Su Nianwan spent three years as a stand-in.
Lu Chenzhou married her only because her eyes and brows bore some resemblance to the woman he had loved and lost. He bought her the finest jewelry but never remembered her birthday. He made her Mrs. Lu, yet on the anniversary of his beloved’s death, he took his stand-in to the grave and poured out his heart!
She signed the surgery consent form alone, went through chemotherapy alone, and lay in her hospital bed alone, wondering: Should she tell him about the baby?
The baby was gone. Her heart died too.
On the day of the funeral, Lu Chenzhou knelt before the coffin and wept like a madman. He didn’t know the coffin was empty. Su Nianwan had used her own “death” to claim her first taste of freedom.
Five years later, she changed her name to Lin Anran and became a cardiologist.
And he was brought into her operating room.
Acute myocardial infarction, blocked coronary artery, life hanging by a thread. She held his ECG, her hand steady. “Mr. Lu, we need a family member’s signature before surgery.”
He recognized her eyes, the eyes he had once said “looked just like someone else’s.”
“Sign it,” he gripped her white coat, his voice hoarse. “You’re my ex-wife.”
She pried his fingers off one by one. “I’m sorry, you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Su Nianwan is dead. Now your life has to be saved by a “dead woman.”
