Novels

I had just arrived at the kindergarten to pick up my son when a little girl suddenly ran up and threw her arms around me. “Daddy! How come you had time to pick me up today?” Startled, I looked down at the unfamiliar child clinging to my leg. “Sweetheart, I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m here to pick up my son, not you.” But then, the teacher and other parents insisted that this girl was my daughter. Even my wife claimed we had only one child—a daughter—and that we never had a son. I couldn’t believe it, so I had a DNA test done, determined to prove them wrong. But the results said the same thing—this little girl was biologically mine. Still, I knew—deep in my bones—that I had a son. Everyone thought I was going crazy. Then, eighteen years later, I found an Ultraman toy hidden under the bed.

Everyone knew that Harrison, the billionaire CEO, had a precious little girl he doted on.

On my 18th birthday, I received several mysterious text messages on my phone. The sender claimed to be me from ten years in the future.

I was picking up my daughter from kindergarten when a little boy suddenly ran over and hugged me. “Mommy! How come you’re picking me up today?” he asked. "Are you free today?" I looked at the unfamiliar boy in confusion and said, “Little guy, you must be mistaken. I’m not your mom. I’m here to pick up my daughter, Mia." However, the teacher and other parents were all adamant that this boy was my son. Even my husband said we only had one child, which was a son, not a daughter. I refused to believe this, so I got a paternity test. The results revealed that the boy was truly my biological son. Yet, deep down, I knew I only had a daughter. Everyone thought I had lost my mind. It was not until eighteen years later that I found a Barbie doll hidden under the bed.

At Grandfather’s 80th birthday celebration, as I admired myself in the dress I was wearing, I felt a sharp pain on my forehead. “Bull’s eye!” I heard mocking laughter in front of me. I touched my forehead and saw blood as I realized the kids had just thrown a stone at me. “What did you do that for?” I queried. All sextuplets marched toward me, each holding a bowl and smirking. “You have no right to show your face today!” one of them snapped. “Talk more about wearing our mother’s favorite color!” another added. “But kids —” My words were cut short when they all threw the content of the bowl at me and I shrieked as I was instantly assaulted by tiny ants that stung me. “You killed our mother, you wicked witch, we’ll make you suffer!” one of them said. “Get away from this house before we kill you!” they threatened laughing. As I writhed on the floor in pain I stared at the six children I had taken care of for nine years and a tear rolled down my cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you know it,” I said quietly.

My brother and I get into a car accident. My heart is ruptured—I need emergency surgery. But my mother, the hospital director, calls every available doctor… to my brother's room. He only has a few scrapes, yet she orders a full-body scan for him while I lie there bleeding out. I beg her to help me, but she snaps, visibly annoyed, "Can't you stop fighting for attention for once? Your brother almost injured a bone!" In the end, I die on the operating table. But after the news of my death breaks, my mother, who has always hated me, completely loses her mind.

My husband's first love got engaged. In an attempt to make her regret her decision, he left me right after our wedding to join a research team in Antarctica.

"I picked up a dumbass. He had amnesia, but damn, he was gorgeous. I lied and told him he was my fiancé. The idiot believed me. Then his memory came back, and turns out he was some big-shot rich kid. He went back to his life, without a single look back. Two years later, I saw him again. I watched as the same guy, now used the toe of his expensive shoe to grind another man’s fingers into the floor, his voice like ice: ""Worthless."" I turned to run, and he called out: ""My fiancé, did you lose your memory too?"""

Three years after I died, my husband, David, was about to marry his terminally ill high school sweetheart, Emily. He showed up at my mom's house, demanding I sign divorce papers. My mom told him I was dead. David scoffed, impatient. “That’s her game, is it? Pulling this stunt now? Emily’s dying! I just want to be there for her. How can Hannah be so selfish?” He glared at my mom. “Tell her if she doesn’t show up, I'll cut off your health insurance.” He thought he could use me to manipulate Mom. He didn't know she'd already stopped treatment, holding on only to see him regret his actions.