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History Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
When an Engineer Divorces a Traitor

When an Engineer Divorces a Traitor

I tried to breathe, trapped in the gilded cage of 1900s New York, a silent observer overshadowed by my brilliant sister Bea. My marriage to Arthur Pendleton, the influential industrialist, was supposed to be a safe harbor, a quiet escape from the era' s suffocating expectations. But then, an anonymous letter slipped under my door, revealing his carefully hidden life: a mistress, Daisy Miller, and a secret son residing in Greenwich Village. When I confronted him, Arthur didn't flinch; he simply suggested I, his wife, discreetly "manage" his affair and illegitimate child, appealing to my "renowned compassion." The audacity, the utter disgust of becoming the caretaker for his betrayal, stole my breath and shattered every illusion of our life. My humiliation was complete as Daisy Miller herself appeared, heavily pregnant again, desperate and blaming me for Arthur' s sudden abandonment. His pleas for me to accommodate his expanding secret brood, his appeal to my "compassion," were the final insult to my intelligence. How could the man who pledged lifelong fidelity demand such a monstrous thing, expecting me to legitimize his lies? But then, Bea, my whirlwind sister, uttered a single word – "Google" – and the silent understanding between us, our shared 21st-century secret, finally broke through. In that earth-shattering moment, the quiet engineer in me awakened; I would no longer be a doormat or a tragic victim of this strange, old world. I crushed the diamond necklace he gave me, a symbol of his worthless promises, and vowed to use every bit of my future knowledge to not just leave Arthur, but to utterly destroy him.
My Parents, Their Pet, My Hell

My Parents, Their Pet, My Hell

The Great Depression had gnawed away at everything, leaving my family-my parents, Mark and Susan, and me, Sarah-scrambling for survival in a city choked with despair. Then, they found Buddy, a stray golden retriever, shivering in an alley. Suddenly, my meager cannery wages, meant for rent and food, were funneled into premium dog food, toys, and vet visits for him. I worked myself to exhaustion, only to watch them hand-feed Buddy roasted chicken from our good plates while I got watery potato soup. He wasn't just a dog; a cold, malevolent intelligence lurked in his eyes, a mocking smirk reserved just for me. When I tried to evict him, he bit me, and my parents blamed me, tending to him while I bled, calling me a "jealous, worthless girl." My world shattered when I was laid off, and an eviction notice arrived. Our only hope was a government housing lottery. But when I announced it, my parents only saw three spots: one for them, and one for Buddy. "He's not a dog!" my mother screamed. "He's family! More family than you've ever been!" They raced off, dragging Buddy, leaving me, weakened by hunger and infection, to chase after them. I watched, horrified, as an official marked three names: my father, my mother, and the dog. They were ushered through the gate. They didn't look back as it locked, leaving me outside. Through the bars, Buddy looked at me and grinned. I died alone, freezing in an alley. Then, a sudden jolt. My eyes flew open. I was in my bed, the morning my parents found Buddy. My blood ran cold, hearing their cheerful voices. I was back. And this time, I wouldn't die in the cold. I would find out why they chose a dog over their own daughter. And they would pay.