In our seventh year of marriage, I discovered that my husband had left two letters for his first love.
One was a love letter, the other a suicide note.
"In our next life, be my wife."
"I'm leaving you my estate. Even after I'm gone, I won't let anyone bully you."
I didn't want to come between star-crossed lovers, so I immediately booked a plane ticket.
That morning, I ironed my husband's clothes for the last time and saw him off.
At the entrance, he hesitated when I didn't give him a goodbye kiss.
"An'an, don't be upset. That lipstick mark last night was a misunderstanding."
"I was just taking a friend home. Don't let your imagination run wild."
I didn't cry or make a scene. "Oh, I don't care."
Because I'd already found someone through a matchmaking service and was getting ready to marry again.
But he panicked.
