At a family dinner 1 week before our wedding, my fiancé gave my cousin the piece I'd written for our first dance to use in her farewell performance. "Cathy wouldn't stop asking, so I let her have it." Cathy was a figure skater. A promo for her farewell show kept playing on the TV as she looped her arm through Elliot's and gave it a playful tug. "If I actually skate to it, is Nora going to hate me?" Elliot looked at her with such tenderness. "It's just a piece of music. She can write another. You only get one last skate." I looked down at my hands. The calluses from copying out the score were still there. My throat went dry. "That's our first dance. Our names and wedding date are on the first page of the score." My parents' faces darkened before Elliot could respond. "It's one piece of music. Cathy lost her parents when she was 8. Would it kill you to let her have it? Your wedding's almost here. Don't ruin the mood for everyone." As far as they were concerned, my cousin had lost so much that she deserved every good thing. That was their idea of fair. So my piano lessons had stopped. My spot at summer camp had gone to her. So had the south-facing bedroom Grandma had left me. I'd thought Elliot would be the one person in this family who put me first. Now he'd casually given away even the music that was supposed to play at our wedding. Watching them smile together, I felt tears sting my eyes. But beneath the hurt, something was going cold. For once, I could see clearly. I lifted my head and looked at Elliot. "Since you've decided she can have our song, she can have the groom, too."

I had a fever of 104°F when I sent a message to our group chat.   Beatrice: Can someone buy me some fever medicine? I'm home alone, and my head hurts so much.   My two brothers, Malcolm Fenwick and Adrian Fenwick, and my boyfriend, Vincent Calder, replied one after another.   Malcolm: I'll bring you some right away.   Adrian: I'll bring you some right away.   Vincent: I'll bring you some right away.   But by evening, none of them had come. Still burning up, I had to take a taxi to the hospital myself.   In the hospital corridor, I unexpectedly saw Lydia Roscoe, the campus beauty, talking to all three of them.   "Bea said in the group that she had a high fever. Why aren't you taking care of her? Why are you here with me for my checkup?"   Vincent dismissed it. "It's just a fever. Malcolm said he'd buy her some medicine. I'll take you home first."   Malcolm immediately objected, "Bea's your girlfriend. You should be bringing her medicine. I'll take Lydia home."   Irritated, Vincent tried to make Adrian do it instead. "You were the first one in the group to offer to buy her medicine."   Adrian wasn't happy either. "Why should I go if neither of you will? I want to stay with Lydia too."   Tears sprang to my eyes. Once again, each of them was trying to make me someone else's problem.   On my birthday, they'd pretended to forget and never show up. I'd eaten an entire cake alone.   When I moved dorms, they'd all claimed they were busy and stayed away. I'd carried every piece of luggage myself.   Now I was sick, and they still hadn't come.   'If they don't care, why bother pretending in the group chat?'   With tears in my eyes, I turned to leave. I was done with a world that had room for only the four of them.

Jude Ford and I were right on the edge of climax when his adopted sister scrambled up the foot of the bed. She pressed herself against his chest and started sucking and nipping at his Adam's apple. "Jude, my condition is acting up again." A look of clear understanding crossed Jude's face, and he lifted her into his arms like he'd done it a hundred times before. "Mia, take care of yourself. Zora needs me." Zora May suffered from sex addiction. Every single time Jude and I got intimate, she'd slither up like a snake and wrap herself around him. And every single time, Jude would leave me high and dry, dazed and aching with need, just to help her get off. This time, I bit back my humiliation and fisted my fingers tight around his cuff. "Don't go. Please." He frowned, his voice cold and distant as frost. "If you're that needy, go fuck yourself with a stick." "Or," he paused for a beat, "I don't care if you find someone else to do it for you." With that, he didn't even glance back as he carried Zora straight to the spare bedroom. My nails dug deep into the palm of my hand. This was the ninety-ninth time he'd dumped me for Zora. But this time, I didn't waste a single second hoping he'd change his mind. I just pulled out my phone and made a calm, steady call. "I give up. I'm getting a divorce, and I'm taking all of his assets too. But right now, I want you." The line went quiet for a heartbeat, then a low, rough voice rumbled through the speaker. "Okay."

On the anniversary of our son's death, my husband left me to celebrate the birthday of his childhood sweetheart's son. When I burst into the banquet hall, Wesley Hargrove was holding Bianca Donovan's little boy as they cut the cake. They looked like a happy family. An expensive gold pendant hung around the boy's neck. I'd had it made for my son, Teddy. His nickname was engraved on the back in my own handwriting. I'd wanted a lifetime of health and happiness for my baby. Instead, he'd died from lack of oxygen during a difficult delivery. He'd never worn it, not even once. I stared at the pendant Bianca's son was clutching. Wesley followed my gaze and instinctively stepped in front of her. "Nadine, it's his birthday. Do you have to ruin it for everyone?" "That belongs to Teddy." He frowned. "He's only wearing it for the day. I'll give it back after the party." Bianca huddled behind Wesley, clutching her son. Her eyes reddened as she apologized. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hargrove. He thought it was pretty, so Wesley let him wear it. Please don't blame him. It's my fault." Her distress frightened the boy into tears. He reached for Wesley as he cried. "Daddy." The room fell silent. Wesley stiffened, but he didn't correct him. He simply took the boy into his arms and murmured soothingly. I drew a deep breath. I'd seen enough of the three of them playing family. In three years, he'd never once offered to visit Teddy's grave. I'd told myself his grief was too raw, that going there would reopen the wound. Yet here he was, using the pendant Teddy had never worn to make another woman's son happy. I pulled free of his hand and took the pendant off the boy without asking. Then I slipped off my wedding ring and set it beside the cake. "Wesley, if you want to be his father so badly, then give me a divorce."

I was the long-lost daughter of the wealthy Sterling family. On the day I officially moved back to the estate, my parents and my elder brother were nowhere to be found. The vast manor was empty except for the housekeeper. As I was wondering what was going on, a trending topic popped up on my phone:  #RichFamilyThrowsLavishPartyForBelovedDaughter'sDog. The housekeeper tried to comfort me. "Miss, you've grown up out there, struggling even to make ends meet. You probably don't care about these empty gestures of ceremony." I stood frozen in place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tablet lying beside the housekeeper, and a group chat had just popped up on its screen. It was the family group chat. Everyone in the household—including the servants—was in it. Everyone except me. Mom: Annie has been pampered since childhood, and now that Ellie is back, we can't let Annie feel bad. Dad: Ellie couldn't even get into college. She should stay home and focus on her studies, not indulge in fun and games. Noah: Ellie is petty and vain. On the first day we met, I bought Annie a bag and didn't get one for her, and she made a huge scene. We must make sure she doesn't find out about today's party. The home I had finally returned to had already been taken over by someone else.

1

My husband, Ryan Miller, is a best-selling author.   By writing stories about me, he won three literary awards.   His breakout work is titled I'll Stay with You at the Edge of the World, which sold over ten million copies.   In the book, he's gentle and devoted—taking care of his "messed-up" wife for ten years straight.   And I'm that crazy woman.   Today, my therapist handed me that book for the tenth time.   "Mrs. Miller, look how much Mr. Miller loves you. You're just sick. Stop hurting him."   I saw the pity in her eyes and suddenly laughed till I cried.   You know what? She's right. I am sick. He's so obsessed with painting me as some loony tune, isn't he? Fine then. I'll show him what real crazy looks like.

5 years into our marriage, my husband said to me, "I want to have a child with my ex-girlfriend. She's dying. This is her last wish." I thought he was asking for my opinion. Only later did I realize he was simply informing me. 10 months ago, they had already completed the embryo transfer. Not once had he ever asked whether I wanted any of this. I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I simply placed the divorce agreement in front of him. He was in a hurry to leave, so he signed it without even reading it. Then I scheduled a pregnancy termination and bought a one-way ticket to Viremont. Now, he stood in the rainy night in Viremont, holding a 10-carat pink diamond ring and begging me to come back to his side. Beside me was a man who would quietly keep me company even when all I wanted to do was feed pigeons. 'Too bad, Dominic. I no longer needed you. What you signed with your own hand wasn't just our divorce agreement. It was also our child, and every future we might have had.'

Eighteen years ago, the apocalypse hit. And me? I was the child of God—the one and only "angel" of Ark Bunker, the last shelter on Earth. I ate the freshest canned food and slept on the softest bed. I didn't have to work like the others. All I had to do was put on a pretty dress, pray somewhere quiet—and just like that, no monster dared come within miles of Ark Bunker. Everyone treated me like glass. They'd do anything to keep me safe. Then the old chief magistrate stepped down and handed the reins to his daughter. She was all about "equality." She'd hated me for a long time—saw me as nothing but a mistress her father kept. On her first day in charge, she sent my protection team out for supplies. Then she had me strung up high above a sea of crawling monsters. "You said monsters stay away because of you," she said. "Let's find out if that's true." I clawed at the ropes. My dress tore; my thighs were scraped raw and bleeding. "Please," I said, "just get me a new dress—or I'll lose my power. If my power goes away, Ark Bunker will fall. Everyone will die." She just laughed, then nodded toward the men beside her. They lunged at me, pinned me down, and ripped my dress to shreds in front of everyone. The moment my skin was exposed to the open air, they lost their minds with regret.