Delayed Quotes

When I received the news that my fiancé, Ellison Perez, had postponed our wedding for the 18th time, I happened to be walking out of the hospital, clutching my medical report. Once again, he had delayed our wedding for an entire month, all because of my adopted foster sister, Becky. I thought about what the doctor had told me. After hesitating for a long time, I finally dialed Ellison's number. "I can't wait until next month. If we can't get married tomorrow, there won't be another chance." However, Ellison only took my words as another fit of childish willfulness. "Don't be unreasonable, Lily. Have you forgotten how Becky took your place as the hostage? She was tortured for a whole month before being rescued." "It's because of you that she developed severe trauma. Now you can't even wait one more month for her to recover?" I could hear my parents' voices chiming in over the line. "Becky still suffers from extreme fear of men. Ellison is the only one who can calm her down. Isn't it your fault she ended up like this?" "You're being selfish, Lily. A wedding can wait, but Becky's condition can't!" I had known for a long time that ever since that incident, my entire family had chosen Becky's side. Even so, tears streamed down my face. "Fine," I said softly. "Postpone it." I clenched the medical report tightly in my hand. They did not know that just moments ago, the doctor had told me the truth— I was in the final stage of liver cancer. I only had one month to live.

As my due date approached, a massive discrepancy surfaced in the Galante family's arms accounts. The leadership made a swift decision. They sent me, Sophia Vitale, the Don's wife, the woman everyone claimed had nothing better to do, to personally inspect the armory and verify the inventory. I believed it was a routine check. I never imagined my husband's godsister, Monica Leone, would use it as cover to blow up the entire armory. The explosion was deafening. Fire ripped through the sky. Concrete collapsed around me, crushing my body as a searing pain tore through my abdomen. I did not call my husband on his highest-priority private line. Instead, I sent a distress signal to my father. In my previous life, the moment the explosion occurred, I had used that same priority channel to call my husband. The child had survived. Monica had been obliterated in the blast. My husband had claimed he did not blame me. He had said Monica was an outsider and that an heir mattered more. He had spared no expense, hiring elite obstetric specialists to monitor me day and night. He had told me to stay calm and wait for delivery. Then, on the day I went into labor, he personally locked me and the baby inside an abandoned warehouse drenched in gasoline and burned us alive. "If you hadn't deliberately delayed, she wouldn't have died. Do you really think playing the innocent victim could fool me? Dream on," he said. "You like playing with fire so much? Fine. I'll let you experience her despair yourself." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the armory, at the exact moment of the explosion.

My mom is a pathological liar who enjoys making herself seem like the victim. Unfortunately, I'm always the scapegoat. When I was little, there was one time when she went out to play poker with her friends. As a result, she forgot to go home and prepare dinner on time. After that, she slapped me in front of the entire family. "This brat ran off to god knows where earlier! I went out looking for her, which is why dinner got delayed!" Because of that lie, I had to kneel in the courtyard throughout the night. When I was studying, I had to take an extremely important exam. My teacher repeatedly reminded the parents to prepare all materials required for their children. But my mom didn't even prepare anything for me. After that, she even said in front of everyone, "I've already prepared the materials for her. She was the one who threw them away when she was on her way to school because she didn't want to take the exam at all!" Since then, all of my classmates ostracized me throughout my entire school life. After I came of age, my mom kept crying to me in the middle of the night. "Your father has been abusing me for so many years. I had to endure everything for your sake, you know!" I advised her to get a divorce, only for her to tell an exaggerated version of what I said to my father. "Your daughter egged me on to divorce you! She said she doesn't need a useless father like you! I couldn't stand it anymore, so I'm telling you this!" He flew into a fit of rage on the spot, which led to him accidentally pushing me down the stairs. I died on the spot from the fall. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day my mom cries to me about my dad for the first time.

My father was critically ill. I begged my fiancé to keep his post-wedding promise—to withdraw emergency funds from the medical trust fund he had sworn to protect me forever. He refused. The next day, he announced his engagement to Pera. Overnight, I became the laughingstock of everyone. In my deepest despair, my childhood friend Seamus— The heir to a long-established Mafia family— Knelt down in the park and proposed to me in front of everyone. That night, he transferred a large sum of money to my account. I said yes without hesitation and rushed to the hospital to pay for my father's treatment. But he never woke up again. The hospital said he had suffered "unexpected complications." Everything after that—the lawyers, the funeral, all the arrangements—was handled by Seamus. Under the Mafia family's protection, everything went smoothly, and my father was able to be quietly buried. The wedding proceeded as planned. Years later, I overheard a conversation between him and the doctor who treated my father. “Seamus,” the doctor said in a low voice, “You tampered with the organ allocation priority list. You delayed Shirley’s father’s transplant so that Pera’s father could receive an organ transplant in time. You falsified the urgency level. Do you know what will happen if this is exposed?” “The list itself was legal,” Seamus replied after a pause. “I just…adjusted the urgency level.” “You committed medical fraud,” the doctor said sharply. “You ruined his only chance to live. All for Pera. Don’t you regret it?” “I don’t regret it,” Seamus answered without hesitation. “I would do anything for her. Even my life, even the honor of the Mafia family.” “Throughout our marriage, I’ve been trying to make up for everything I owed Shirley. That should be enough.” My vision blurred. Only then did I finally understand— The woman he truly loved was always Pera. "If that's really the case," I thought numbly,"Then I should leave."

The mayor was in a car accident and rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. My boyfriend, Joe Reid, wanted our junior colleague, Melissa Cross, to become the mayor's savior, so he convinced the entire department to delay the surgery while waiting for her. She was late because she had been making her special herbal drink. The mayor's life was hanging by a thread. If we did not act fast, we'd all be in serious trouble! I pleaded with them to start the surgery immediately, but all I received was accusations. "You're just jealous because Joe promised Melissa a permanent position. You're trying to ruin her chance to impress the mayor, aren't you?" I dropped to my knees and begged my colleagues. Only then, reluctantly, did they agree to proceed to the operating room. I served as lead surgeon with Joe and my colleagues assisting. After twelve hours, we finally saved Mayor Richard Carter's life. Afterward, our entire department received a massive bonus from the mayor. Both Joe and I were promoted. Yet on the night of my promotion, Melissa drugged me and had me locked in the hospital morgue's refrigeration unit, where I froze to death. Meanwhile, Joe led the entire department in lying to the police. "Kimberly Hayes had corrupt medical ethics. She stole credit for saving the mayor's life from Melissa to get promoted, then killed herself out of guilt." I died with my name destroyed. Melissa used this opportunity to secure her permanent position and even became department director with Richard's help. My father believed there was more to my death and fought for justice everywhere, but Joe had him committed to a psychiatric hospital where he was beaten to death by other patients. Only after death did I learn the truth. This was all a conspiracy between Melissa and Joe. Melissa was too afraid to be lead surgeon. They delayed everything just to replace me! When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the day Joe led the entire department in waiting for Melissa before the surgery. In this life, I would not stop these ungrateful colleagues from destroying themselves.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."