Being Grateful Quotes

Once I became pregnant, I was hailed as the most precious woman in the underworld. My husband, the new Don of the Jenkins family, shut down an entire private hospital wing for my check-ups, while my father, the Collins Don, summoned every Michelin-starred chef in New York to the estate, just so I could pick whatever I craved. The baby I carried was destined to be the sole heir of the two most powerful mafia families. But on the day we were to sign the papers securing my child's inheritance, they both vanished. "An urgent family matter came up," my husband, Vincent, said, kissing my forehead. "We can finalize the child's inheritance when we get back. There's no rush." Shortly after they left, I received a link to an anonymous live stream. My father's voice came from the video, colder than I had ever heard it. "You're saying your marriage contract with Evangeline was never valid. Doesn't that make the child a bastard?" Vincent, lounging in a club, blew a smoke ring. Cradled in his arms was my half sister, Sarah. "Evangeline has always had all the love and affection. Her child will want for nothing." "Sarah has been mocked for her status for years. I have to make things right for her, give our child a legitimate name." In that moment, my heart seized, and I could barely breathe. Then my phone vibrated again. It was a text message: "Welcome home to the Gallo family, my queen." "Just give the word, and the child you carry will bear the Gallo name and become the most powerful heir in the American underworld."

I've been dating the country's most eligible bachelor for two years. My base salary is $2 million, with bonuses based on performance. Holding hands costs $10,000, putting an arm around his waist is $20,000, and a kiss on the lips is a bit pricier at $50,000. As for certain bedroom activities, well, those come with a whole different price tag. Brad is fair-skinned and handsome, appearing only once a month – he's practically a walking Tiffany's diamond. Life is so sweet, it's easy to get complacent if you're not careful. One night, a DM popped up on Instagram from a stranger. "If you trust me, check your boyfriend's phone." "?" "I'm his girlfriend." "Am I the third party or are you the third party?" "You're third, I'm fourth." "Let's meet and talk details."

My husband, Theodore, was about to take his childhood sweetheart, Rosalie, around the world in a hot-air balloon when I was kidnapped by his enemy. They were about to throw me into a snake pit. I gave up asking Theodore for help and called my father-in-law instead. In my previous life, I begged Theodore to save me, even kneeling in front of the phone camera. Hence, he abandoned the hot-air balloon ride with Rosalie and rushed to negotiate with the kidnapper. Rosalie was all alone and angry. She took another hot-air balloon, but it exploded mid-way, causing her to die on the spot without even leaving behind an intact corpse. Hearing the bad news, Theodore showed a rare calm expression. He seemed to forget about Rosalie's existence and took me on a trip around the world. As we were sailing in Norwol, he suddenly pushed me into the sea. "I should never have saved you. Snake pit? Kidnapper? How could they have had the courage to push you into it? I should've never saved you if I knew it'd kill Rosalie. You should go to hell sooner!" When I opened my eyes again, I had come back to the day I was kidnapped. This time, I chose not to call for help. Humble love would only leave you bruised and battered.

It was about time because my dad got a new girlfriend and said he wanted us to have a meal together to introduce the new woman into our lives. On the day we met, my college roommate saw my chat background, which had a photo of me and my dad, along with a series of transfer records. She lost her mind. She enlisted the support of our other roommates, who rarely paid me any attention and began to attack me, insisting that I was a side chick who deserved to die. I did not expect that my roommate would soon become my stepmom. Before I could explain, she accused me of trying to seduce my dad behind her back, shouting, "Shameless side chick! Going behind my back to seduce my boyfriend! All those times you said you were out studying?! Who knows if you were just meeting up with him?" I was once physically assaulted, stripped of my dignity, and forced to the restaurant for a public confrontation wearing ragged clothes. Then my dad came running to where I was hardly breathing and barely moving on the floor, bruised to the extreme. “Sweetheart, who did this to you?!”

Oscar Chamberlain once believed he was the happiest man alive. He had nine extraordinary sisters who adored him and never hesitated to show it. Then the Chamberlain family found their long-lost biological heir, and everything changed. Overnight, Oscar became nothing more than a temporary stand-in, easily replaced. For years, he had worked tirelessly for the Chamberlain family, giving them his loyalty and effort without question. Yet on the day their true heir returned, they cast him out without hesitation. He did not even have the chance to show them the diagnosis clutched in his hand: brain cancer, two years left to live. … After the nine sisters drove Oscar away, they began, one by one, to sense that something was wrong. The eldest no longer carried her commanding confidence. The second lost the sharp decisiveness that had once made her seem unstoppable. The third found her inspiration drained, her once-celebrated talent slipping into mediocrity. And the new young heir, when measured against Oscar, fell painfully short. Only much later did they understand what Oscar had truly meant to the Chamberlain family. By then, regret had come too late. When they accidentally discovered that he had brain cancer, the news struck them like thunder from a clear sky. In the pouring rain, they knelt before him, weeping and begging for forgiveness. This time, however, Oscar chose himself. "Sorry," he said calmly. "You've already taken back the Chamberlain name. I don't know you anymore."

On my mother’s seventieth birthday party, I ran around handling various matters, paying out of pocket and putting in all the work. I did not even have the time to sit down and drink a sip of water. When I finally found the time to surprise her, I prepared eighty-eight grams of gold jewelry as her gift. Just as I was about to give it to her, I heard her talking to the other relatives. “See that? My daughter is truly my sweetheart. She woke up so early this morning to bake me this cake. I wouldn’t trade this cake for gold.” Our relatives immediately began praising my younger sister, Jessie Radley, for being so devoted. Only a couple of them pushed back. “Why aren’t you praising your eldest daughter, Mary? I heard she handled the entire birthday party.” “Tch. She only knows how to muddle through things. None of it had been done to my liking. Jessie is the good one. She got up at seven in the morning just to bake me this cake.” I turned around and walked away from the doorway. Since she loved Jessie so much, she could pay for this birthday party, worth eighty thousand dollars.

Hilda Oakley, the charity case Mom and Dad take in, steals my family right out from under me. She slips drugs into me, driving me into a bipolar disorder. She turns me into someone who snaps and screams at Mom and Dad without meaning to. She paints me as someone rotten inside, as the bully at school, and as someone who'd shove her down the stairs at home. And because of that, my whole family turns on me. Mom calls me a bad seed. Dad says I'm no daughter of his. Then, they adopt Hilda and throw me out in the dead of winter. My bipolar flares. Naked, I sprint onto the rooftop and jump to my death. When I'm reborn, I realize I can make the thoughts in other people's heads audible. So, at the dinner table, I let Hilda's thoughts spill right before Mom and Dad. 'I kept that witch Valerie drugged for three years. She finally broke! They still don't suspect that Alex isn't really her brother. He's Susan's son. Once we poison Valerie's parents, the Coopers' fortune will belong to us.'

To ensure fairness, my daughter said that she would draw lots to choose whose family to spend the New Year’s with every year. However, for the past nine years, she had spent the New Year’s with her in-laws. The latest draw was no different. On New Year’s Eve, my daughter gave me specific instructions. “Mom, we’re spending the New Year’s with my in-laws. We’ve made a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. Please help me save some money. You can just make some food at home for your dinner.” Hence, on New Year’s Eve, I ate alone while watching TV at home. When I stood up, I accidentally knocked over the raffle box. All the lots inside the box had my daughter’s handwriting. The words ‘in-laws’ were clearly written on every single one of them. For the past ten years, the lots had been fake. My daughter was willingly spending the New Year’s celebration with her in-laws, and she had never once thought of spending it with me, her biological mother, who had spent so much money on her. At the same time, I got a notification on my phone. Her mother-in-law posted something on social media. [My daughter-in-law is so lovely. She bought me so many gifts and chose to spend the New Year’s with us. It’s as if she’s our own daughter!] They smiled brightly in the video. On the table were gifts that she bought using my retirement fund. I did not sleep for the whole night. The next morning, I called the bank. “Please remove all the auto-debit accounts from my retirement account.” From then on, I would only spend my money on myself.

My mom ran a clinic her whole life, charging just five dollars for cold medicine. After I took over the clinic, I followed her teachings closely, doing my best to care for the folks in our community. However, after I charged an influencer 30 dollars for medication, I got blasted online as a scam clinic that was out to rob people blind. The entire town showed up at my door, young and old alike, demanding I return the 'overcharged' fees. I gave them exactly what they wanted and refunded every penny before shutting down the clinic for good. "There you go, just like you wanted. The clinic's closed. From now on, if you've got health concerns, feel free to drive 30 miles to the county hospital for consultation. I wish you all good health." The very next day, they were back at my door again. Only this time, they were begging me to reopen.

I dragged my pack from the old ways to thrive in the human world. As its Alpha, I canceled our most pointless tradition: the annual Winter Solstice Moonflower ornaments. But Chloe, a new omega, put me on blast on our pack’s feed for it. She said I disrespected the Moon Goddess. That I spat on tradition. Contracts from other packs and human companies started drying up. Even my own pack turned on me. So I took away the ten-grand Winter Solstice bonus…and gave them twenty-eight-dollar Moonflower ornaments instead. Now, my pack is losing their minds. Crying. Begging for the ten grand back.