After losing her mother at the age of 15, Lin Wan's world was split in two. Under the roof of her father, brother and sister-in-law, she was like a silent weed. In the alienation of being dependent on others, she quietly buried her obsession with "home" and "independence".
As an adult, she regarded marriage as an escape ship, but amid the pressure of daily necessities and childcare, she encountered the mediocrity of her husband and the indifference of her marriage. In order to fight for a "better future" for her two sons, and to prove that she was not a dependent, she held on to her savings and put her dignity on the line to invest, but in the end she only ended up losing all her money.
Her marriage collapsed due to debt, and she became a single mother with two young sons. Rent, tuition, bills, and debt collection calls are tightening around my throat. I work odd jobs during the day and make up for receipts late at night. My children's crying and illness become a huge burden on my shoulders. The native family looked on with cold eyes, her ex-husband turned around and left, and her breathing smelled like rust in the lonely battlefield.
When the last straw fell, the dam that had been holding on for many years burst. When she was howling in the streets, roaring uncontrollably at her children, and looking at the rooftop late at night, she admitted for the first time that she couldn't hold on any longer.
But there are glimmers of light in the ruins: the candy handed over by the eldest son, the extra grace given by the landlord, and the soliloquy of "I can't fall down because of my children." Lin Wan sat up in the rubble, carrying the scars and imitating motherhood, and stretched out her hand toward the light. This is not a counterattack fairy tale, but a story of a woman who is broken and pieced together under a heavy hammer, and learns to breathe again in a desperate situation. The road is still muddy, and every step carries the resilience of blood and warmth.
