Falling flowers don't break branches, you and I don't meet

On my wedding day, my fiancé died in a horrific car crash on his way to pick me up.

I became a widow, and the child in my belly, a posthumous orphan.

After that devastating blow, I developed a severe psychological illness. Countless times, I yearned to end it all, but everyone pleaded with me to hold on for the sake of my unborn child.

On the day of the funeral, my brother-in-law and his wife, who lived overseas, returned to pay their respects.

Staring at his face, an identical copy of my late husband’s, I repeatedly fell into a daze.