Independence Quotes

My husband, Jaxon Murray, was a renowned medical expert and owned a big company. He was participating in a clinical drug trial when someone tampered with his medication. Under the influence, he ended up entangled with an intern—ninety-nine times, right there on the lab table. When he regained clarity, he rushed home, locked himself in the bathroom, and submerged himself in the tub without food or water as he waited for me to return from work. "Lauren," he said, "my medication was switched during the trial. I made a terrible mistake. But I paid her off and had her dismissed. She'll never appear before me again." I wept miserably, clutching my belly that had once again failed to carry life. And in the end, I chose to forgive him. Several months later, he crashed into a guardrail while answering a phone call, causing me to miscarry. The injury left me unable to conceive for life. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice choked with remorse. "Darling, I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry… We don't need children. We have each other, isn't that enough?" One day, I went to bring him lunch, only to find him in the next hospital room, cradling and feeding the woman he swore he'd never see again. "She's too weak to eat by herself," he said. "She has early-stage stomach cancer. There's no one else to take care of her… she's all alone." I chose to believe him. Again. Until one day, a pair of twins appeared in our home. Sophie Dixon knelt before me, wearing the postpartum gown he had once lovingly picked out for me, clutching my hand with tears streaming down her face. "It's all my fault. Please don't blame Jaxon. If you say the word, I'll leave with the children immediately." Jaxon grabbed my other hand, desperation thick in his voice. "Lauren, you've always been the kindest person I know. The children are still so young. How could Sophie possibly raise them alone? You wouldn't be that cruel… would you?" I looked down at the hands gripping mine from both sides, and suddenly, I laughed. "Jaxon, let's get a divorce. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

My father-in-law, George Lane, suffered from a brain aneurysm and fell onto the ground. The floor was covered in his blood. I calmly picked up a mop and wiped the floor clean. As his daughter-in-law, I gave up on saving him within the most critical time. In my last life, I was the first person who found out that George was injured. I immediately got an ambulance and sent him to the hospital. Before the surgery, the hospital required his immediate family member to sign off the consent form. However, when I asked my husband, Brian Lane to come to the hospital to sign that document, he thought that I was acting out of jealousy because he was spending time with his first-love. He thought I was making an excuse to get him home, so he refused to go to the hospital. In the end, George passed away as he did not receive the treatment on time. Brian did not manage to see George for the last time, and he blamed it all on me. He then hacked me to death. “It’s your fault! My dad was so old, and you didn’t take good care of him as a daughter-in-law! Since you’re not doing your part when he’s alive, then you should continue your duties as a daughter-in-law in hell!” When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the day when George died again.

My husband and I spend 50 loving years together. On the day of our golden wedding anniversary, someone pushes me down a flight of stairs. As I drift in and out of consciousness, I miraculously regain my hearing. I lost it in the process of saving my husband when we were younger. I hear my husband say to my son, "You shouldn't have dirtied your hands." "How long more are you going to put up with her, Dad? Calista doesn't have much longer to wait." My husband sighs heavily. After a moment, I feel someone remove my oxygen tube. I descend into boundless darkness. When I open my eyes again, I've been taken back to the 80s—before I married my husband. The only difference is that I can hear this time.

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.”

As soon as my husband sat at the dining table, he couldn't stop himself from talking. The humiliations of my school days had become his favorite entertainment, served up to his drinking buddies like appetizers. "Back then, she got her clothes torn off in the bathroom, beaten so badly she crawled on the ground like a dog, too terrified to make a sound. If it weren’t for my kindness—" That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce. He laughed it off, utterly unbothered. "Seriously? It’s just a joke! That was ages ago. You’re way too uptight—it’s just for a laugh, right?" For a laugh? Was I the only one with a past? Did he think he was untouchable? Maybe I should tell a few embarrassing stories about his precious childhood sweetheart. Fine. If it’s all about “fun,” I hoped his sweetheart found it equally hilarious when her turn came.

My firefighter husband had fallen from a great height during a mission and was rushed into the emergency room, covered in blood. As the only person capable of saving him, I stood just outside the operating room, calm and composed. Reaching for my makeup bag, I began carefully applying my makeup. Another doctor, panic-stricken, rushed toward me and shouted, "Dr. Warhol! The patient's kidney has ruptured! You're the only surgeon in all of Switzerland who can perform this life-saving procedure! If you don’t act now, he’s going to die!" I continued shaping my eyebrows with steady precision, not even glancing in his direction. "Quiet," I said coolly. "If you keep yelling, my brows might end up crooked."

My best friend was a "mistress breakup consultant". I had lent her money to start her business, and her very first job turned out to be breaking up my own marriage. "Jessie, what's the point of a loveless marriage? You've wasted Harold's time for five years. Are you really going to keep clinging to him and making him miserable for the rest of his life?" my best friend asked. I laughed at the self-righteous nonsense she was spouting and had security escort her out. She came right back, though, this time with a so-called "Anti-Mistress Alliance", live-streaming the chaos as they broke into my company. "The one who isn't loved is the real intruder!" "Fight for love at all costs!" They chanted while smashing up my office. I watched them calmly, waiting until they wore themselves out before pulling out a contract. "The 100,000 dollars you borrowed from me has been overdue for six months. If you don't repay it soon, I'll be forced to take legal action. "And, the lab equipment you've destroyed is valued at 5,550,000 dollars. You'll need to compensate me at full price. "Otherwise, I'll see you in court."

Hubert Parker and I had been together since our teenage years. We went from innocent first love to planning a lifetime together. But a week before our wedding, he died in a sudden accident. I cried until I nearly passed out, only to see strange messages flashing before my eyes. [Can someone please tell the poor female lead he’s not really dead?] [Hubert’s secret lover ran away after hearing about his wedding. He faked his death that very night and flew overseas to chase her. The female lead’s crying by his grave while the mistress is crying in his bed. This is killing me!] [What a pity. When he finally came back, she knew nothing and still married him with a smile…] Half a month later, news spread across Ashford that I was engaged to the heir of one of the city’s most powerful families. One of Hubert’s closest friends confronted me in disbelief. “It hasn’t even been that long since Hubert passed, and you’ve already found someone new?” “He’s gone. I can’t spend the rest of my life in mourning, can I?”

My aunt has one leg amputated after getting into an accident. It's at this time that her beloved daughter chooses to leave the country. From that day onward, I care for my aunt like she's my own mother. We spend 15 years together. She's grateful for my care and promises she'll leave all her money to me after her death. However, my cousin returns to the country when my aunt is on the brink of death. My aunt goes back on her word and gives my cousin everything. She only gives me 50 thousand dollars as compensation for my "caretaking services". I've spent 15 years on her only to get 50 thousand dollars—it's such an insult. I'm so stunned by this that I trip and fall into a river. I drown. When I open my eyes, I've been taken back 15 years in time…

Fresh from a business trip, my husband swept me into his arms and pulled me toward the bathroom for a passionate shared bath. As our lips met in a dizzying kiss, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye: the toilet lid was down. Seven years ago, after reading an online article claiming that men urinating while standing could splash bacteria onto the seat, he insisted we always keep the lid up for hygiene's sake. In all our years of marriage, it had never been lowered until now. A chill ran through me. The bathroom was pristine, not a stray hair in sight. But then I noticed the shower's water temperature was set five degrees higher than the 98.6°F he always preferred. Men preferred cooler water, and women warmer. In an instant, I realized that Nick Doyle had betrayed me.