Author: Vase My
The monitor stopped at exactly 3:42 p.m. No loud alarms. Just a quiet, final hum that lingered like a held breath that never returned. I didn’t move. My fingers remained wrapped around Rachel’s frail hand—still warm, but fading fast. My mother-in-law had just slipped away, and I was the only one there to see it happen. A soft knock broke the silence. A nurse peeked through the door, clutching a clipboard like a shield. “Mrs. Emerson… are you alright?” I nodded, even though nothing about me felt okay. The hallway outside buzzed with life—newborns cried, delivery pizza was being handed…
He tried to play it cool. But every time I brought up the dogs meeting the baby, he’d get quiet. Not the “I’m thinking” kind of quiet. The “I’m afraid of what might happen” kind. “They’re gonna freak,” he said once, almost to himself. “Too much noise, too much change. They won’t understand.” I knew the history. Those dogs were with him before I was. Lacey, calm and wise, had seen him through panic attacks in the dead of night. Max, younger and all nerves, was his shadow when the world got too loud. They weren’t just pets—they were his…
The diner was quiet that evening—too quiet. Outside, the rain blurred the neon lights, turning everything into watercolor. I sat in my usual booth, nursing cold coffee and scrolling through nothing in particular, when the bell above the door gave its tired jingle. He walked in—barely more than a shadow. Hood up, eyes lowered, sneakers soaked from the rain. You could tell from the way he moved, the way he sat in the farthest booth like a ghost trying not to be seen, that he didn’t expect to be welcome. He didn’t order. Didn’t look at a menu. Just sat…
The courtroom air was thick with tension, the kind that sticks to your skin and clings to your nerves. Every cough, every shift in a chair echoed too loudly, like the room itself was holding its breath. My son, Zaden, sat quietly beside me, his sneakers barely touching the floor. At just eight years old, he was far too familiar with courtrooms, lawyers, and the cold mechanics of a custody battle. But today, there was something different about him. His back was straighter. His jaw a little tighter. He wasn’t just a child caught between two parents—he was holding something.…
Emily used to laugh at fairy tales. She believed they were for children, not for girls with coffee-stained aprons and broken dreams in Brooklyn. That changed the moment John walked into the café. He wasn’t flashy—just another sharply dressed man who liked his caramel latte strong and sweet. But that day, as she handed over the drink, he slipped her a folded napkin. Her fingers tingled as she unfolded it. “I’ve been coming here just to see you. You’re beautiful. Let me take you to dinner tonight—8 PM?” Her pulse skipped. She glanced up. He was already halfway out the…
I’d only lived there three weeks. Grief still hung on me like soaked clothes after a storm. My husband was gone, and so was the life we built together. Medical bills had taken everything but the essentials, and this apartment—cheap, cold, a little cracked around the edges—was all I could afford. The street didn’t welcome. It eyed me like a stranger. The graffiti screamed. The sirens sang nightly. And then came that day. I had two bags of groceries in each hand and was fumbling for my keys when I noticed him. Big. Towering. Built like someone who should be…
At first light, Aunt Teresa is already in the yard—hands wrapped around a weathered wooden pole, stirring her bubbling cauldron of red. The neighbors call it charming. “Old-world,” they say. Some joke that she’s secretly casting spells. She just smiles, lets them laugh. But last week, things changed. A police cruiser pulled up. The officer—young, polite, but with a stiffness in his voice—stepped into the yard. “We received a complaint,” he said. “Unusual smell. Possible illegal activity.” Aunt Teresa didn’t blink. Just stirred slower. “I’m sorry, officer,” I said, trying to laugh it off. “It’s just tomato sauce.” He pointed…
If anyone had told me my 13-year-old son was hiding thousands of dollars in his room, I would’ve laughed. Jake? The same kid who still struggled to match his socks and spent his allowance on Pokémon cards? But that was before everything changed. It started on a slow Sunday, the kind where the ticking of the clock fills the silence. Jake was at his friend Noah’s house, and I was cleaning—mindless, repetitive, comforting. Until I picked up Waffles. Waffles was Jake’s piggy bank. A ceramic dog with a tongue sticking out and a coin slot in its head. He’d had…
They say weddings bring out the best in people — but sometimes, they reveal the worst. From the moment Emma got engaged to Liam, she knew the biggest hurdle wouldn’t be the planning, the guest list, or the budget — it would be her mother. Ava had always been the center of every room she walked into. Beautiful, confident, and used to getting her way, Ava saw Emma’s wedding not as a celebration of her daughter’s love, but as an opportunity to shine once again. At first, Emma dismissed her mother’s subtle hints — compliments about how well white looked…
They laughed at me. The intern with too much heart and not enough sense. I was Sarah Collins—23, idealistic, and clinging to my dream of making it big in Manhattan. My internship at Halstead & Grant Financial was a ticket to that dream. Or so I thought. In reality, I was invisible. No one cared that I graduated top of my class. To the executives, I was just another girl in flats fetching overpriced coffee. Six different drink orders, six different personalities. I was a shadow with a name tag, a ghost in a pencil skirt. Until the rain came.…