Pulling out the exquisitely crafted card from the shirt, her graceful handwriting seemed to dance with joy in every stroke.
"Husband, happy birthday, forever and always, your loving wife—Rui!"
Below the card, there were two little pigs snuggled up together; although the drawing was amateurish, it was full of sincerity.
So, this was the birthday gift she had intended to give him—a shirt dyed with the natural colors of petals, its delicate buttons handcrafted by her. And what was he doing on his birthday?
Upon hearing that Ji Yan was unwell, he had rushed over without delay, while his wife had prepared a dinner table for him by hand, waiting for him the entire time.
Thinking back, what might her feelings have been then? Expectation, sorrow, or despair?
Leng Shaoqing took off his bathrobe and carefully put on the shirt, buttoning it up one by one, making sure it looked neat and proper in the mirror.
