The Real Rose and the Fake Rose

In the tenth year of saving Song Bai, we finally had a child together.

On our tenth anniversary, I went to celebrate with him, overjoyed and holding my pregnancy test results.

But for the sake of his first love, he returned to the racetrack and risked his life in a bet.

I didn’t stop him. Instead, amid the roar of the racing cars, I made an appointment for surgery.

Just before I entered the operating room, He Wan posted an update on Weibo.

“Even after ten years, I’m still his rose. No matter how lovely the wild rose is, it’s still just a knockoff.”

In the photo, a red rose curled around He Wan’s neck.

Suddenly, the back of my neck felt scorching hot. But when I touched it, I found only a wild rose.

Song Bai had tattooed it on me himself five years ago.

I left a casual comment.

“Beautiful flowers. Wishing you two 99 years together.”

After the surgery, Song Bai gave me 999 red wild roses, his voice indulgent.

“If you like flowers, I’ll bring you some every day from now on.”

I looked at the hickey on his neck that he’d forgotten to cover, feeling nothing at all.

He didn’t know that there would be no future for us.