As the office director at the subdistrict office, my daily shifts naturally require me to be on duty much longer than others. Consequently, I encounter and interact with far more individuals visiting the subdistrict office than other staff members.Among the daily flow of visitors, there are senior officials, subordinates, migrant workers applying for family planning permits, newlyweds collecting marriage certificates, laid-off workers claiming welfare benefits... Truly a melting pot of all walks of life; a hundred people, a hundred different faces. Occasionally, couples seeking divorce proceedings also blend into this stream.Most divorce certificate recipients remained silent, a few chatted and laughed, while only a handful bickered or fought.From my observations, couples who bicker tend to be having a temporary spat rather than genuinely wanting to divorce. Some even reconcile right there at the subdistrict office. Those who are silent or laughing and joking, however, are almost certainly set on ending their marriage.Our neighborhood office houses a Marriage Management Office dedicated to handling marriage and divorce procedures, issuing marriage certificates or divorce decrees. I've witnessed countless individuals and situations coming to the office for divorce proceedings, yet few truly resonate with me. Seeing so many instances of divorce over time has made it all seem ordinary and routine. People's views on marriage have long shifted—unions endure when compatible, dissolve when incompatible.Divorce is neither rash nor an unbreakable bond. Besides, I remain a detached observer, untouched by the anger, sorrow, or anguish of those involved. Whether it brings temporary relief or lasting heartache, their entanglements of right and wrong, love and resentment, concern me not as an outsider. I might as well be "retreating to my tower, untouched by the seasons."Some might accuse me of indifference to others' suffering. In truth, it's inappropriate for outsiders to meddle in another's divorce. Nor do I possess the ability to mediate their reconciliation. Remaining a detached observer is the prudent course. What truly struck me about divorce today was this morning's call from a fellow villager. She told me she was getting divorced.The preliminary preparations for the divorce—including agreements on property division and child custody—were already settled. All necessary documents and certificates were ready, awaiting only the formal divorce proceedings. She called me for two reasons: first, to ask about the cost of divorce and whether it could be minimized. Since she would bear all expenses, her savings were running low.Second, she asked me to help expedite the divorce paperwork, ideally completing it that very day to avoid prolonging the distress. "Turtledoves bring trouble when coaxed together," I urged her over the phone to reconsider the divorce. She replied that they had long been unable to continue and both parties wanted it. To be honest, at this point, I still viewed their divorce as an external matter. It held no personal significance for me.Half an hour later, my fellow villager arrived at the neighborhood office, bringing her husband along. He had a slight limp and was nothing special. Seeing this, my heart sank: no wonder she wanted out! My friend, though middle-aged, was still graceful and radiant.Among urban women her age, she was quite a looker. The saying "a flower stuck in cow dung" perfectly described her pairing with her husband. I led them to the marriage registration office and stood by as they processed the divorce paperwork. From what I saw on the forms they filled out: the property would go to the husband, and the wife would claim no assets.The wife also assumed no responsibility for debts incurred by the husband's business ventures. Their 14-year-old only daughter would be raised by the wife, who would bear all expenses for her upbringing. The husband would contribute nothing toward the daughter's costs. This entire agreement clearly favored the husband. Aside from taking their daughter, the wife claimed no other assets. My fellow villager's daughter was now a young woman.After years of toil for her daughter and family, the mother's youth has long transferred to her child. What youth remains for the mother herself? Reflecting on it, my friend endured fifteen years in such circumstances, exhausting her entire youth. Now she seeks freedom and pursues it. Though this step comes late, she has taken it nonetheless. It is a belated awakening, a tragic yet resolute act born of necessity!Throughout the entire process of finalizing the divorce agreement, the former couple exchanged only a word or two while signing the papers. The scene and atmosphere were incredibly oppressive—so much so that even I found it hard to bear. The air inside the marriage registration office felt thin and thick with tension, almost suffocating. If not for my hometown connection, I would have wanted to escape outside for some fresh air.My fellow villager and her husband had never shared the same household registration; they each maintained separate household books. After finalizing the divorce, she carefully tucked her ex-husband's extra 1-inch bareheaded photos into the plastic cover of his household book, then gently placed his household book and other documents into his carry-on bag.The entire process of packing was orderly, her movements gentle and deliberate. She could have packed only her own belongings, leaving her ex-husband's things untouched, but she didn't. It seemed she was fulfilling her final duty as a wife. After all, they had been husband and wife, and a day as husband and wife brings a hundred days of affection.All the past grievances and conflicts between them seemed to vanish in that moment, as if they had been nothing more than a long, lingering nightmare.Watching my fellow villager silently and slowly gather her ex-husband's photographs and documents, I felt a pang of sorrow myself. Had I not consciously held back, my tears would have spilled over. At that moment, my friend's back was turned to me. I couldn't see her face—whether she felt lost and bereft, her eyes brimming with tears, or perhaps even a hint of relief.Judging by her movements and silhouette, I concluded happiness was impossible. Perhaps her tears had long since dried up, leaving only numbness behind. After the divorce, how would my fellow villager navigate her path forward? Where would her second half of life find its anchor? Would the divorce bring her relief or only heavier burdens? Could she find happiness again?I also didn't know if they had ever experienced happiness during their marriage. I didn't dare ask her about these things, lest I touch upon her pain further. After completing the formalities and receiving the divorce certificate, my fellow villager didn't even bid me farewell. Instead, she silently and slowly walked out of the office compound with her newly divorced husband—now her ex-husband—by her side...Now, whether legally or socially, she could have easily left her slow-moving ex-husband behind and walked away swiftly, parting ways right there. But she didn't. She chose to accompany him for this final stretch. This scene broke my heart and filled me with sorrow. I didn't blame her for her abrupt departure; instead, I felt deeper sympathy, understanding, and forgiveness.I surmised she had her own reasons for not bidding me farewell. Perhaps she felt awkward and wanted to escape this oppressive atmosphere as quickly as possible; perhaps she feared she couldn't control her emotions and might break down in tears in public; perhaps she was overwhelmed with mixed feelings and thoughts, having completely forgotten the trivial matter of saying goodbye to her fellow townsman...My fellow villager friend had deliberately dressed in simple, cool-toned attire today. I wonder if this choice reflected her inner world. What must she be feeling now—a sense of liberation from suffering, or... My own heart, however, was filled with inexplicable melancholy.My hometown friend's divorce left me feeling downcast for an entire afternoon and evening, sighing repeatedly as I deeply lamented the lost years and youth of my fellow villager. A once-vibrant, dewy flower had been so battered it withered away!Though not yet "scattered into dust and crushed into soil," she was certainly no longer "only fragrant as before." What a pity, what a waste of resources! The image of my friend's beautiful yet sorrowful face lingered in my mind, etched with the desolate silhouette of her silently accompanying her newly divorced husband as they slowly walked out of our office compound... These scenes remained indelibly imprinted in my memory.