Hypocrisy Quotes

I need to drive to and from work due to a change in my job scope. However, my father-in-law hoards my car and refuses to return it. My husband stands up for him. "How can you be so materialistic? So what if you have to take an electric scooter to work?" So, I sell the car. My husband points at me and snaps, "What right do you have to sell Dad's car?" I look at him calmly. "I've sold the one you drive too."

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

My first time meeting Lawrence Seinfield was during my return to a noble family as its heiress. He helped me get out of a sticky situation once, and for that, I spent five years trying to steal his heart. I loved him. Eventually, he became my fiance, but he thought I was beneath him. He thought my lack of education and proper upbringing was bad. My grandfather, the one who raised me, was dying. Just when I needed his help the most, he decided to teach me a lesson and show me my place. Without any help, my grandfather died, and like Lawrence wished, I knew my place. And I lost my love for him.

A car accident leaves me unconscious for a full three years. When I wake up, my family bursts into tears of joy. They care for me with the utmost attention. But from their behavior, I sense something is wrong. There are women's clothes in the house that don't fit me. My mother's shopping cart is filled with mysterious baby items. My father's friends send congratulatory messages about a new child, and my husband is always working overtime. When my husband once again leaves me alone under the pretext that there is something urgent at the company, I secretly follow him. Inside a warmly decorated house, my parents and husband sit around a table. A woman who looks almost exactly like me is holding a baby just a few months old, gently coaxing the child to call my husband "Daddy".

Everyone is jealous of Scarlett Meyer's perfect marriage because her husband is so in love with her that it's literally carved into his bones. However, it isn't until the day she finds out she's pregnant that she realizes her husband, Joachim Davidson, has been cheating on her for the past two years. And the person he's cheating on her with? Katrina Greene, Scarlett's college bully. Katrina even has a pair of twins with Joachim. Katrina won't stop provoking Scarlett, and Joachim also continues lying to her face to be with Katrina. To get back at her cheating husband, Scarlett decides to abort her baby and fake her own death. But just before she leaves for good, she puts the abortion report and proof of Katrina's provocation in an envelope and gifts it to Joachim, telling him that he can only open it a few days later.

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."

During an ambush, I risked everything to save Matthew, but in doing so, I lost the ability to stand—my legs were permanently damaged. Matthew was devastated. Holding me close, he swore he would love me forever and never betray me. Overwhelmed with emotion, I agreed to marry him. In secret, I sought medical treatment, and after a long, gruelling journey, the day finally came when the doctor told me I could walk again. Overjoyed, I rushed home, eager to share the incredible news with him. However, the moment I pushed open the door, my world collapsed. Matthew was fooling around with his female assistant—right there in our home. On our bed. Wrapped in each other's arms, they kissed passionately, completely lost in the moment. As things heated up, the woman gazed at him and murmured, "Matt, why don't you just leave that cripple? She can't satisfy you at all." "Don't you love the thrill of sneaking around? It wouldn't be nearly as exciting if I left her." A wave of icy rage surged through me. So that was what our marriage meant to him—nothing more than a twisted game, a joke between him and his mistress. Drained and heartbroken, I turned and walked out. That night, I booked a flight back to my hometown. I was done with this city. Let Matthew live with his regret.

"Ms. Jones, the service to fake your death that you requested has been arranged. Here's the agreement. Please sign here." Isabella Jones glanced at the contract that the person placed before her. Client: Isabella Jones Cause of death: Falling from a mountain, eaten by wild animals. Unable to retrieve the remains of the body Time of death: One week from now One week from now would mark the fifth anniversary of her marriage to Samuel Grant. It was also the day she had planned to fake her death and leave him. Since that was the date it all began, it might as well be when it ended.

My Alpha brother's Omega assistant had always wanted to be Luna. She didn’t know my identity and she mistook me as a rival trying to steal her place. She framed me for theft and tortured me without mercy. As I lay dying, it was my old companion—Rex, the Siberian war dog who had fought beside my brother and earned the highest military honors—who sacrificed his life to protect me. She dragged me by my hair, smugly satisfied, and threw me before the crowd like refuse. In her hands, she flaunted her "gift" made from Rex's fur. She had no idea she was about to face the fury of the entire werewolf world.

My husband and I have been legally married for five years. This is the tenth time he's canceled our wedding ceremony. This time? His student, Laura, is competing in her first international violin competition—and he 'needs' to be there. I still remember the last cancellation: an awards ceremony he had to attend with her. The time before that? She fell ill, and he stayed at her hospital bedside. The other times? I've lost count of the excuses, but it doesn't matter. The reason is always Laura. Her needs always outweighed my wedding. My marriage. My life. Fine. If he wanted to stand by Laura so badly, he could stay there forever. This hollow, five-year farce of a marriage? It's over.