In the 1980s, my mother was a child bride raised in a ravine.
She tried her best to support her husband in college, but in exchange for her husband abandoning his wife and children and becoming his children's uncle, her parents' home became a home that she could neither return to nor leave.
She risked all her courage to escape from her homeland, started out as a street vendor, and worked her way into the clothing industry. With her skillful hands and hard work, she earned a decent living. Half of a woman's life is also a microcosm of an era. From a child bride to a businessman, from the abyss of suffering to the fireworks of the world, she withstood the harsh treatment of fate, pulled her children through the wind and rain, and lived a stubborn life of her own with scars all over her body.
