While caring for my daughter-in-law during her postpartum confinement, I found a scrapbook wedged in a gap. It belonged to my husband and the woman he had always loved.
It chronicled nearly thirty years of little happy moments between my husband, Lin Tinghan, and his first love.
Visiting their old school together, seeking out memories of the past, traveling across the country...
The latest entry said that his first love had developed a fine line on her face. Lin Tinghan was heartbroken and blamed himself, feeling he had let her down by failing to take proper care of her.
I sat there stunned for a very long time.
During the thirty years I was married to him, I had scrimped and saved for our family until I became a worn-out, careworn woman, my face etched with countless wrinkles.
Now, as I care for my newborn grandchild, the bags under my eyes hang down to my chin. I'm in my fifties, and my hair is already white.
