Thirty days before Matthew and I's wedding, I was wearing a diamond-encrusted wedding dress with a trailing tail. I had just touched the couple's necklace around my neck when a call came from the police station—something had happened to him.
Zhou Bing handed over a photo. A severed finger was placed on the ground. The plain wedding ring on the middle finger that I polished by myself made my eyes go dark.
"It doesn't have to be Matthew."
I gripped the skirt of my wedding dress tightly, dug my nails into my palms, and cried on the photo: I gave the ring to him, how could it not be him?
