Blessed Good Friday Quotes

While visiting a property development with my fiancé to buy our first home, I ran into a two-faced real estate agent.   She showered my fiancé with compliments, praising him for being young and successful enough to afford a Rolls-Royce.   Then, she suggested I was a fake socialite with a knockoff designer bag, implying that I was just using my charms to snag a free house.   When she found out the property was meant to be a marital home, her voice grew loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.   “I just think the sugar daddy who bought you those two properties last time treated you pretty well!” “Oh, wait. Miss Gwen, don’t you have several sugar daddies? Do they all know about each other?”   I chuckled. What she didn’t know was that my “sugar daddies” were my godfathers and I really was a socialite.   The kicker, though, was that my so-called wealthy fiancé wasn’t rich at all. In fact, he was just a scholarship student I had been financially supporting!

My husband has asthenospermia, so we decide to try IVF. Before the embryos are combined, I catch my husband switching my ovum out for his true love's. I don't say anything and switch them back. At the same time, I switch my husband's sample out for my ex-boyfriend's. 25 years later, my husband's true love comes knocking. She holds my daughter's hands and weeps while saying, "I'm your mother, my darling!"

My younger brother had opened a high-end beauty salon, so I took my mother there for a facial. We picked the most expensive package, but the moment the mask was applied, Mom's face began to burn. When we peeled it off, her entire face was covered in rashes. I called for the director, but she looked impatient. "Oh, that's just a normal detox reaction." I was stunned. "Her face is practically ruined! What products are you even using?" "Ruined?" She flared up like someone had stepped on her tail. "Your mom's skin is just too bad to handle premium nutrients! Once our products are opened, they're non-refundable—got it?" I pointed to the brochure. "It says right here—'gentle and non-irritating, full refund if any adverse reaction occurs.' Is this how Stellan Fallow taught you to run a business?" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin high. "I am the boss! You and your mother look broke as hell—clearly here to mooch a free treatment. Now that it didn't work, you're trying to scam us for money? "Let me tell you something—this set costs 38 thousand, and with my emotional damages and lost wages, that's a total of 100 thousand. If you don't pay up today, I'll have the police take you both in!" A hundred thousand for a product that ruined someone's face? It was no wonder Stellan suddenly wanted to open a salon—it turned out he and his girlfriend were running a scam together! I was about to call Stellan, but before I could, she hit the video dial first. "Bubby, get over here—two broke idiots tried to freeload a treatment and now they're trying to shake us down for money!"

A new intern at the hospital claimed that she had excellent medical skills. Even without anesthesia, her treatments never caused any pain. The truth was that she had transferred her patients’ pain to me. After she went viral, many patients rushed to the hospital to see her. Some of them even had to bid for a slot to receive surgery from her. However, I was in excruciating pain due to all the surgeries she had carried out. I could no longer work and received complaints from the patients. In the end, the hospital fired me. I gradually discovered that I even experienced some of the side effects of the surgeries she had carried out on her patients. My hair started to fall, and I became as thin as a skeleton. Even walking caused me excruciating pain. I went to the hospital to question her. Everyone thought that I was jealous of her and that I had gone crazy. She calmly put on her surgical gloves as she faced my wrath. “Please don’t make a scene. I’m about to conduct brain surgery on the daughter of the wealthiest man in the city. I don’t have time for your nonsense.” After she entered the operating theater for five minutes, I suddenly suffered from an aneurysm and died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I had been transported back to the day when she had gone viral. I took out all my savings and bid for one of her treatment slots. “I’d like to try your painless gastroscopy.”

After I dropped out of school, my parents didn't pressure me to do anything. But Nicole Hicks kept calling nonstop. She was my boyfriend's childhood friend who had established a reputation as a genius. I was too busy helping out in the fields, growing vegetables, and splashing around in the creek, living my best carefree life. Writing code wasn't even on my mind. In my past life, she had turned in a project just one day before I did. Her codes were exactly the same as mine. Everyone called me a fraud and said I had stolen it. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. Later, she even did a livestream, accusing me online of being a school bully. People went wild. They didn't just come for me—they went after my whole family. Some obsessed troll chased my parents in a car, and they died in a crash. I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped off a high-rise, my eyes still wide open, refusing to accept the way it all ended. Even in my last moment, I couldn't figure it out. That code was mine. My hard work. So how did she manage to post it before me? When I opened my eyes again, I was back, right before everything fell apart.

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

The new intern, Cynthia Joller, had posted about me online, claiming the company had made them use their leave for team building. No one wanted to fly all the way to an island to spend time with colleagues. However, what the internet did not know was that our company's team-building tradition involved booking a top-notch five-star resort every year: all-inclusive, family-friendly, with an extra three days of paid leave, and a $30,000 budget per person. The whole internet dubbed me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to give in to their demands and issued a notice. [In response to employee feedback and to honor personal time, this year's team-building retreat has been canceled. Instead, a $500 allowance for personal travel will be provided.] The notice stirred up a commotion in the company. Long-time employees gathered at my office door, pleading for the return of the sunny Madiles retreat.

My brother brings home a scheming girlfriend. He wants to kick me out of the house for her sake and claims that everything at home belongs to him. I hand the company over with both hands and leave without hesitation. Less than a month later, my brother, who can't manage the company, grovels at my feet and begs me to return.

When my best friend and I went for prenatal checkups, we both found out we were carrying babies with the super-male gene. The doctor advised us to terminate the pregnancies. I immediately went through with it, but my best friend was hesitant. I kindly advised her, "This child will ruin your life someday." She reluctantly agreed. Later, her husband cheated on her and tried to justify it. "If you can't give me a son, why shouldn't someone else?" Her husband's mistress chimed in, "What's the point of a woman who can't bear sons?" As a result, she blamed everything on me. When I wasn't paying attention, she poisoned my water and watched me die. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our prenatal checkup.

I'm reincarnated a week before the college entrance exam. Despite being the soon-to-be top scorer, I stab my eye with a syringe. In my past life, Marianne Quentin, my boyfriend Lance Russell's childhood friend, reported me for cheating off her during the final mock exam. The teacher compared our papers and found that my essay was identical to hers. He harshly criticized me and warned me not to repeat my mistake. However, Marianne reported me for copying her answers again during the math exam. Once again, my answers were found to be identical to hers. The teacher scolded me for being incorrigible and sent me home to reflect on my actions. I couldn't understand what had happened. Clearly, I'd never cheated, but my answers were nearly identical to Marianne's, whether in writing and language or in math. As the SAT exam loomed over me, I could only suppress my doubts as I stepped into the exam hall. I finished the writing paper and thought I was safe. However, Marianne stepped out and accused me of cheating again. I tried to defend myself, yet the answers on my paper were identical to hers. In the end, I was disqualified, kicked out of the exam hall, and banned from taking any exams in the next two years—just because I "cheated". I succumbed to despair and leaped from the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to one week before the SAT.