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Zhang Xiaohui's face was pale, her eyes swollen and red. Her hands were tightly clasped together, trembling continuously. Her voice came out in broken sobs, occasionally choked with emotion: “He doesn’t love me anymore. He always finds me annoying, says I’m too much trouble… I just wanted him to spend more time with me, but he can’t even do that.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she seemed to have lost all support.
Lin Jin sat across from Zhang Xiaohui, gently handing her a tissue and speaking softly, “Xiaohui, you have to believe that you are worthy of love. Right now, you feel lonely and in pain, but it’s not your fault. You have the right to pursue your own happiness.” She tried to keep her tone steady, but inside, her emotions surged like waves.
Zhang Xiaohui took the tissue with a choked voice and whispered, “But I really feel like I can’t hold on anymore… I think about why he has changed every day. What did I do wrong?”
Seeing her helplessness, Lin Jin felt a deep sympathy welling up within her. She fought back the pangs of sorrow in her heart and forced a comforting smile: “You haven’t done anything wrong; this isn’t your responsibility. There are many things in marriage that we cannot control, but we can choose how to face these problems.”
Zhang Xiaohui's sobs gradually weakened, as if all her strength had been drained away. Lin Jin looked at her and felt an inexplicable anger and helplessness—not towards Zhang Xiaohui, but towards herself. She realized she was going through similar struggles but had never had the courage to make a change. Zhang Xiaohui’s tears were like a mirror, laying bare her own vulnerabilities and helplessness.
Taking a deep breath, Lin Jin continued softly, “Xiaohui, you must learn to love yourself and rediscover the meaning of life. You can find a new direction.” The moment those words left her lips, Lin Jin suddenly realized that she was also speaking to herself. While encouraging Zhang Xiaohui, she was simultaneously encouraging herself.
Standing at the kitchen sink, Lin Jin stared at the unwashed dishes in her hands. The morning sunlight streamed through the window onto her face, yet she felt cold inside. The arguments from the previous night still echoed in her ears—the cold accusations, the harsh tones of their quarrels, and Zhou Kai's impatient expression were like invisible knives cutting through her heart.
In the kitchen, the air felt stagnant. Lin Jin heard Zhou Kai’s footsteps approaching the door; he hurried in, grabbing his coat from the sofa with a sullen expression. Lin Jin hesitated for a moment but finally spoke up: “Zhou Kai, we really need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Zhou Kai replied coldly without looking up. “I’m really busy and don’t have time for this.”
Lin Jin’s fingers unconsciously tightened around her apron as she bit her lip, trying to keep her voice calm: “You always say you’re busy, but we can’t keep dragging our problems like this. I feel like we haven’t truly communicated in ages.”
Hearing this, Zhou Kai paused his movements and turned to look at Lin Jin. His eyes were filled with fatigue and impatience: “Lin Jin, what exactly do you want to say? Can’t you see? I’m swamped every day; when I come home, I just want some peace and quiet—not endless complaints.”
“Endless complaints?” Lin Jin felt a wave of grievance wash over her. She took a deep breath to suppress her emotions: “Do you know what? I just want you to care about this home and care about me. Is that really too much to ask?”
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