After my husband passed away, I missed him too much.
Holding the German diary he often wrote in front of me.
I asked my granddaughter, who had just returned from studying in Germany, what her husband had written.
Unexpectedly, my granddaughter burst into laughter and said:
"Grandpa is so fashionable. He even wrote you a love letter."
"Every sentence begins with, Dear Hannah."
I felt like I was struck by lightning, and all the years of mutual support turned out to be fake.
I never had a German name, and his first love was named Hannah Chen.
He filled his diary with thoughts about this woman.
When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn and returned to the time when we just got married.
This time, I don't want to live another life of cold violence and choose to let each other go.
