The Buddha said that a thousand years of practice is just a look back. He and she met, fell in love, got married, and grew old.
She spent her whole life loving him, and he spent his whole life loving her, but they went back and forth and separated several times; every time, she waited for him, and when she was mentally haggard, he came and said, I'm sorry. She looked into his eyes, stretched out her hands to cover them, and said, I don't want to forgive you, but I can't.
When she was dying, her face was calm, even with a slight smile. His face was full of smoke, and he held her hand, choked and unable to speak. But she said, I would rather not meet you in this life, and it would not hurt so much. He burst into tears, and she passed away suddenly.
Her son stood beside them, with a face like him, an expression like her, and a quiet voice like her. He wanted to say something, but the child said it first, don't say sorry to me, you should tell her, but she no longer needed it, and she no longer had to listen. He was suddenly at a loss...