Is Monk Series Based On A True Story?

There was a lovely and gifted girl named Cindy, she adored her father since she was a child. Unexpectedly, her father commit sin against her wife, Cindy's mother. And Cindy witnessed that on her 7th Birthday party. While chasing the truth she turns out to be the victim of car accident, the one who hit was her father's mistress. Cindy's dream is to become a cop. She was inspired by her father's dream but she will pursue this dream to prepare revenge. She received criticism and got bullied because of not having a father. When she already studying in High School crime started, all shred of evidence got burnished. Years had passed, she already taking Bachelor of Science in Criminology. She has a tempre that you can tell like she was the murderer. She met the president also the top student of their class named Gamir, she treated him like her rival. Gamir has only one best friend named Jacob, the brother of the first ever victim. Cindy has a bestfriend that she adores the most more than anyone else, suddenly Cindy found out that they have the same father. Yet, crime will prevail, guess who's the one responsible for crimes committed and what's the character of mysterious murderer.

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.

On the day I'm supposed to get promoted as the deputy director, I pick up a 40-pound barbell before breaking my right arm with it. Because of the injury, I missed the only title-evaluating surgery available in five years. Everyone feels sorry for me, seeing as I've practically ruined my own future with my own hands. But I, on the other hand, am so excited about it that I've downed two bottles of vintage wine in one go. Because in my past life, I spent ten hours in surgery and pulled the patient back from the brink of death. But my wife, Megan Reese, immediately accused me of abusing my power as a doctor just to resolve a personal vendetta by killing her first love, Pierre Hopkins, on purpose. She bribed the nurses who were in the same surgery as me. They were adamant that I used the wrong medication purposefully, which led to the patient dying from a rupture. Not only was my career destroyed, but I also became a public enemy, hated by everyone. My mom tried to seek justice on my behalf, only to get cyberbullied by the Internet users, who knew nothing about the truth, to the point that she broke down. In the end, she accidentally fell into the river and drowned. When I received the tragic news, I chose to end my life by jumping off the hospital's rooftop. After I died, Megan spent my assets however she wanted. She also lived happily ever after with Pierre, who apparently "came back to life". When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm supposed to perform a surgery on Pierre.

Hayden is a perfect husband for Riz. He's sweet, self-orientated and a successful doctor. They are living happily until a crime happened in their city. A crime of the past. Suddenly, their peaceful life will be fully be entangled into the world of serial killing. It will confuse their life, their marriage and trust especially when Riz started to doubt her own husband's personality. It doesn't make sense. Is her husband the serial killer?

I am a doctor. One day, I come across a weird patient when I am on duty. The first thing she says when she sees me isn't that she feels unwell somewhere. Instead, she says something hair-raising. "Dr. Cantrell, your girlfriend is a murderer." "What nonsense are you spouting?" I shoot back with widened eyes and shoot up from my chair. I feel offended. She calmly says, "She won't be home tonight because she needs to deal with the body. You will know whether what I say is true by tonight."

My crippled sister, Monica Porter, jumped from the roof of the classroom building. The day before she died, she had just been fitted with the custom prosthetic legs I had paid for with ten years of savings. She was glowing, excited to finally stand up on her own. But my wife's best friend, a guy she said was just like a brother to her, locked Monica inside an empty art room. He smashed her new legs, forced her to crawl on the floor and lick paint clean to retrieve the broken parts, and recorded everything on video. And my wife, a judge, ultimately ruled that the case could not stand. "The video cannot confirm the time it was recorded and may represent consensual performance art between both parties," she said. Sandra Pauley's final judgment was simple. "The deceased had a history of depression. The school and the defendant bear no responsibility." I smiled and cooked her a full table of food. The next day, I hung the bully, Eric Hoyles, from the school's flagpole and livestreamed it to the entire internet. "Honey, remember how you said Monica had such pretty legs?" I raised a claw hammer and brought it down on his ankle. "If you don't hand over the video evidence right now, I'll hook out his Achilles tendon one strand at a time and let him learn what it feels like to crawl!" The wind passed through. His screaming broke apart in the air, mixing with the strained creaking of the flagpole until it sounded almost like music. The live chat went insane. Meanwhile, I laughed until my eyes filled with tears.