When I woke up, my memory went back to when I was twenty-two years old.
The two messages on my phone hurt my eyes.
One is me begging humbly: "Husband, please don't divorce me, or I will die!"
The other was a reply from a scumbag husband who needed a beating: "Then go to hell."
I sneered and dialed the number I knew so well: "You want to send me away with 20 million? Add a zero! And my son, not a penny less!"
The other end of the phone was angry: "You and your husband are divorced, why should you divide my property and children?"
Hey, could it be that I made a typo?
Concept: Willow bank and bright flowers