In 1987, my father died while working on a rocket moon-landing project.
I asked my husband, a battalion commander, to accompany me to the memorial service.
But before I could finish speaking,
he pried my hand away, ignoring my tear-reddened eyes,
and hurried into a jeep.
"I'm sorry, something really important has come up."
"We'll talk about it when I get back."
I knew the truth.
He was going to comfort his ex-girlfriend, who suffered from depression.
At that moment, I finally let go of Xu Nan'an.
So I signed the mandatory divorce papers
and joined the research my father had left unfinished.
Elder Wu of the National Space Administration looked at me and said:
"Child, I wholeheartedly welcome you to join us."
"But you need to think this through. Once you join, you may be cut off from the outside world for anywhere from three to five years to several decades. Have you discussed it with Nan'an?"
I answered firmly, "He knows."
"Dad always said that the dream of reaching the heavens has been a romantic ideal of the Chinese people for five thousand years. I want to finish what he couldn't."
Elder Wu's eyes reddened with emotion. He stood and saluted me. "It'll take about a month for the application to be approved. Use that time to say a proper goodbye to Nan'an."
I nodded. A month was enough time to bring this relationship to a close.
