The world in March is not all as warm as March weather. The only warmth was taken away by him. Only broken glass was left on the ground.
The friend angrily accused God of being unfair to March, but March held her cheek with her left hand, and gently stroked the hair falling from her forehead with her right hand to behind her ears, then lazily stirred the coffee on the table and said, "How perfect is life?" For a moment, a trace of helplessness flashed in his eyes.
His five years of separation were just to prepare her for what she has now, but...