In my third year as Ji Linxia's husband, she went public with another man. The girl's pale hand was entwined with the man's large hand, their fingers intertwined intimately. That familiar hand was still wearing a wedding ring matching mine. I stared at the photo for a long time. In the end, I didn't like it or shed a tear. I simply slipped off the wedding ring I'd worn for three years. What Ji Linxia didn't know was that I was already terminally ill. I would be dead soon.
