Emotional Stress Quotes

My sister is diagnosed with leukemia after a medical checkup at the hospital where I work. My bone marrow is a match for her. Out of curiosity, I tell my family I'm the one who's sick. They vehemently oppose to her donating her bone marrow to me. "A bone marrow donation is risky! We can't let your sister put herself in danger." "Don't drag your sister into this just because you're sick. Everyone's life and death is fated—you have to accept your destiny." My sister also refuses to help me, brushing me off with the excuse that she's preparing to conceive. My relationship with my family is strained, so their behavior thoroughly destroys it. When I realize this, I leave the diagnosis report behind and walk out on them.

I was in the middle of hosting an important international meeting when my younger brother's sudden call interrupted me. On the other end, his voice was low and trembling. "Matt, someone took my spot for the exchange student program." I rushed to his school right away, only to find him cornered in an office, his eyes slightly red. A cocky-looking boy was pointing at Tim's nose, his face full of arrogance. "You want to compete with me? I'm the heir of the Smiths in Ardenford. My mom just donated an entire lab building to the school! Who do you think you are?" Even the teacher nearby spoke up in support of him. "Timothy, the Smiths in Ardenford are one of our school's major benefactors. You'd better be sensible and not cause any trouble." I was about to step forward and confront them when those words—the Smiths in Ardenford—made me stop cold. The Smiths in Ardenford? Since when did my mom have a third son besides me and my brother, Timothy? I immediately dialed her number, a cold laugh slipping from my lips. "Mom, when did you have another son behind Dad's back?"

I head to a real estate sales office with my fiancée to purchase a marital home, where we meet a two-faced realtor. He starts off by complimenting my fiancée for everything she's achieved at her young age, especially since she can afford to drive a Rolls-Royce. Then, he hints that I'm wearing a fake watch and pretending to be rich so that I can live off her money and get a house without paying a cent. When he learns that we're buying our marital home, he raises his voice and says to me, "I think the sugar mommy who bought you two houses the last time was pretty nice. Oh, wait—I forgot that you have more than one sugar mommy, Mr. Bellway. Do they know of one another's existences?" I smile. My so-called sugar mommy is my actual godmother, but there's no denying that she's rich. Unfortunately for this realtor, my fiancée is nothing but a poor student whom I sponsored back in the day!

When I was discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my brother and sister-in-law dropped everything to personally pick me up. Even my nephew, who had just finished his college entrance exams, arrived with a box of carrot cake he had waited in line all day to buy. His warm smile was the picture of innocence. “Auntie, congratulations on your discharge. With me here, you’ll never feel lonely again.” To outsiders, we were the perfect family—envied by all and even awarded the title of a local model family. But behind the facade of family bliss lay a very different story. On the very day my brother transferred the last of the family properties to me, I went live on social media. In front of an audience that idolized my so-called perfect family, I boasted about my "accomplishments." I conned my nephew into paying for a spot at an elite school, duped my sister-in-law into stepping into a scandalous club, and tricked my brother into losing everything he had worked for. “My brother has treated me with nothing but kindness. And I can only repay his kindness with betrayal.”

My son was no longer with us. His heart, while he still breathed, was cruelly harvested and given to someone of influence—Michele Finnen, the wife of Scott Langley. Just because she had heart disease and was powerful, she sent people to snatch my son away. As an orphan and now a single mother, my son was all the family I had. He would curl up in my arms and whisper, "Mommy, don't be scared. I'll protect you when I grow up!" He was the center of my universe. Consumed by a seething hatred for Michele, I craved vengeance. I was determined to reclaim my son's heart myself, ensuring he would leave this world whole. To do that, I set my sights on Michele's husband, Scott. He was still enamored with his first love. But fate played a cruel joke: suddenly, out of nowhere, that very woman experienced a car accident. And the strangest part? I looked almost just like her.

My daughter unplugs my oxygen tube before throwing herself into her nanny's arms. "The old hag is finally dying, Mom. I don't need to call a thief my mother anymore!" It turns out the nanny switched my child for hers when they were born. I've spent the last two decades doting on the nanny's daughter. I die of an aneurysm after recalling my birth daughter's horrible death. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day my daughter was born.

The day of my wedding photoshoot, my family's adoptive daughter tugs my veil off and asks loudly, "Aren't you our family's adoptive daughter? What are you doing here? Today's the day Ian and I are supposed to have our wedding photoshoot. Aren't you going to disgrace Ford Group by being here?" In the past, I would've run away in tears. Unfortunately for her, I'd been reborn. I slapped Aspen Miller and retorted, "What right do you have to speak to me? Who do you think you are, having a wedding photoshoot with Adrian? Are you worthy of being associated with Ford Group?"

The smoothie shop was a whirlwind of activity during the lunch rush when a customer's call shattered my focus. "Is this the manager?" a sharp voice demanded. "I ordered a smoothie with just a touch of sugar. Why is it so sweet?" I checked her order and explained calmly, "Miss, Chocolate Bliss has a naturally sweet base." Not long after, she called again. "I asked for five ice cubes. Why are there only four?" Swamped and barely keeping up, I apologized and moved on. Before I could catch my breath, the phone rang once more. "I requested the guy in the black shirt to deliver my order. Why did a girl show up?" Suppressing my irritation, I clarified, "Miss, we handle the drinks; deliveries are managed by couriers." Finally, the calls stopped. But as the rush subsided, the headquarters called, telling me that a customer had lodged a complaint, accusing me of seducing her boyfriend.

My husband and his beloved mistress died together in a car accident. They left me with a pair of illegitimate children. Eighteen years passed in a blur. I poured my heart and soul into raising those children until, at last, they earned admission to Corvell University, the country's top university. But on the very day they received their acceptance letters, my 'dead' husband returned. And beside him stood his mistress. She clutched my husband's arm and beamed at me. "Thanks to your tireless care, my two sons finally made it into Corvell. If not for you, the two of us wouldn't have been free to live so happily together all these years..." Later, my husband demanded a divorce. He wanted to marry his mistress and reunite their perfect little family of four. I didn't cry, nor did I rage. I only smiled and said, "Sure."

The underprivileged student I've been sponsoring suddenly shows up at my birthday party, swaggering in and waving around a pregnancy report. "Look—Pheebs is pregnant with my baby! You'd better be smart and divorce her already!" I point at the report, stunned and confused. "Are you sure it's Phoebe who's pregnant with your child?" Victor Thompson, my beneficiary, smirks proudly as he fiddles with the pregnancy report. "Duh! We conceived the baby last month on our cruise trip!" The entire room falls into a stunned silence. My ex-wife, Phoebe Jackman, has been dead for three years.