First Lady

The sky was bright, and the dazzling sunlight shone in through the windows, and everything in the small living room could be seen clearly at a glance.

Lying on some dirty white cloth sofa was a woman with rumpled clothes, disheveled hair, and a slovenly atmosphere. She couldn't tell her age or figure.

If there is anything good about her, it is estimated that the only thing left is her fair and smooth skin.

On the glass table in front of the sofa was a pile of leftover snacks, a coffee cup that hadn’t been washed for an unknown period of time, and several magazines still lying on the ground. Basically, the covers of all the magazines were the same man. gloomy.

The TV should have been turned on all night, and now it is showing a XXX weight loss advertisement with magical effects. [

The room was arranged in a mess, and anyone with a discerning eye would know without guessing... This woman must be a dead house.

The dilapidated wall clock on the wall was ticking. At about [-]:[-], the woman opened her eyes in a daze.

She raised her hand to her mouth and yawned. That graceful movement was far from her attire.

After five seconds, she put down her hand. The environment in front of her made her face change drastically. She first rubbed her eyes vigorously, as if she couldn't believe it, then pinched her thigh hard. The severe pain woke her up. Understand this is not a dream.

Standing up suddenly, looking around in the small living room, the eyeballs are getting bigger and bigger, as if they are about to protrude, and the expression on the face is weird and twitching.

A loud scream was about to come out of her throat, and she immediately raised her hands to cover her mouth tightly.

After a while, suppressing her screaming, she said to herself: "MD, could it be that she was kidnapped again... no, no, if kidnapped... the environment would be a little better... Cocoa..."

She looked down at herself, couldn't help but close her eyes, couldn't bear to look at it again, the big worn-out T-shirt and worn-out shorts, this was too tragic...the rags from their house were better than this clothes.

Wait, wait, wait... something is wrong, something is wrong...

She immediately opened her eyes and raised her left foot to look. Why can't she remember when there was a scar on the back of her foot>

I started to write about Bai Ling's story, thank you for the children's shoes who are still chasing the article, one by one, (3)