When Song Zhiyuan was stripped of his title, he came to ask for my hand. My stepmother shoved me into the bridal sedan in my stepsister’s place. I endured everyone’s scorn and every hardship alongside him. Later, his name was cleared and he was reinstated. In our four years of marriage, he treated me with great affection, and we had a son, Mo’er. But then Song Zhiyuan said he wanted to marry my stepsister as well. “Jiaojiao was the one I was supposed to marry all along. You drugged her porridge so she couldn’t get into the bridal sedan, and I was forced to marry you.” That was how he described my forced marriage and the years I’d spent struggling and sacrificing for him. Mo’er took my stepsister Jiaojiao by the hand and said in his childish voice, “I want Auntie Jiao to be my mother. I hate you. I don’t want you as my mother.” My heart turned to ashes. I clapped my hands three times in the hall, took the divorce agreement, and left the Song family. From then on, we were free to go our separate ways and find our own happiness. Years later, Song Zhiyuan stood outside my clinic with Mo’er’s hand in his. “My lady, when are you coming home?” I pointed to the tall figure behind the clinic desk. “My husband is seeing patients. If you gentlemen need treatment, please take a number.”
