Zoe began to see me as a substitute for her first love. No, more accurately, as a substitute voice. She came every night to hear me sing, rewarding me generously, and sometimes dragging me out for late-night snacks. I took care of her thoughtfully, ensuring she could enjoy her nights and wake up comfortably in a hotel by morning. As time passed, we grew closer. She began to rely on me, seeking comfort in my embrace during her late-night sorrows, wondering why I was so good to her.
I thought to myself, "My life was given by you, how could I not be good to you?" Of course, I didn't say this. Instead, I joked, "You pay well, so naturally, I treat you well." She laughed and started complaining about the pressure from her family to get married, which was driving her crazy. I playfully suggested, "Then marry me. I'll help you out, albeit reluctantly." Her expression changed dramatically, she raised her hand to slap me but stopped herself.
Finally, after a long silence, she looked at me and nodded, "Alright, a good man like you is rare." We started dating. Due to my injuries from the accident, I couldn't do heavy work or use my brain much, so I became a full-time homemaker. I ensured Zoe had no worries and could immerse herself in the work she loved. She was quite satisfied; of course, she didn't love me but felt I was a reliable good man. Thus, we naturally got married.
I was happy that night because I felt I liked Zoe, the woman who gave me a second chance at life. But she wasn't happy—she thought marriage was trivial, just a formality, but regretted it when the moment came. Sacred marriage isn't about finding a meal partner; she wanted him as her other half. So, Zoe set a condition, "If my first love returns, we'll get divorced immediately."
"Okay."...