Quotes About Emotional Scars Novels & Stories

To fulfill the Bet-on Agreement, I pretended to be a nobody and interned at my husband Evan Grant’s company for a week. On my first day at work, I ran into a woman waving a Marriage Certificate around at the front desk like she owned the place. “Do you even know what a marriage certificate means? It means I’m the only one for Mr. Grant! “Why are you standing so lazily? Is your spine weak, or do you just not see me? Lower your head! Keep it down until Mr. Grant arrives! “Is the cafeteria food terrible? I’ll have the Michelin chef spice it up for you!” I was about to step forward when a colleague grabbed my arm. “She’s Mr. Grant’s First Love,” they whispered. “I heard he proposed a hundred times before she finally said yes…” The colleague nodded toward the certificate and warned me kindly: “The worst that happens if you offend Mr. Grant is you might get fired. But offend Mrs. Grant… and you’ll vanish completely.” I nearly laughed out loud. I pulled out my phone and called my brother. “Lucas, get Evan here. Bring the divorce papers too. I want to see him on his knees begging me within five minutes.”

I witness my wife, Janice Grant, sleeping in the same room as her childhood friend, Bruce York, in nothing but a skimpy nightgown. But Janice claims that she has gotten bound to a conquest system, so she has to conquer Bruce's heart just so she can complete the mission. I know that this is just a lie Janice has come up with, but I decide to endure her antics for the sake of our daughter, Millie Grant. But one night, Millie lapses into an asthma attack. My father-in-law, Phil Grant, and I rush her to the hospital immediately. Unexpectedly, as soon as we arrive at the hospital, we stumble upon a group of people who are there to cause trouble. Phil ends up getting stabbed in the chest just so he can protect Millie from harm. I quickly call Janice on the spot. But after hearing my explanation, she thinks I'm lying to her. "Evan, I told you I'm in the middle of a mission! If I don't complete it, I'll get punished by the system! Can you stop being so unreasonable?" Despair and rage overwhelm my senses at that moment. Since Janice is adamant on casting her own father and daughter aside for her beloved Bruce, she can forget about inheriting the hundred-million-dollar assets!

My sister Iris almost died from anemia. The day she was hospitalized, my whole family started blaming me. I'd been frail since birth, so Mom and Dad had always poured all their attention into me. The new school supplies were mine, the new clothes were mine, and even on the birthdays we shared, the cream and chocolate part of the cake always went to me first. I used to hear Iris crying at night. But whenever I tried to comfort her, she just shoved me away. On my twelfth birthday, I came home from school with a perfect score on my test, beaming as I pushed the door open. Mom and Dad's eyes were red, and they looked at me as if I'd done something terrible. “Why can't you ever be nicer to Iris? We give you everything, and you should be thinking about her too.” “The doctor said her health problems are all because of how she feels.” “You're so spoiled, so selfish.” I lowered my head. They didn't know that I was frail because I'd made a deal to take Iris's death for her. Tomorrow, I was going to be erased.

My girlfriend and I had agreed that she would come home with me for Thanksgiving to meet my parents. However, the night before the trip, she canceled on me again. My older cousin, who had never liked me, immediately started throwing sarcastic comments my way. “Five years together and she still hasn’t met your family? Maybe she never took you seriously in the first place. And honestly, a man shouldn’t think too highly of himself. You might end up raising someone else’s kid without even knowing it,” he said. I ignored him and stepped outside to get some air, but then I found that the car parked in front of the neighbor’s house looked strangely familiar. My heart skipped a beat. Could this be a surprise from my girlfriend? I was just about to call her when my cousin clicked his tongue and pointed at the car. “Still, you’ve gotta admit Liam Crossby really knows how to live. He brought home a gorgeous and successful girlfriend. You? You’ve spent your whole life losing to him.” My eyes locked onto the license plate, and my fingers froze. Then, I dialed a hidden number I hadn’t used in years. “Bring the guys. Trash the car.”

I spend an entire year preparing to get my daughter, Quincy Lindell, into a top international school. By the time the application review date rolls around, I have all the documents ready. I just need my wife's and my original marriage certificate to seal the deal. However, when I reach the admissions office, my wife, Wendy, blames me for taking matters into my own hands. I am about to explode when the school staff member says with a strange expression, "Mr. Howards, our system shows that you are not Ms. Lindell's spouse." My blood turns to ice. Before I can react, Zachary Shea, who has been quietly standing behind Wendy, passes his wedding certificate to the person in charge. The school staff member nods after checking her computer. "Ms. Lindell, Mr. Shea, your certificate was validated seven and a half years ago. You can now register your child for this school." Seven and a half years ago… That was the date of Wendy's and my engagement party. She held my hand in front of a room full of guests and said that I would be the only man she ever loved. That one sentence was enough to fool me for seven years.

In my previous life, my boyfriend's younger sister came to the CT room for a check-up. As always, I asked the routine questions about whether she was pregnant or planning to be within the next six months. After all, CT scans involve radiation. It could harm the fetus. She had confidently said no. However, when I handed her the consent form to sign, her face suddenly changed. She immediately pulled out her phone and called my boyfriend, claiming I was putting on airs and making things difficult for her. Soon after, my boyfriend called me. “Don’t make things difficult with my sister over something so trivial. You’re putting me in the middle. I swear on my life she’s not pregnant!” Trusting him, I skipped the consent form and went ahead with the scan. However, the results clearly showed she was pregnant, and not just newly. His family dragged me into court. I lost everything, buried under debt. In the end, I died from the scorching heat while hauling bricks at a construction site. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day his sister came in for her check-up.

My wife, Vivian Lane, is the wealthiest woman. Her assistant had made it clear he had three "do-not-disturb" rules: no messages after work, no calls on weekends, and absolutely no contact when he was in a bad mood. Because of this, the company lost a major deal—one worth over a hundred million. Yet the assistant looked completely unbothered. "Sorry, I had no idea one phone call could make such a difference. If something goes wrong and I have to be the one to take the blame, fine—I'm just another cog in the machine." My wife snapped, "Who said anything about blaming you? You did exactly what you were told." She shot me a look of pure irritation. "You take the profits from the project, and when things fall apart, you dump it on the regular employees? Is that how you run a business? If your company folds over something this small, it just proves you're not fit to be in charge." It suddenly clicked, and I let out a quiet laugh. So she thought this project belonged to my company? I didn't bother correcting her. To be honest, I couldn't really hold it against her—after all, it wasn't my company going under.

When my middle-school-aged daughter underwent surgery for appendicitis, I messaged her homeroom teacher to request a two-week leave of absence. The teacher called back a few minutes later, clearly irritated. “Mrs. Stephens, is your daughter going to take time off during the SATs, too? Other students attend school even with broken legs. Why is Claire the only one demanding special treatment?” I already knew Claire’s teacher was notoriously difficult, so I steadied myself and explained as patiently as I could. “Miss Lawson, an appendectomy is an invasive surgery. Her doctor has specifically ordered at least two weeks of bed rest. I hope you can understand…” Before I could finish, she hung up. Convinced I had made myself clear, I set my phone down and thought no more about it. I never expected Claire to come running home in tears two weeks later. “Mom, Miss Lawson said the advanced class has no place for lazy students like me and that she refuses to teach me anymore. She also said no one needs two weeks to recover from such a minor surgery. She accused me of sleeping around, getting pregnant, and secretly staying home to recover from an abortion.”

My younger sister was crazy about novels and always envied the way ordinary heroines pick up penniless heroes and climb the social ladder. So, she started picking up men wherever she could. Until one day, a man with a face covered in sores collapsed at our doorstep. I instantly recognized the signs of syphilis and warned my sister repeatedly, and only then did she give up the idea. However, fate had other plans: my sister's best friend "picked him up" instead and married into a wealthy family. My sister held a grudge. On my birthday, she locked me in my room and set it on fire. No matter how desperately I begged, she refused to open the door. Outside, she sneered: "I know you're just scared I'll live better than you, so you want to drag me down into misery with you. People like you don't even deserve to be a sister!" I burned alive, my body reduced to nothing but ashes. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister insisted on "picking up that man." This time, I quietly stepped back, letting her have her way—of course, I chose to let her succeed.

The appointment of Susan Moore as the Broadcasting Channel's executive director has forced out the station's more valued news anchor, sparking heated discussions throughout Hayworth. Susan herself is standing before me right now. She wants to sell her jewelry. As the manager of a luxury boutique store, I'm here to inspect the goods. "These are pieces my partner commissioned for me. I have so many that I'm tired of them." One of them is a diamond-encrusted necklace, featuring a pigeon-blood ruby in the center, worth a few million. There are also several similar gifts on the table, with the crocodile skin bag the least eye-catching one. I smiled. "Your husband must really love you." I set about verifying the purchaser's ID and signature as part of a routine procedure. However, I freeze in place at the sight of the name. "I'm not his wife," she replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. "We're just each other's first loves. He said he missed out on 15 years of my life, so he gave me 15 gifts. Isn't that romantic?" It is romantic, indeed. However, it's my father's signature. For 30-plus years, I assumed that my father was a dull man who had never once surprised my mother.