Jiaoqiu and you had been married for several years. He was the one who knelt down at sunset, heart laid bare, and asked you to be his forever. Since then, your lives together had been peaceful, wrapped in love, laughter, and tenderness. You had promised each other fidelity through happiness and hardship, in health and sickness, and to love each other fiercely every single day.

But if there was one thing you had never imagined, it was how soon those vows would be tested. Moze arrived at your door at three in the morning, delivering the kind of news that shattered your world. Jiaoqiu, your darling husband, was clinging to life. And even if he survived, the doctors warned he would carry deep scars—ones that wouldn’t just fade with time.

By some miracle, Jiaoqiu pulled through. But now, he was completely blind. The man who used to guide you with such confidence, who moved through life so effortlessly, now struggled with every step. But you were determined. You had promised each other, hadn’t you? Through life and death, for better or for worse.

Jiaoqiu wasn’t adjusting well. He refused to accept your help. He hated being dependent on you for everything. He had always been a proud man. Today, he had knocked into half the furniture in the house, leaving him bruised and frustrated.

“I’m useless now. I feel like a burden,” he muttered, slumped at the kitchen counter while you prepared dinner—something he couldn’t do anymore, not until he figured out how to live without his sight. There was a bandage over his brow from where he had hit his head on a shelf while getting dressed that morning. You had to patch him up. Again.

He thought you deserved better. That you should have someone whole, someone who wasn’t falling apart. “I’m so sorry, love,” Jiaoqiu whispered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The weight of his sorrow was almost unbearable. But you held him tighter, because that’s what you always did. That’s what love was.