Women are like flowers, they have been tortured. Some have time to bloom, but there is no time to thank the more that have not bloomed. When you are in love, you don't know how to choose, and you don't know what to cherish after you get it. After you get married, your mother's family treats it as water thrown out, and your husband's family treats it as an uninvited guest. You can neither leave nor stay. Women are like flowers. Is it luck? Destiny? Destiny? Is it hate?