stone, had only seven days to live. So, for those seven days, he said he had to fulfill the promises of their youth. He brought her home, cared for her, and when they went back to their old college campus to relive their love, I didn’t protest. When he confessed his love to her and planned the wedding of the century, asking me to be the bridesmaid, I didn’t raise my voice. It wasn’t until he wanted to break the final taboo — in our marital bedroom — that he looked at me with guilt in his eyes and begged me to move out. The housemaids watched, snickering behind their hands, but I only smiled and nodded in agreement. I packed my bags, carried our child, and moved into the guest room next door. Seeing how obedient I remained, Pierce was touched. “I promise, this will be the last time I wrong you. Once Jessica passes, I’ll make it up to you.” What he didn’t know was that I had already seen through his lies. What he also didn’t know was that the one truly dying of cancer, the one with only seven days left to live, was me. Three days remained. Then, I would be gone.

My boyfriend Julian is a chess grandmaster, a genius. At sixteen, he became the youngest grandmaster in North American history. I gave him ten years of my life, but a ring was never on the table. But when he reached the pinnacle of his career and won the Grand Slam, he still refused to break the pact he'd made with his family about his career. "According to my plan, I'm not considering marriage or any other form of long-term commitment until all my goals are achieved." I didn't argue with him. I quietly packed his luggage for the World Championship and wished him the best. He had no idea that at the very moment he was lifting the championship trophy with the world watching, I was dragging my failing body to sign my own name on a euthanasia consent form.

My husband's childhood sweetheart is a fake heiress. She and I are abducted at the same time. But when my husband, a doctor, arrives at the scene of the abduction with a medical team, he chooses to save her first. My legs have been broken, and I struggle to stay afloat in the ocean. I'm on the brink of death, and I beg him to save me and the child in my belly. He merely looks at me. Before leaving, he almost generously helps me call 911. Then, he says, "It's disgusting that you're lying about being pregnant just to save yourself. I've repaid you for saving my life—come to the hospital later today to sign the divorce papers." After listening to his words, I remove the hearing aid from my right ear with a trembling hand.

Before the mission, I ask Ryan Jamison one last time, "Will you marry me?" He pauses for a moment before saying, "Alright." The system and I freeze. "Oh no," we say in unison. I'm told that once I get rejected a hundred times, I'll return to the real world. Turns out, it's nothing but false alarm. In my final mission, I accidentally become the stand-in for his first love. Ryan spends three days with her before he finally remembers me. But by then, all he hears is that I've died in the line of duty.

When my parents call to tell me they are taking me to my childhood friend, Oliver Holland's house to meet his blind date, he is still asleep beside me. I think they are joking and whisper, "Oliver, they said they've found you someone to date." He gives a lazy hum and pulls me into his arms. "Gerry, help me pick out something to wear later. And fix my hair, too." When I freeze, Oliver opens his eyes and lets out a short, mocking laugh. "What's wrong with you? We're just sleeping together. You don't actually think I'm going to marry you, do you?"

Ethan and I have been in a mate bond since six years ago. He was the Alpha of our pack. Our twin pups were going to have their fifth birthday, and I wanted to set up a bloodline trust fund for them. However, due to their special positions as the Alpha’s heirs, the trust fund required a blood verification to confirm their lineage. But after the verification, I was shocked to find that our blood couldn’t blend together. It meant I wasn’t the biological mother-wolf of the twin pups. The Inheritance Officer looked at me sympathetically and said, “I’m sorry, but this trust fund can only be established by their biological mother-wolf.” I froze for a moment and said, “There must be some kind of mistake. I can call the midwife wolf who helped me deliver them to testify. I am their mother-wolf!” “As you can see, your blood isn’t merging with theirs, but their blood is merging with the Alpha’s. So these twin pups are indeed the Alpha’s. You’re not their biological mother-wolf. Let me see… Here, their biological mother-wolf should be Helena Grayback. I’m sorry. They have nothing to do with you.” Helena? I felt completely shocked. My mind went blank. I hadn’t heard that name in a long time. She was Ethan’s first love. Helena was from a pack that had a longstanding hatred for ours. They couldn’t be together back then, but now, it turned out that the twin pups I had struggled to carry and give birth to were actually Ethan and Helena’s.

Our third wedding anniversary was coming up, but my wife, a programmer at a major tech company, suddenly claimed she had to work overtime to meet deadlines. She said she couldn't go on the trip we'd planned. That very afternoon, however, her intern posted a video on social media. My wife—the same woman who normally wouldn't even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure—was holding a screwdriver, repairing an old flip phone. The caption read: [Having a programmer wife is the best. Even when Grandma's phone breaks, we don't need to pay for repairs.] I chuckled, liked the post, and commented: [Right up her alley.] Within minutes, the company group chat exploded. There were over ninety-nine unread messages speculating on when I'd finally snap. Not long after, my wife called. Her voice was ice-cold. "What was that comment supposed to mean? How is Shawn supposed to face anyone at work now? "His grandma's phone broke, so I fixed it. What's the problem? Your parents have always spoiled you. You can't possibly understand real hardship. "Delete the comment. I'll make it up to you over the New Year; we can take that trip then." The New Year? I'd already waited through two other major public holidays. I'd even taken special leave for this trip, and she still bailed. Now she was dangling empty promises again? I hung up on her. My leave ended around the same time as our divorce cooling-off period.