A lawyer sold his well to a teacher. Two days later, the lawyer came to the teacher and said, "Sir, I sold you the well, but it's not with the water inside! If you want to use the water, you will have to pay extra." The teacher smiled and replied, "Yes, I was about to come to you. I was going to say that you should take your water from my well, or else you will have to start paying rent from tomorrow." Hearing this, the lawyer got nervous and said, "Oh, I was just joking!" The teacher laughed and said, "This is how people like you become lawyers after studying with us." Salute to teachers! Please like and comment 🙏🙏

They laughed when she was forced to marry the village madman _ but what he did after the wedding shocked everyone. Episode 1 Emily was called into the center of the village by her stepmother, Margaret, who stood with arms crossed and eyes blazing. The entire village gathered, eager for gossip. Margaret’s voice cut through the air like a blade, announcing that Emily would marry Jacob—the madman who lived near the woods. Shock rippled through the crowd, followed by gasps and stifled laughter. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as tears welled up in her eyes. She had always hoped for a quiet, respectful life—not this public humiliation. She looked over at Jacob, who was being led out like livestock. He walked slowly, not making eye contact, his clothes ragged and hair unkempt. His face, though tired, showed no madness—just quiet pain. The villagers laughed louder as Emily crumbled under the weight of shame. No one knew the truth about Jacob, not even Emily herself. As she stood there, helpless and humiliated, her life changed forever in that moment—and so did his. The wedding was rushed, almost like a joke. Villagers dressed in their finest came not to celebrate, but to witness the mockery unfold. Women wore bold prints and headscarves, whispering to one another and pointing. The ceremony was held under the old mango tree, the same place where countless happy unions had taken place. But this time, it was different. Emily stood stiffly beside Jacob, her hands trembling as she held her wilted bouquet. The priest hesitated before beginning, as even he felt the discomfort in the air. Note - this story belongs to jennylight,any page aside from hers stole it. Jacob didn’t say a word during the entire ceremony. He simply looked at the ground, never once meeting Emily’s eyes. When the priest asked if he accepted her as his wife, he gave a slow nod. No smile. No joy. Just a nod. Emily could feel the eyes of the villagers boring into her skin. Her stepmother smirked, proud of what she had orchestrated. The priest declared them husband and wife, and instead of cheers, laughter echoed through the village square. Emily felt like a lamb led to slaughter, her dignity stripped, her heart hollow. After the ceremony, there was no celebration—just silence. Emily and Jacob walked down the dusty path toward his tiny hut at the edge of the village. She had never been so humiliated. Her veil fluttered in the breeze, catching on low branches as curious children followed them at a distance, giggling and whispering. Emily’s heart pounded with fear and uncertainty. She didn’t know what kind of man Jacob truly was—only what the village claimed. The madman. The one who talked to himself. The one who lived alone. Jacob’s home was barely more than a shack—wooden walls, a leaking roof, and a single bench inside. When they arrived, he stepped aside and let her walk in first. No words. Just a nod. Emily stepped into the small space and looked around. It was tidy, strangely enough. There were books stacked in a corner, a small blanket folded neatly on a mat, and a worn drawing pinned to the wall. It was a sketch of the village—but beautifully detailed. Her eyes lingered on it, and for a moment, she felt something shift. Maybe there was more to him than they told her. But fear still clung tightly to her chest. That night, Emily lay stiffly on one side of the hut, facing the wall. Jacob remained on the other, barely making a sound. The silence was louder than the laughter they had left behind. The wind rustled through the holes in the roof, and a faint drip echoed from a leaky spot near the corner. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind spun with shame, confusion, and fear. Yet, not once did he approach her. No threats. No crazed behavior. Just the occasional cough and the creak of his weight shifting on the mat. In the morning, she found a steaming cup of boiled herbs and a plate of roasted yam waiting for her on the bench. Jacob wasn’t in the hut. She blinked in confusion. He had gone to the stream, and when he returned, he placed a bundle of firewood beside the door without a word. Emily watched him from inside, her curiosity growing. Was this the madman the village spoke of? He hadn’t spoken to her, but his quiet actions spoke volumes. For the first time, she realized the village might have been wrong—or at least, they didn’t know the full story. Jennylight For full story kindly click 👉 https://youtu.be/OdGf95ntiXk?si=fEcleCZBdZSVKGbc

“CAN TWO PEOPLE BE IN LOVE AND STILL BE INCOMPATIBLE?” Two people can be madly in love, light up when they see each other, finish each other's sentences, can't seem to stay away from one another, and yet behind the smiles and chemistry, there's tension. Arguments that don’t get resolved. Deep needs that remain unmet, and over time, love alone doesn’t seem to be enough to hold them together. This is because love is a feeling. It’s powerful, emotional, and sometimes irrational. It's what draws you in, makes your heart race, and convinces you this is the one. But compatibility? That’s the everyday stuff. It’s how well your values, life goals, communication styles, beliefs, and habits align. It’s what determines whether two people can actually do life together peacefully and productively. You can love someone deeply and still struggle to communicate effectively with them. You can feel butterflies and still clash when it comes to handling money, raising kids, spirituality, or dealing with conflict. Here are Signs of Incompatibility Despite Love You love spending time together but argue about everything that matters. Your goals and life visions are constantly pulling you in opposite directions. You feel unheard, unseen, or unvalued despite the affection. You're always trying to “fix” or “change” each other instead of accepting one another. It’s painful. Because it creates a confusing emotional space—“If we love each other this much, shouldn’t it be enough?” But relationships aren't just about feelings; they’re about functioning well together over time. Many people stay in unhealthy or chaotic relationships simply because they are in love. But love alone won’t resolve deep incompatibilities. It won’t change someone’s core values or lifestyle choices. This is because love isn't always enough to build a stable, and fulfilling relationship. So, understanding this truth helps you to make wiser decisions—whether it’s walking away or choosing to work intentionally on your differences. Because in the end, the goal isn’t just to fall in love—it’s to stay in love, grow together, and enjoy peace while doing life side by side.

"YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A WIFE, NOT A GUEST!" MY HUSBAND SH0UTED WHEN I REFUSED TO COOK FOR HIS FAMILY “And my opinion doesn’t matter to anyone?” Natasha said, placing the dustpan back on the shelf as she turned to her husband. There was pain in her voice. “I’m a person too, Lucifer. I’m tired.” “You must remember you’re a wife, not a guest!” Lucifer barked, his face reddening with anger. “You have responsibilities to the family!” Natasha tapped her fingers on the countertop, watching as the kettle began to bubble, filling the kitchen with steam. The Sunday morning air was unusually quiet, as though the world had decided to grant her a brief reprieve. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently illuminating every corner, every speck of dust. For a moment, she simply stood there, soaking in the rare stillness. Five years ago, when Lucifer and Natasha had moved into the apartment, its walls were bare, the décor minimal. Now, every corner radiated warmth and comfort. She remembered the time spent choosing the perfect wallpaper for the living room, the endless debates with Lucifer over the color of the curtains, and the joy she felt when she finally found the ideal sofa. “Good morning,” Lucifer greeted sleepily as he shuffled into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?” “Omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes,” Natasha said with a smile, pulling ingredients from the fridge. “And some fresh coffee.” Lucifer approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “You really are the mistress of the house, aren’t you?” he remarked in a tone that immediately put Natasha on guard. Something about his voice hinted at an ulterior motive. “What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes. “Nothing in particular,” Lucifer replied, looking away. “It’s just that my mother and Katherine plan to drop by. Just for lunch.” Natasha exhaled sharply. “Just for a little while” in Lucifer’s family often stretched into long hours. She clenched her fists, fighting to keep her frustration from showing. “What time will they arrive?” she asked, her voice already laced with tension. “Around one or two,” Lucifer said, pausing before adding, “and… Katherine will bring the kids.” Natasha silently counted to ten. Katherine’s six-year-old twins were more than mischievous—they were miniature hurricanes. After their visits, the apartment always resembled the aftermath of a war zone. “Fine,” Natasha said, grabbing a frying pan and turning on the stove. “I suppose I’ll have to dash to the store—there’s not enough food.” “Honey, you know how much my mother loves your dishes,” Lucifer said, trying to pull her into an embrace. But Natasha sidestepped, pretending not to notice. Victoria Demson, Lucifer’s mother, never missed an opportunity to critique Natasha’s cooking. Sometimes the soup was too salty, sometimes the meat undercooked, and sometimes the salad was labeled too bland. By two o’clock, the apartment sparkled with cleanliness. In the oven, a casserole of potatoes and meat roasted, filling the air with its mouthwatering aroma. In the fridge sat the cake that Victoria adored, waiting to be served. The doorbell rang at precisely 14:15. Natasha adjusted her apron and went to answer. “Niku-sha!” Victoria Demson burst into the hallway like a whirlwind, her coat trailing behind her. “How are you, dear?” Katherine followed closely, her twins charging into the living room without removing their shoes. “Kids, shoes!” Natasha called out sharply. “Oh, let them be,” Victoria interjected, waving her hand dismissively. “You know how hard it is for them to sit still.” Natasha pressed her lips together, watching dirty footprints streak across her light carpet. Every time, she wondered why no one taught them to remove their shoes, but she kept her thoughts to herself. No one listened anyway. “What’s for lunch?” Katherine asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Oh, casserole? Mom, remember the one I made last week with mushrooms? It was a masterpiece!” “Of course I do, sweetheart,” Victoria said with a smile, settling at the table. “Niku-sha, you could learn a thing or two from Katherine. She has such a talent for cooking.” Natasha stayed silent, methodically arranging the c:u:tlery. From the living room, a cra$h echoed—something had fallen to the floor. “Lucifer, can you see what your nephews have done?” Natasha said calmly. “Oh, come on,” Lucifer replied dismissively, not even looking up. “Let them play—they’re just kids.” “Exactly!” Victoria chimed in. “Niku-sha, you’re so proper. Everything has to be perfect with you.” “I just like order,” Natasha replied softly. “There should be life in a home!” Victoria declared loudly. “You’re always fussing over cleanliness, Niku-sha. Imagine if you had kids—you’d be chasing them with a rag all day!” Natasha felt her cheeks b:u:rn. The topic of children was a raw one—after two failed pregnancies, doctors had advised her to wait before trying again. She sw@ll0wed the words b:u:rning on her t0ngue and stayed silent. Lunch unfolded in the same ve!n. Victoria offered unsolicited advice, Katherine boasted about her culinary skills, and the twins left a trail of cha0s throughout the apartment. Lucifer sat back, seemingly enjoying the lively atmosphere, oblivious to the growing tension in Natasha. “You know, Niku-sha,” Victoria said, finishing her second slice of cake, “Katherine and I were thinking—maybe we should gather at your place every Sunday? Your kitchen is so spacious, and you cook… well, with soul.” SEE THE CONTINUATION IN THE COMMENTS BELOW! ⬇️⬇️

Dear whoever is reading this I hope you have a reason to smile.

Be with someone that makes you ridiculously happy. Someone who LOVABLEQUOTE.COM makes you laugh and smile. Often and a lot

You're funny and sweet. You make me laugh. You make me smile. You make me happy. LOVABLEQUOTE.COM And that's why I love you.

Having caught her husband with a young beauty, the wife didn’t start a brawl; instead, five days later she presented him with an unexpected surprise. Marina could never have imagined that she would find herself in such a situation. “Beluga” – the restaurant where Viktor once proposed to her three decades ago – had now become the venue for his secret rendezvous. She stood by the panoramic window, watching as her husband tenderly intertwined his fingers with a young blonde barely twenty-five years old. “You are special,” the words reached Marina, and the once familiar voice suddenly seemed alien. The girl smiled playfully, revealing flawless teeth and charming dimples. Her well-groomed fingers with perfect manicure caressed Viktor’s wrist tenderly. “What about the wife?” squeaked the brunette, puffing out her lips. “Marina?” Viktor waved his hand nonchalantly. “She’s busy with flowers and TV series. You know, at our age…” he trailed off, laden with meaning. Marina was overwhelmed by a feeling of suffocation, and her hands betrayed her with trembling. Thirty years of life together, three grown-up children, countless evenings shared – all of it was nullified by one dismissive gesture. Her first impulse was to burst in, create a scandal, and pour wine on the couple. But something restrained her – perhaps years of cultivated composure or natural reason. Upon returning home, Marina mechanically brewed tea and sank into her favorite armchair. Her gaze fell upon a folder of documents in the cabinet – papers she had signed at her husband’s request over the past five years. “Darling, it’s just a formality,” his words echoed in her mind. “It’s necessary for tax optimization.” Now, as she reviewed the documents with trembling hands, she began to realize the true state of affairs. The house, the country residence, three car dealerships, a chain of restaurants – everything officially belonged to her. Fearing inspections, Viktor had been gradually transferring assets to his wife, believing her to be loyal and spineless. Marina smiled bitterly. How wrong he was. Over the years of their marriage, she had not only learned to cultivate orchids and bake cakes – she had been carefully monitoring the development of the family business, even though she had remained in the background. By midnight, her tears had dried up. In place of despair came cold determination. Marina took out her diary and began to plan. Five days – that was all that was needed. Day One: The day began with an early call to a lawyer. Elena Sergeyevna, an authoritative family law specialist, carefully examined the documents as Marina nervously tapped her fingers. “Congratulations,” the lawyer pronounced while adjusting her glasses. “Legally, you are the sole owner of the entire business.” “What about the power of attorney I gave him?” “It can be annulled immediately.” Marina looked at the swirling autumn leaves outside the office window. For thirty years, she had been an exemplary wife – supportive, inspiring, forgiving. Now it was time to think about herself. “Let’s start acting,” she declared firmly. Day One Continued: That same evening, Viktor returned late, exuding the scent of expensive perfume. Marina, as usual, served dinner. “Today you seem different,” noted her husband, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “Just tired,” she smiled. “By the way, don’t cook dinner tomorrow. I have a meeting with friends.” Viktor nodded absentmindedly, absorbed in his phone. Marina saw him hide a smile as he read messages. Day Two: The next day, she visited all the banks with their joint accounts. The process took several hours – Viktor was busy shifting their finances across various institutions. By the evening, a significant portion of the funds had been transferred to new accounts opened exclusively in her name. “Ms. Sokolova, maybe leave a small reserve?” cautiously suggested the manager of the last bank. “No,” Marina shook her head. “Transfer everything.” At home, she found a bouquet of roses – Viktor sometimes gave them, especially when he felt guilty. In the past, they would have moved her, but now the flowers elicited only a bitter smile. Day Three: A meeting took place with Mikhail Petrovich, a long-time partner in their family business. “To part with the car dealerships?” Mikhail Petrovich exclaimed in astonishment. “But they consistently generate income!” “That’s precisely why now is the perfect time,” Marina replied calmly. “The market is on the rise.” By the evening, preliminary agreements had been sealed with signatures. Now she had reliable financial protection. Day Four: The fourth day was the most emotionally intense. Her hand trembled betraying her as she signed documents. “Are you sure about your decision?” inquired the notary sympathetically, a woman around her age. “Absolutely,” Marina replied, straightening her shoulders. Next, she met with a real estate agency. The family mansion, built fifteen years ago, was now entirely in her possession. “I want to prepare the eviction documents,” she declared, looking straight into the eyes of the young lawyer. “But that’s your husband…” the lawyer began uncertainly. “Ex-husband,” corrected Marina. “And he has exactly seven days to vacate the house.” Day Five: The fifth day began with a visit... 📖 Read the continuation in the comments ⬇️

I don’t receive calls while driving but this person kept calling and calling until I decided to stop by the roadside and answer the call. It was an old friend who had come to town and wanted to see me. As I sat parked, engrossed in the conversation, a soft tap on my window startled me. A woman stood outside, her face shadowed in the dim streetlight. I rolled down the window just enough to hear her. "Are you looking for someone?" I held up a finger, signaling I was on a call. She nodded and walked away. Before I could resume my conversation, another knock. A different woman this time, her tone polite but insistent. "Do you need something? Maybe I can help?" Confusion flickered. Was I parked illegally? "No, I’m just on a call," I explained. She gave a knowing smile and retreated. That’s when I noticed them—a small group of women lingering nearby, their postures relaxed but alert. Another car pulled up ahead. One of them approached, exchanged a few words, then climbed in. The car drove off. Oh. I wasn’t just parked on the side of the road. I was in their territory. A third woman approached before I could process it fully. This time, I shook my head before she even spoke. She smirked and walked away. I should have left. But curiosity pinned me there. Cars came and went. The women worked like clockwork—a brief exchange, a nod, then one would disappear into a vehicle. One of them stood out. Tall, fair-skinned, wrapped in a short skirt and a white crop top that hugged her curves. Even in the dim light, her confidence was magnetic. Why is someone like her doing this? The thought lingered until she sauntered toward my car. I don’t know why I did it—maybe impulse, maybe something darker—but before she reached me, I slipped off my wedding ring and tucked it into my pocket. She leaned in, elbows resting on the window frame, lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. "You’ve been here a while. Not sure who to pick?" Her voice was smooth, teasing. "Well, here I am. Tell me something." Up close, she was stunning—sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes that held a challenge. My pulse kicked up. "I just pulled over to take a call," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. She laughed, low and throaty. "It’s a beautiful night. I can make it better." "How?" "Take me somewhere private. You’ll see." My mind raced. My body betrayed me. "How much?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. She quoted prices—short time, all night. I chose the former. The hotel was her pick. The moment the door closed, she shed her clothes without ceremony, lying back on the bed like a transaction waiting to be completed. I hesitated. "No foreplay?" She arched a brow. "You want foreplay from an ashawo? Touch yourself. I’m here for one thing." Reality crashed in. This wasn’t seduction. It was a business deal—cold, mechanical. I tried. I wanted to want it. But my thing refused to rise to the occasion. She grew impatient. "You’re wasting my time." "It’s my first time doing this," I admitted. She scoffed. "Then you should’ve paid for premium service." When I was still struggling to get it to rise to the occasion, she got up and started dressing. She said, "You’re impotent. Or stupid. Either way, pay me." "For what? We didn’t do anything." Her eyes hardened. She pulled out her phone. "I’m calling my guys. You’ll pay before they get here." Fear coiled in my gut. I handed over double what we’d agreed. She snatched the money, smirked, and left without looking back. I sat in my car, hands shaking, guilt and relief warring inside me. Then I remembered the ring in my pocket. Had I taken it off to hide my marriage? Or because some part of me knew I shouldn’t be here at all? Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the shame was the point. I started the engine and drove home—slowly, carefully, like a man who’d just dodged a bullet.

17 DISADVANTAGES OF DATING OR MARRYING A NON-VIRGIN A Brutally Honest Thread for Men Who Want to Know the Hidden Costs. Let’s talk truth. Not everyone will like this, but if you’re a man who values loyalty, purity, peace of mind, and long-term stability—you need to read this without emotions. Because behind every past body count is a history that could cost you more than you bargained for. Let’s go: 1. Comparison Never Ends She has tasted other men. She may smile at you, but mentally, she’s comparing. 2. Emotional Baggage She's bringing unresolved trauma, heartbreaks, and soul ties into your home. 3. Reduced Loyalty Experience has taught her how to detach emotionally. She knows how to leave. 4. High Expectations She’s been treated, pampered, and spoiled before. Now you're competing with ghosts. 5. Body Count Insecurity You’ll never know the real number. And even if you do, it will haunt you. 6. She Might Cheat With Her Ex That man she cried over for 6 months? He still has a soft spot in her heart. 7. Lowered Bonding Ability Sex forms deep bonds. The more partners she’s had, the harder it is for her to fully bond with one. 8. Entitlement Culture She may feel she's doing you a favor by settling, not knowing she's giving less than you deserve. 9. Loss of Purity Respect You won't feel like you "won" anything rare. You’ll just be another guy on the list. 10. Risk of STI History The more partners, the more chances of infections—past, present, and future. 11. Emotional Imbalance Multiple sexual partners change how a woman sees sex—it becomes transactional. 12. Disrespect to Masculinity She has nothing sacred to offer that’s uniquely yours. She’s already given it away. 13. Lowered Submission A woman with multiple exes finds it harder to submit. She's been the boss before. 14. You Become Her Rebound or "Safe Option" You might just be the guy she settled for, not the one she truly wanted. 15. Family & Cultural Rejection Many traditional cultures still value virginity. Your family may never fully accept her. 16. Future Regrets When problems come, she might wonder: "Did I choose the wrong guy?"—because she has many exes to compare you to. 17. Lack of Sacredness in Sex With no spiritual connection to it, sex becomes a chore, not a sacred act of union. BOTTOM LINE: This isn't about shaming. It’s about being aware of what you’re walking into. A woman’s past does matter—not because she can’t change, but because patterns don’t lie. If you’re a man who wants peace, loyalty, depth, and spiritual connection—choose wisely. Because marriage is not rehabilitation. And dating is not charity. #RealTalk #NoSimpZone #ModernDating #ChooseWisely #MasculineEnergy #HighValueMan #TruthOverFeelings

I CAME EARLY TO MY WEDDING - ONLY TO CATCH MY SISTER STE@LING IT (WHAT I DID NEXT WAS EPIC) After three years of saving every penny, working double shifts, and sacrificing countless weekends, our dream wedding was finally happening. The venue was perfect, the flowers exquisite - every detail painstakingly planned. I arrived an hour early to savor the moment alone... when I heard the wedding march playing. My bl00d ran cold. There, at MY altar, stood another bride in MY venue. As she turned, I saw the familiar smirk that had h@unted me since childhood - my sister. "Oh! You're early!" she chirped, adjusting MY veil. "Guess the cat's out of the bag - we're having a two-for-one wedding today!" "Excuse me?" My hands trembled. She rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic. Your setup was just sitting here going to waste before your ceremony. I'm being efficient!" Years of her entitlement flashed before my eyes - always taking my clothes, my birthday presents, now my WEDDING. Then I smiled. "You're absolutely right, sis," I said sweetly, walking straight to the wedding planner. "Let's make this official. Just one tiny problem though..." THE SH0CKING TWIST IS IN THE COMMENTS! 👇

HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW S3DUC3D HIM UNTIL HE GOT HER PREGNANT. 1 Veronica was not your typical mother-in-law. I mean, not every mother-in-law is the same; some come with prayers, wrappers, and love, while others come with lipstick, secrets, and destr--uction. Veronica was the second kind. She was the kind of woman who never accepted she was old, always saying things like, "I'm still h--ot," or "I'm still in town." She dressed like a teenager: short, see-through skirts, crop tops, long eyelashes, and heavy makeup that made people stare. She walked like the streets still belonged to her, spoke with bold confidence, and never accepted that age had touched her. She didn't visit her daughters like a normal mother; she showed up like she was coming for a nightclub audition. To Veronica, her daughter's husband wasn't family; he was an opportunity, another fine man she could lay in b--ed with. And she did it – not once, not twice, but multiple times. She wasn't just a problem; she was a st--orm. Meanwhile, across town, Nancy, her daughter, lived a very different life. Nancy was the kind of woman every man would be proud to have. Her skin was smooth like ripe mango, and her smile could calm a crying baby. She was kind, quiet, and very hardworking. Everyone who met her said the same thing: "This girl is wife material." Nancy had a man, his name was Aika. He was tall like a coconut tree, with skin that shone like polished wood. His voice was soft, his steps gentle, and his heart was full of love. He had big houses, fine cars, big businesses, and plenty of money in the bank. But above all, he had only one thing in mind: to marry Nancy and start a peaceful life with her. Nancy had everything a young woman could wish for: a good job, a gentle man, and a heart full of joy. But inside her chest, under her happiness, there was a small fear, a quiet fear that stayed like a lizard behind cardboard. That fear was her mother, Veronica. Veronica was her mother by b--lood, yes, but she was not like other mothers. She was different, and Nancy knew deep down in her heart that if anything was ever going to spoil her joy, it would come from that woman. But she never said it out loud; she just smiled and kept planning her wedding. Veronica was not a mother like Mama Anki or Mama Zab; she was different, very different. She had Nancy when she was just a small girl herself, a teenager. Her parents chased her out of the house when they saw her belly growing like a yam. She cried, she begged, but they shut the door and told her, "Go and face what you started." From that day, Veronica began to suffer under the hot sun. She carried oranges on her head, she sold sachet water in traffic, she begged strangers for coins. Her feet were always dusty, and her stomach always empty. But Veronica had something: beauty. She was fine, too fine. Her skin glowed, her bo--dy curved like a question mark, and men started to notice. One man came one night; he offered her food and a soft bed, but he wanted her bo--dy in return. She agreed. That night, her life changed. That was how Veronica entered the world of easy money: one man today, another man tomorrow. She began to wear short clothes, paint her li--ps red like tomatoes, and walk with her che--st high like a peacock. She went from sleeping on cartons to sleeping in hotels, from begging for food to buying fried rice at night. To be continued after 20 shares...