I was framed by Qin Sanghuai’s first love and imprisoned for three years.
When I got out, my eight-year-old son demanded to know why I hadn’t died in prison.
Everyone said Qin Sanghuai had waited three years for me and was devoted to me.
But they didn’t know he had let his first love move into my home, where she taught our son to hate me day after day. Every night, their suggestive whispers kept me awake.
I neither cried nor complained. I quietly lived next door to them.
Like a corpse.
Qin Sanghuai went mad with rage. He pinned me in a corner and snarled, “Why don’t you make a scene?”
He didn’t know I wasn’t just like a corpse.
I really was close to death.
Every day he let our son humiliate me and his first love taunt me, I silently crossed another day off the calendar, counting down the days I had left to live.
