On my 30th wedding anniversary, I was diagnosed. My husband handed over an agreement, saying that he would leave the house and leave all the money to me. I asked why. He said that there was someone who had been waiting for him for many years and he could no longer delay him. I spurted out a mouthful of black blood and closed my eyes unwillingly. When I opened my eyes again, I went back to my wedding night. At the age of twenty-three, he told me that he could marry me, but we would each live our own lives. He has his own difficulties. I nodded and said forget it. He froze. He didn't know that in my previous life I had kept this agreement for thirty years, and what I was waiting for at the end was the agreement.
