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墨書 Inktalez
The Plaintiff's lawyer explained, "This video proves the abuse that the Plaintiff suffered in the psychiatric hospital, and the Defendant was right there." The Defendant's lawyer attempted to refute, "Your Honor, this video does not prove anything. The Plaintiff has significant emotional fluctuations; it is normal for her husband to visit and show concern for her!" However, faced with such evidence, his argument seemed weak.
The judge struck the gavel and announced, "Given the high credibility of the evidence provided by the Plaintiff's side, this court will conduct further examination of the Defendant." As soon as the courtroom doors opened, reporters swarmed in like bees drawn to a flower, bombarding me with questions like bullets. I had no desire to answer them and could only shake my head, signaling that I did not want to speak.
My lawyer stood in front of me, shielding me as we quickly made our way to the car. Once home, I locked myself in my room, as if the outside world suddenly had nothing to do with me. The tense atmosphere in court and the reporters' rapid-fire questions made me feel suffocated.
Suddenly, my Depression surged forth like a long-hidden beast pouncing out. I felt the world spinning around me; I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to push those chaotic thoughts out of my mind. But they were like uninvited guests. Waves of them crashed over me. My mind was filled with images of my husband's ugly face and the sound of that woman's mocking laughter.
I felt as if I were drowning in these dark thoughts, desperately telling myself that they were only temporary; they could not define me or defeat me. I thought of my family, my friends, and those who reached out a hand when I fell.
I fumbled through my bag for the pill bottle and almost instinctively poured some tablets into my mouth. I knew these medications could only provide temporary relief; to truly emerge from this shadow, I needed time and inner strength.
As the medication began to take effect, I lay on the sofa and looked around. Every wall and every piece of furniture held our memories. My gaze fixed on the wedding photo hanging on the wall—two happy people embracing each other—piercing my heart and transporting my thoughts back to that afternoon when we first met.
It was a sunny Friday; I found a quiet corner in a small café across from the university, immersing myself in a book. The café was bustling that day, everyone enjoying their leisurely afternoon time.
Suddenly, a figure appeared at my desk; it was him, the one who would later become my husband.
"Hello, it's quite lively here today, and there's no space left. May I have the honor of sharing a table with you?"
His voice carried a hint of anticipation, and his eyes sparkled with a touch of nervousness.
I merely shot him a cold glance, said nothing, and silently stood up to give him my seat.
I still remember the look in his eyes at that moment—there was a bit of surprise, but mostly admiration.
Looking back now, that moment feels like it was just yesterday, yet it also seems so distant.
Our encounter was like a meticulously choreographed play; who would have thought the ending would turn out this way?
The second time we met was in our school library.
Finals always left people frazzled, and the library was packed with students buried in their books. I wandered through the shelves like a headless fly, searching for a quiet corner to study.
Finally, I spotted an empty seat next to him and felt a surge of joy.
I walked over and saw his backpack casually draped over the chair. Gathering my courage, I softly asked,
"Hello, is anyone sitting here?"
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