Gu Tingchen’s secretary “accidentally” spilled scalding coffee on my hand.
I let out a scream as my skin rapidly blistered and wrinkled, tears streaming uncontrollably from my eyes.
At that moment, my husband was covering the culprit’s eyes and gently comforting her.
“Be good, don’t look. It’s ugly.”
By the time we got to the hospital, after such a long delay, they told me I would never be able to play the piano again.
Gu Tingchen said without a care.
“It’s only that you can’t play the piano anymore. It’s not like you’re going to die.”
From the time I was five until I was thirty, he knew better than anyone that the piano mattered more to me than my life.
At that moment, I finally gave up hope and called my mother.
“Mom, I’ll go to Vienna. I promise.”
