Hypocrisy Meaning

My husband’s friend’s widow uploaded a picture of her pregnancy report. [Thank you for letting me have my own baby.] I responded with a question mark when I saw Jake Green, my husband’s name, in the husband column. Jake immediately called me to yell at me. “She’s a widow and is living alone. All she wants is to have a baby to keep her company and give her life a little more cheer. How could you not show her even this bit of pity? “You know that Henry is my friend. It’s only right for me to take care of his wife after he died! This is called friendship, don’t you understand?!” Soon, Henry’s widow uploaded a photo of a loft apartment. [Thank goodness you’re by my side to let me experience the warmth of a family again.] When I saw Jake busying himself in the kitchen in the photo, I thought it was time to end the marriage.

I’d just wrapped up a short trip with my daughter, Elara. On the way back, I figured I’d swing by the Hale, our family’s casino, to check in on my son, Cassian. Maybe grab dinner together. I didn’t expect to be mistaken for his latest fling. Correction: not mistaken—accused. Violently. “You think you can just waltz in here like some queen?” she hissed. “I’m the woman Cassian loves! What kind of whore are you? And is this your bastard daughter with him?” She locked us in the basement. No phone. No light. Just concrete walls and the stench of mildew and madness. Then came the fists. She slapped me across the face—again and again—until my skin stung and my ears rang. When that didn’t satisfy her, she pulled a gun and aimed low. The bullet tore through my knee. I bit back a scream, shielding Elara with my body. “You need to die, whore,” she spat. One of her men hesitated, “We should at least tell Mr. Hale first. If we are going to kill these two in his casino.” Lila of course said no. But that man brought Cassian anyway. My son stepped into this dark little room like it was any other Tuesday—until he saw me. His whole body went still. The blood drained from his face. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “Mom? What are you doing in my basement?”

After I graduated, I kept hitting walls while job hunting, but my boyfriend landed a position at a big company with ease. My boyfriend of two years voluntarily gave me his salary to comfort me. When I finally found a job, he worried about my long commute and bought me a car. All my friends envied me for having such a thoughtful boyfriend. In order to buy our first house, I secretly transferred my own salary into his account as well. A year later, we decided to get married. He held my hand and said excitedly, “I know you don’t have much saved. I don’t want a single cent from you. All I want is your whole heart.” I was deeply moved by how considerate he was. However, on the day of our engagement, he pulled out photos of me with more than 40 different men and accused me of cheating. I stared at them. I had never even seen these people before. Then, he showed me his card’s transaction history, filled with charges from a place called Sunshine Club. “I trusted you with my card, and you used my money to fool around! I’m not marrying you. Give me back my car and the 800,000 dollars you’ve burned through.” I calmly took out the card he had given me before and sneered, “Sure. Let’s settle the accounts properly.” The moment my attorney revealed the true financial statements, he was completely stunned.

Maynard Hansen planned a luxury birthday cruise for Darlene Thompson, but the cruise ship capsized when a violent storm swept in without warning. Without hesitation, Maynard gave the last seat on the lifeboat to Darlene. As I struggled in the water, my son, Waldo Hansen—whom I carried for nine months and gave birth to—cried out, "Don't let Mom up! She'll push Ms. Thompson off." Clutching nothing but a broken plank, I somehow made it to shore. By the time I collapsed on the sand, I was frozen, exhausted, and done. I had never felt so alone. Shortly after, I found myself clutching a diagnosis of severe depression in my hand. I was ready to bring this wretched life to a quiet end. But when my husband and son realized I truly didn't want to live anymore, they collapsed into tears. They wrapped their arms around me as they sobbed, "Please don't leave us. We really can't live without you."

At the team dinner, everyone started hyping Peggy Madoff and me up to call our partners. Before I could even move, Peggy—runner-up to my top spot—whipped out her phone. "Babe, everyone's making me call you!" she giggled. On the line? Gerard Busch. Yeah, the CEO. He laughed. "Guess I'll be counting on you all to look after Peggy," he said. Cue the gasps and cheers. I just kept downing my wine. Because Gerard? He was my husband.

During a kindergarten parent-teacher conference, a rich wife accuses me of stealing her bag. I'm baffled. I bought the bag myself abroad, and it even has my name etched on it. However, when I scrutinize the bag, I discover that my name is missing. I call my husband, and he impatiently says, "I gave your bag to Jen. She's fresh out of college and needs an expensive bag to make herself look good. Even Finn said the bag is too young for you—it suits Jen more. You're too old for these things. You should be glad to even have a fake one." I bark out an exasperated laugh. I can go without having a husband, but the bag has to be returned to me.

I am diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, and I only have three days left to live. When my husband rejects my 188th plea for help, I take my test results and enter the hospice care center. "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation process and apply for government aid." Ten minutes later, they arrive. Before I can speak, my lawyer husband, Jasper Horton, coldly slaps me across the face. "You're faking a terminal illness just to steal attention from Janice?" My doctor brother, Casey Carter, snatches the medical report from my hand and scoffs at it. "Lupus? If you're going to fake being sick, at least make it believable. Only one in a million people gets this." I endure the pain in my body, return to the counter, and hand in the application form and my medical records once more. The staff member sees the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and sympathizes with me. "I have no family left," I say. "I'm requesting cremation in three days, location doesn't matter. I just don't want my death to burden anyone."

My mother is in the late stages of cancer. Yet, she sits in a wheelchair with an oxygen tube and endures a long train ride just to attend my wedding with Isaac Pudley. But when it's time for him to walk down the aisle, I don't see him anywhere despite screaming his name. It turns out his childhood sweetheart, Megan Ericsson, is having another depressive episode and is threatening suicide again. "Isaac, I can't live without you," she screeches. Isaac is always so stern and composed, but he now holds Megan in his arms and begs me to call off the wedding so they can leave. Relatives and guests watch the spectacle with thinly veiled amusement. To make matters worse, my mother is so angry that she faints. However, Isaac believes that my mother is feigning illness. He only wants to take Megan with him and leave. He even takes away my mother's wheelchair. But he seems to have forgotten that he has hurt me 97 times by now. After he hurts me 99 times, I’ll definitely leave him.

I never thought I'd end up severely injured and lose my baby on my wedding day. That day, I walked toward my husband full of excitement, only to watch him rush right past me and straight into the arms of his secretary. Confused, I turned around and saw someone in a wedding dress lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her. It was his secretary, Quinn Fable. Steve York, my soon-to-be husband, panicked and scooped her up, but Quinn stared at me with tearful eyes, crying, “Summer, I ate the candy you gave me… Why would you want to hurt my baby? Please, Steve, save our child… please…” Steve was beside himself with rage. Without a second thought, he kicked me hard in the stomach. I collapsed into the champagne tower, shards of glass embedding into my skin. Blood poured from between my legs. Yet, they still clung to each other, crying bitterly as if I didn't exist. When the ambulance arrived, they didn't even hesitate to push me aside to save her first. “Forget about her!” Steve shouted. “Save Quinn! She's lost so much blood. She must be in terrible pain! As for Summer, that vicious witch… she deserves to die!” Due to the delay, I suffered a ruptured uterus and missed the window for proper treatment. And as if that wasn't enough, Steve personally announced that our marriage was null and void. He marched straight to the clerk's office with Quinn and made it official. On my ICU bed, I received a text from him. “Pack your things and get out. Quinn wants you out of her sight.”

During a round of truth or dare, my boss, Victoria Hale, leaned in and kissed my husband, Ethan Graves. As just another junior employee, I didn’t even have the chance to call her out in front of everyone. Instead, I slipped away to the restroom and asked Ethan for a divorce. He brushed it off as if I were only sulking. "Don’t take it so seriously. She’s just had too much to drink. In the corporate world, you have to entertain, play along for the sake of the project." However, in the very next round, when Victoria was dared to kiss someone else, Ethan flipped the table in front of everyone. "Touch her, and see what happens."