Chapter 01
*
I can endure. I have an extraordinary capacity for patience. For two years, my husband has been living with another woman, and I have not once called him in anger or made a scene. I have remained obedient, taking care of our children and his parents with unwavering calm. When I give, I give everything. When I withdraw, I leave no trace.
Yesterday, my informant told me that for some unknown reason, my husband and his mistress had a huge argument—their eighth fight in recent memory. I feel the time is ripe.
Step One: The Plan Begins
Today, I set my plan into motion. Standing on the rooftop of the thirty-story Yihe Tower, I let the wind whip my plain, unadorned emotions into sharp creases. I dial my husband’s number. As always, it is his lover and assistant, Meiling, who answers. Her voice is sweet and practiced: “Mr. Chen is in a meeting.”
I let my face twist with anger. “If you don’t put him on the phone right now, I’ll jump. See if you can escape the blame.”
Meiling is silent.
…Threat delivered.
Soon, my husband’s face appears on the video call. Tears well up in my eyes. “I just want to ask you, my dear husband—after two years, do you still remember the way home?”
He looks shocked. He knows I have refused to divorce him, and so he has used his absence as leverage. For two years, our son and daughter, as well as his parents, have thrived under my care. Everything is peaceful and orderly.
Today, to see him, I resort to threats of suicide. I know that this man, selfish as he is, will probably think he’s irresistible—that any woman would die without him.
“If you want me to come home, just call. What’s the point of going to the rooftop?” he says gruffly.
I don’t tell him that all my calls have been intercepted by Meiling. Maybe he knows. Or maybe he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“The children miss you. If you don’t come back soon, they’ll think you died in action,” I say flatly.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” he replies in that deep, magnetic voice that used to thrill me but now leaves me cold.
“I’ll come home tonight,” he says at last.
I wipe away my tears, swallow the pain that feels like my bones are being pulled apart, and step down from the rooftop. Even on this hot day, the wind up here is fierce. No wonder the ancient poets wrote, “I would mount the wind and return to heaven, but I fear those crystal towers and jade halls are too high and cold for me.”
Maybe lowering myself to the dust is just another kind of height.
Strangely, my mood lifts. The sunlight feels brighter. For two years, no matter how hot it got outside, I’ve felt chilled to the bone, as if a north wind were cutting through me. My face has been pale year-round, and my parents have been worried, always urging me to see a doctor. But when your heart is frozen, even the best doctor can’t heal it.
As usual, I stop by my parents’ house. My mother hugs me tight, tears streaming down her face. A mother knows her daughter’s pain; she has seen all my suffering these past two years.
I wipe her tears away and force a smile. “Mom, don’t cry. I’m fine—I’m not hungry, I’m not cold. I’m just putting on a show for him, to make him feel guilty.”
Maybe I’m the one who feels guilty, but I’m ready to act. This is only the first step. I never intended to jump; I don’t want to die.
And I know he won’t come home tonight. Meiling will do everything in her power to stop him. How soon he returns depends on how much she means to him.
Judging by how often they fight, I don’t think it will be more than a couple of days.
After leaving my parents, I go to the supermarket with my mother. I fill the trunk with the most expensive things I can find, all charged to his account.
For two years, I’ve scrimped and saved, afraid that spending too much would give him an excuse to divorce me. I’ve tried to make myself invisible, to reduce my presence in his life.
But today, I spend freely. Anyone can spend money—I just needed to remember how.
As soon as I finish, a message from him pops up: “Did you buy groceries?”