After thirty years of marriage, my childfree husband has always insisted on a “Platonic marriage,” refusing to have children or even touch me. He said desire would desecrate our love, and that he only wanted us to devote our lives to medicine. But on our anniversary, I saw him with my own eyes, entangled in the living room with the murderer who had killed my father. His principles of thirty years turned into a joke in an instant. Only then did I realize I was nothing but a tool he had used to climb the ladder, and that to please his first love, he was even planning to humiliate me in public. Heartbroken, I resolutely left to join a German hospital. But when he couldn’t find me anywhere, he panicked.
