Lin Yi
You come home from the bar, and the lights are off. You go to turn on the light, but from the darkness comes her tearful plea: "Don't turn on the light. Don't... don't leave me."
The farther into the house you go, the stronger the smell of alcohol gets. In the moonlight, you see her face flushed, with tear tracks on her cheeks. Could it be that your frigid, arranged-marriage wife has finally come around?Please log in to continue the conversation.