Summary
The System told me to save my depressed husband, but I refused.
When he tried to cut his own arm with a knife, I turned a blind eye and instead opened the balcony window and cried out:
“My brand new limited edition high heels just broke! Oh my god, I can’t live like this!”
Afraid of disturbing the neighbors, my husband had no choice but to put down the knife and come over to comfort me:
“Don’t cry. Let’s go shopping and buy a new pair.”
In the middle of the night, when he wanted to quietly go to the deserted railway tracks alone, I simply shoved my cold feet into his arms:
“I’m freezing to death. Warm me up.”
The man shivered from the cold, frowned, and held my feet, only able to pull the blanket tighter around us.
After a long time together, he still wanted to die, but I still didn’t care.
“Then before you die, let’s get a divorce.”
My husband was stunned. “Do I have to get divorced if I want to die?”
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously. Only after divorcing you can I leave this hellhole!”
Suddenly, the man hugged me tightly, nervous: “Then I won’t die. I don’t want a divorce.”