Worry Quotes

Around the seventh month of my pregnancy, I overheard a conversation between my mate, Zane Andrews, and Ciara Phillips, the she-wolf I had taken in out of compassion after her family was brutally slaughtered by rogues. In a sultry, flirtatious tone, Ciara purred, “Zane, my love, if your wife discovers that the fertilized egg I planted in her womb isn’t truly hers by blood, she’ll be devastated—perhaps to the point of despairing suicide, don’t you think?” Zane snorted, his voice dripping with disdain at the mention of me. “It’ll work for us if she simply dies from heartbreak. Damn it. I can’t shake the worry that she might sever our bond and leave me with nothing. Let’s keep this under wraps until our child inherits all her assets. Only then will we reveal the bombshell, plunging her into darkness.” Ciara giggled, praising Zane for his cunning. My claws itched to lash out, but I held back, knowing the time for confrontation wasn’t yet. My heart sank as their betrayal cut deep. Years ago, I had defied my pack elders’ warnings about Ciara being a potential threat, taking her in and grooming her into our pack's doctor, funding her education out of sheer empathy. Now, I regretted every moment of my kindness. To think that my mate, who had once begged for my protection for his fragile pack, had the audacity to betray me. If not for my support, his pathetic pack would have crumbled long ago, leaving him nursing his wounds in a dark corner, fretting over survival. After a long moment of contemplation, I made my decision. I would feign ignorance to their schemes and play along by giving birth to Ciara’s baby. Two decades passed. Ciara’s child grew up, bearing the name Simon Andrews. Aware of their treachery, I still transferred all my assets to him. Once the paperwork was completed, Ciara boldly approached me in front of the entire pack, a maternity DNA test in hand. With a smug smile, she declared, “Leia Holland, look at this! I am Simon’s biological mother. Leave h

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

“Aray masakit dahandahan naman sa pagpasok! Sh*t ang sakit pala! Ayaw ko na! Ayaw ko ng tumikim ng malaking hotdog," Sigaw ko rito habang siya ay walang tigil sa pagbayo. “F*ck ang sarap mo! Sh*t malapit na 'agad akong labasan! " “Taina 'wag mong iputok sa loob, ayaw kong maging single Mom." “Ayan na lalabas na! Malapit na!" Sigaw ni Marcos sabay hugot ng kaniyang ari nilalaro upang sa tiyan lumabas ang likido. Dahil sa pagod kaagad akong nakatulog. Ang sakit sh*t bakit ko ba isinuko ang aking bataan sa kaniya? Lord sinabi ko po na titikim ako ng biyaya mo pero bakit doon pa sa mayroon ng nagmamay-ari. Dios ko ang sakit sakit pala. Paika-ika akong lumakad hanggang makarating sa banyo. Paglabas ko sa kuwarto nakita ko si Marco sa kusina na naghahanda ng aming almusal. “I'm sorry!" Bungad niyang sabi sa akin pagka-upo ko sa upuan. “Don't worry alam ko naman ang limitasyon ko at kong saan ako lulugar. Nadala lang tayo sa tukso so please 'wag na nating pag-usapan. Let's eat," yaya ko rito kahit na gusto ko ng umiyak. “Ginusto ko iyon! Hindi ako humuhingi ng tawad dahil ayaw ko kun'di humihingi ako ng tawad dahil hindi mo deserve lalo na't ako ang nakauna sa'yo." Paliwanag niya sa akin habang lumalapit sa akin at hinawakan ang aking mukha. Hinawakan ko ang dalawa niyang kamay. “As I've said its okay. Don't mind it at 'wag na nating isipin 'yon. Let's pretend na walang nangyari lalo na 'pag dumating na si Yamir." “So I'll go ahead na may lakad pa ako. Bye Marcos!" Paglabas ko sa pintuan niya nalungkot ako at napaiyak. Mas masakit pa kumpara sa pagkawarak ng virginity ko. Alam kong mali pero mahal ko na siya.

My parents raised me like a princess from a fairy tale. I loved cake. Every day after work, Dad would bring home a small slice just for me. Mom bought a full set of ovens and baking tools and patiently learned how to bake, all so she could make cakes for me herself. Even later, when they adopted my cousin, a child no one else wanted, they would gently pat my head and say apologetically, "Sweetheart, it's just one more playmate for you. Mom and Dad's love for you will only grow, never lessen." But that day, when the lawyer was reading Grandma's will, I simply asked out of curiosity why my sister received more money than I did. Mom's eyes instantly turned red, and she slapped me hard across the face. "Her mother has passed away. She deserves to inherit two shares." "We've already given you all our love. Why are you still jealous of your sister?" From that day on, the parents who once treated me like a princess never smiled at me again. This time, all I did was help run the bathwater for my sister. She accidentally swallowed some water and choked. Mom grabbed my hair and shoved me into the oven. "How could I have given birth to such a vicious child? Being jealous of your sister isn't enough, now you're trying to drown her? "Stay in there and reflect on yourself. You can come out when you finally admit your mistake." Inside the oven, I panicked and tried to explain, but Dad, his face full of worry, interrupted me. "That's enough. Tanya has been coughing for a long time and it's not getting better. Take her to the hospital now." I heard their footsteps gradually fade away. But Mom, did you forget? Back then, to make cakes for me more conveniently, you set all the kitchen appliances to quick mode. They would automatically lock and start baking whenever they detected something inside. The temperature around me began to rise. The pain slowly made me lose consciousness. As my mind grew hazy, I thought to myself: If I reflect properly and behave well, Mom and Dad will surely love me again, just like before, won't they?