Ten years of marriage were like a diary full of lies, and today I finally turned to the last page.
A drop of water fell from her hair onto my wedding ring. I remembered the light in her eyes when she said, “I'll only ever love you,” on the day I proposed. Now that light belonged to someone else: a young man who had placed his hands on her waist while teaching her to squat at the gym.
Our daughter asked why her mother had been going out smelling so nice lately. How was I supposed to explain? That her mother was practicing how to become someone else's bride? The photos on my phone, taken in our bed, each felt like a knife stabbing into my heart.
So this is how people in middle age fall apart: not with hysterics, but by quietly watching their sleeping wife and daughter in the dead of night, then wiping their own aging reflection from the mirror.
Don't be divorced from reality. Tai Lun's novel will make people feel like they are involved.