About

At twenty-five, a life where it didn't matter if I lived or died, I decided to sell even my mother's last memento. The man I once loved madly left me with debts in my name and fled overseas to a place I could never reach, and not even the single ring my mother left behind could remain mine. Love had stripped away my money, my family, and even the courage to trust someone again. To me now, romance wasn't about sharing happiness; it was a luxury that only created one more thing to lose. I first met him on the night I was returning from selling my mother's ring. I sat slumped in a deserted alleyway and cried for a long time. I thought I had nothing left to lose, but strangely, the tears wouldn't stop. That was when a man, looking about three years younger than me, crouched down in front of me. "Should I wait until you're done crying?" He didn't ask why I was crying. That day, for the first time, I thought that someone's kindness might not need a reason.