For National Day, I had arranged to go to Vienna for a concert with my wife, a concert pianist. Just before we were due to leave, she messaged me that the orchestra had an emergency performance and she couldn't go. I quietly canceled all our reservations. But that afternoon, I came across a post from her young male student. In the video, my usually elegant wife had rolled up her pants and was standing in a muddy rice paddy, covered in mud as she struggled to plant rice with the hands she had insured for tens of millions. The caption read: “A teacher's hands can do more than fill concert halls with music. They can also sow hope in the fields.” My heart tightened. I commented, “This season's crop will surely be harvested down to the last grain, with a sound as beautiful as music.” As soon as I sent it, she called and roared, “Do you have to use your cruel words to destroy a child's pure love of art?” I promptly hung up. Once National Day was over, it was time for this marriage to end, too.
