2670 Book(s) Related to mend my broken heart

They put the calm ones on graveyard. I'm calmer than calm - I can't read a face to save my life, but give me a voice and I'll tell you what you ate for dinner and what you're lying about.

3:07 a.m. A woman calls. A struggle. The line dies.

By sunrise there's no body, no report, and the call I logged has wiped itself clean - like it never rang. The whole city is asleep on it.

But I've never trusted the system. I keep my own copy of every call.

He erased her. I kept the tape. Now he just has to find out the night guy nobody looks at has been listening the whole time.

They built a hundred-year name on a scholarship they stole from a dead girl.

This morning that name landed on my desk. Brooke Hale, applicant. One signature away from the federal clerkship her family has won, somehow, in every generation since 1962.

I'm the one who signs.

I wrote three words instead. Recommend denial. Then I sat with my hands flat on the file so they'd stop shaking.

The Hales think it's a cold case. A girl named Iris, ruled ineligible sixty years ago, gone quiet, gone poor, gone.

They don't know Iris was my great-grandmother.

They don't know I kept the letter.

I used to be the nation's top lock-picking expert. I saved countless lives.

But I couldn't save my own daughter.

At the dock, two children were strapped to bombs.

The girl had less time—I should've saved her first.

But my husband Damien held a knife to his throat, forcing me to save the other one first.

His illegitimate son.

I compromised.

The moment I opened the lock, the kidnapper ripped off the girl's hood.

I never expected her to be Rosie.

My five-year-old daughter.

She looked at me.

Her lips moved, forming the word "Mommy."

Then the explosion tore through everything...

I’ve had the Sight for as long as I can remember.
Born into a matrilineal line of Salem witches, I can pierce the veil of the dead. I see the wandering souls and the lingering traces of magic left behind in the mortal world.
I always assumed this gift was nothing more than my own harmless little secret.
Until the night of our fifth wedding anniversary.
I lit the final taper candle on the long dining table. As the flame flickered, my Sight instinctively slipped open, my gaze drifting toward the deep shadows by the fireplace.
A spirit was huddled there in the dark.
It was my husband—Silas Blackwood.
Ice flooded my veins. What the hell is going on? Is Silas... dead?!
My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, stumbling back in a frantic rush to dial his number.
But before my thumb could hit the call button—before my lips could even form the words of a banishing spell—
Click.
The front door opened.
Silas strode in, bringing the damp, fresh scent of the rain with him.
"Sorry I'm late, Evie."
My breath caught. If Silas was dead... then who the hell was standing right in front of me, wearing his skin?

The day our parents remarried, my entire life descended into unrelenting hell.
Jace, my stepbrother, hated me on sight the second he walked through the front door.
Like a relentless ghost that haunted my every waking moment, he stole every girl I ever cared about, one by one.
I hated him for seven long years, convinced he only got off on grinding me into the dirt. Until that drugged night at the hotel...

On the day I got engaged to the heir of an elite old-money family, my own birth mother spread vicious lies about me in front of the entire crowd. She claimed I’d lived a wildly promiscuous life while studying abroad, and had even secretly given birth to a stillborn child with no known father.
Afterwards, she took my hand and sobbed out an apology, saying she’d only wanted to test whether my fiancé truly loved me enough to stand by me. I was foolish enough to believe her, and drank the calming tea she’d personally handed me.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, everything was destroyed. I lay in my bedroom, disheveled and half-dressed, and the man beside me was none other than my younger sister’s boyfriend.
In the end, my fiancé married my sister. And I was mercilessly disowned and cast out by my own family.
But twenty years later, every single one of them would come to regret what they’d done.

I remember that frost-covered train door like it was the last thing I ever saw. Because it was.
The escape spot I’d spent three years scraping together? My fiancée was sitting in it, wearing my parka. Her brother had my hiking boots on his feet. Her mother clutched the medical kit I’d carried six miles through ash-covered roads. And Caleb Frost—the ex she’d sworn was just “someone from the past”—stood in the seat that should have been mine, lifting my silver emergency flask in a toast.
While I froze out in the subzero ash storm, my lungs burning like they were filled with shards of broken glass, they turned their backs to me under the warm yellow light inside.
Then I woke up.
The calendar read May 3, 2041. Exactly one year before the Yellowstone chain eruption would turn the northern hemisphere into a frozen grave.
On the TV, experts were still downplaying the volcanic tremors, insisting there was no immediate risk to the public. My fiancée walked into the bedroom wearing one of my white shirts, carrying coffee in the blue mug she’d bought with my card. She reached for my forehead, asking if I’d had a bad dream.
None of them know I’ve already died once.
They’re still plotting how to make me pay for her brother’s failed investments, how to sneak texts to her old boyfriend, how to use me as their most obedient, most useful doormat until the world ends. I’ve sold the downtown office towers, mortgaged the lakefront house, bought the abandoned geothermal station no one wanted in the dead mountains, and signed a stack of engineering contracts they’ll never bother to read.
They still smile and thank me, tell me I’m the best fiancé in the world.
They have no idea who will be holding the key to the door, when the sky goes dark forever and the snow never stops falling.

It had only been seventeen minutes since my wife passed away. My daughter was sobbing on the phone.

"Dad, they're trying to drive me out."

I stared at the medical report in the doctor's hand.

The first natural antibody carrier.Toxin levels in the blood: zero.

The same poison that killed my wife, that killed my six-year-old son…had left me completely unharmed.

The doctor lowered his voice."Mr. Miller, you have to stay. They're sending people to pick you up."

I let out a cold laugh.

"My daughter is trapped in the basement storage room right now. Is anyone here going to help her?"

Silence fell over everyone.

I grabbed the glass water cup from the bedside table.

"Five years ago, they handed me a disciplinary penalty and fired me from the rescue team. Everyone said I was good for nothing."

The cup smashed against the floor.

I picked up the longest shard of broken glass.

"Today, I'll show you all how a useless man saves lives."

Have you ever been treated like a stand-in for your dead sibling by your own mother? I have.

Have you ever been murdered by your own mother? I have.

My name is Aira, and today is my sister Lily's birthday. It's also the anniversary of my death—the day the washing machine became my coffin.

"Why couldn't it have been you who died?"

After four long years, my mom finally got her wish.

The five of us were dragged into a twisted nightmare.
The game rules were absolute: Kill the Boss. All members survive. Total escape.
Luckily, we each spawned into the game with a supernatural perk.
Relying on our powers and our bond, we spent six grueling hours tearing the massive, horrific beast apart.
All we had to do was step into the extraction portal to wake up in Oregon.
My friends were screaming in victory, already planning our celebration at Voodoo Doughnuts.
Instead, I was frozen. My heart wasn't racing with adrenaline anymore; it was cold. Absolute zero.
Because my real perk tracked the Boss status.
Floating in the center of my vision, cutting through the shadows, were two lines of text that only I could see:BOSS STATUS: ALIVE.DISGUISED. The monster wasn't dead. It was standing right here, wearing the face of one of my best friends!

I once believed that love could transcend life and death.

Until the terminal stage of Moon Eclipse Disease, when my husband personally gave the life-saving opportunity to my younger sister—that orphan girl I had rescued.

He said the pack needed a gentle Luna like her.

My son clung to her, calling her 'Mom.' My parents crowned her with what should have been mine.

Fine, so you all want me dead?

Then I'll stake everything on one final gamble.

After I die, I want every single one of you to be tortured by the truth.

I once thought marriage was redemption.

I hid that I was a billionaire heiress, threw on an apron and played the perfect housewife. For three years, I pawned my jewelry to bail him out, stayed up all night fixing his business proposals, only for him to parade his mistress around our house.

She wore my limited-edition cashmere sweater, smashed my expensive china, his mother called me worthless for not popping out kids, and he called me cheap trash he couldn't stand anymore.

Fifty thousand dollars—that's what he thought three years of my life was worth.

When I got pregnant, I thought things would change, only to get shoved down the stairs and lose everything.

While I was still bleeding in that hospital bed, he forced me to sign divorce papers, threatening to destroy me completely.

In the La Perla private room, he made me crawl like a dog, trying to pimp me out to some random guy.

He had no idea I wasn't just hiding my identity—I was hiding my claws.

A witch prophesied at my birth—I carried special blood, I could bear the strongest children.

Two Alphas I'd loved for ten years—the Wolf King's sons—swore they'd protect me forever.

Then she showed up. Maggie. My cousin. All wide-eyed innocence, claiming she had the same gift.

Suddenly, I was the jealous one. Every trap was mine, meant to hurt her. Every wound on me was fake. She cradled the silver fox I'd killed, tears falling right on cue.

They handed me the moonflower wine. Bryan said, "Don't ruin the mood."

When they accused me of treason, Ronald said, "Exile."

They dragged me past the borders themselves. Poison fire in my veins, bones breaking under moonlight.

I hit the ground. The last thing I saw was Maggie's smirk...

I died once.

In my last life, someone posted my photo on the company's anonymous forum, claiming I slept my way to the top.

The comment section exploded.

Colleagues whispered behind my back and pointed fingers.

A blurry video convinced everyone the woman in it was me.

I explained. I cried. I begged.

No one believed me.

The company forced me out. My parents kicked me out.

I walked to my death, condemned by everyone.

Then I opened my eyes.

Everything went back to the beginning.

The same post, the same accusation, the same man swearing in the comments he'd seen it all himself.

This time, I'm getting my revenge.

Everyone knows my husband is obsessed with me.

He's gone against the board for me, walked away from billion-dollar deals, dropped millions at charity galas. Everyone said I'd married into a fairytale. I believed it too.

Until the anonymous email.

In the photo, he was kissing a little girl's forehead—three years old, maybe four. He looked at her the way fathers do.

Three years of marriage. Countless failed IVF attempts. Then finally—I was pregnant.

I was about to tell him when his phone buzzed. He left immediately—for another woman and her child.

I was the only one who didn't know.

If the love was fake, if the marriage was fake—then I could disappear too.

In two days, the typhoon hits. My car will go off the cliff into the ocean. No one survives that.

I'll disappear from his world forever—me and the baby he doesn't know about.

My husband and I've been married for three years, and he's been messing around with her the entire time.

Hugging and kissing her on set, whispering flirty lines in interviews.

Everyone online calls me a pathetic stand-in.

I never get mad. I just smile and help him smooth over every rumor.

That is, until I accidentally got pregnant and secretly had an abortion.

He was furious, his heart shattered, demanding to know why.

I cupped his face and said calmly: "Because I don't love you."

The one I truly love is his dead brother.

My husband's first love was in trouble.
When the news came, I was lying on the operating table.
Dr. Miller put down his scalpel and said to Dr. Johnson, "I'll leave my wife's surgery to you."

"If I don’t go now, I might regret it for the rest of my life."

With that, he turned and walked away.
Watching my husband's retreating figure, I couldn't hold back—tears fell.
The next second, the cold blade of a scalpel touched my skin.

Dr. Johnson spoke calmly, "Why the tears? With me here, you'll be fine."

My daughter helped my husband cheat.

My ten-year-old begged me to take her to a summer camp in Italy. My husband looked at her like she hung the moon. Booked the tickets right there.

I thought I was the luckiest mom alive.

Then I checked the pet camera from overseas.

There he was, fucking my daughter's riding instructor on our couch.

But what really killed me? What he said, "Don't worry. Nina wants that horse bad enough, she'll keep her mom in Europe as long as we need."

Back home, my husband dropped a receipt. Two identical limited edition watches.

He froze. My sweet daughter didn't miss a beat, "Dad used the other one to bribe someone so I could get my horse!"

They lied in perfect sync. That's when something in me broke.

They thought I was still that stupid, trusting wife.

What they didn't know?

I'd already signed a contract. Going back to my art career in New York.

"Miss Smith, I think I can smell your scent... it's so womanly..."

I looked down at the boy hiding under the lectern, watching helplessly as he had his way with me right there in the classroom, while I had to pretend everything was normal...

My name is Catherine, the university math teacher. With my husband always away on business trips, at thirty years old, I was like a nun guarding that double bed, never satisfied. Slowly, I developed some strange habits... and became bolder...

The bell for the end of class had just rung, and teachers and students were flocking to the bathrooms in groups, chattering noisily outside.

In one of the bathroom stalls, I was panting, squatting... my black lace panties down around my ankles, my face flushed with ecstasy as I indulged...

“Mr. Hale, step away from the chest.”

The officer’s hand stayed on the latch beneath my brother’s portrait.

My mother clutched the donation envelopes to her chest. “Lena is doing this for attention.”

Dad gave the room his lawyer smile. “My daughter hides when she wants sympathy.”

The volunteer pointed at the broken white ribbon. “Then why is there blood on it?”

The room went quiet.

I stood beside them, dead and barefoot, watching Dad’s face change.

Because for once, someone was about to open the place where they had left me.