Who said marriage is the grave of love.
In fact, love itself is a tomb.
At the age of five, she met him for the first time and became his sister. But those dark eyes silently told her that she was just a little bitch, because she was the daughter of a bitch.
At the age of sixteen, she left his home for her father who became a gambler. There was no trace of nostalgia or reluctance in those indifferent eyes, only looming mockery and ridicule.
At the age of eighteen, she returned to him again, but in another identity - his wife. However, in those cold eyes, she could not find even a hint of affection between men and women, only helplessness and hatred.
At the age of twenty-two, she chose to leave. With pain all over my body, I left this tomb.
Will the grievances that have been entangled for half a lifetime come to an end?
This is about the grievances and hatreds of a family, for affection, for love, for property, and for reputation. . . Where is the end?