My daughter laid down her life for her country. At her funeral, every villager showed up with a sack.
“I heard your daughter died, and the army paid you two million in compensation?”
“You need to split that money among all of us!”
I was shocked, but the villagers had a whole argument ready:
“You’re our village secretary, so you should serve the villagers.”
“Now that you have money, have you forgotten all about serving the people?”
Is this about money? This is the price of my daughter’s life!
I was shaking with rage and flatly refused.
Later, when the villagers heard someone had made a fortune trading stocks, they turned on me:
“If you’d shared the money with us back then, we’d all be millionaires by now!”
“You’re the one who blocked our path to riches!”
They held a grudge. While I was risking my life to repair the embankment in the pouring rain, they kicked me into the raging waves.
I drowned.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my daughter died for her country.
