After I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I bought three necklaces and hid them in three different places.
“Honey, this is my favorite necklace. Make sure you burn one for me every year on the anniversary of my death, okay?”
With that one sentence, I put a leash on that mad dog Shen Ci.
It made him give up on jumping off a building and throw away the sleeping pills.
Clinging to that promise, he endured year after year.
Until a young girl appeared by Shen Ci’s side. She was innocent and kind, like a warm little sun.
Shen Ci moved out of our marital home and sent away the puppy I had raised.
By the third anniversary of my death, Shen Ci didn’t come.
I slipped into his dream and put on my cutest act.
“Honey, you’re such a dummy. You still haven’t found this year’s necklace.”
Shen Ci, who had always chattered endlessly at me, was strangely silent now.
After a long time, he finally said, “Qingqing, it’s been three years. I need to start a new life too.”
