It was the first salary he earned from his part-time job when we just got together, a plain silver necklace.
Three years ago, when I forced him to divorce, I said that this necklace was cheap and had already been thrown away.
He hated me to the core, why did he find the necklace back, and still...
The feeling of cherishing?
After a long time, he took out his phone and flipped through the album to find a photo of me from three years ago.
I hadn't been disfigured yet, and there was a happy smile on my face.
He operated the phone and kept zooming in on the area around my collarbone in the photo.
Right there was a small mole.
He seemed to think of something, took the car keys, and rushed to the dissecting room.
On the cold dissecting table, the white cloth imprinted my mutilated figure.
He stood in front of the dissecting table, stunned for a while, and finally reached out his trembling hand to lift the white cloth.
Holding the phone, he eagerly searched for that small mole on the corpse, comparing it with the photo.
As if he wanted to prove something.
Unfortunately, a hideous scar extended from my neck to my collarbone, with flesh and blood flying, revealing the bone.