After the death of her eighth husband, Shirley stayed at home for half a year and decided never to marry again, planning to find work out of town.

As she put it, not marrying meant she had to earn her own living and wouldn't end up pitifully in old age.

I was very happy about her decision.

Marriage isn't everything in life. I hoped Shirley could find her own path.

I even told my boyfriend that since Shirley had taken care of me when I was young, I would take care of her when she got old.

And when I was gone, the kids would take over, ensuring she wouldn't be left alone in her old age.

My boyfriend didn't dare disagree and readily agreed.

But two years later, Shirley told me she was in love again.

The outside world was both exciting and lonely.

The man was Maurice Congreve, a colleague of hers, handsome and courteous.

His pursuit was passionate and relentless. He would wander the city at midnight just because Shirley wanted pizza.

He would take care of her meticulously when she was sick.

Shirley had turned him down for half a year.

But her heart, dry like an arid well, was stirred by this man like a pool in spring.

She would chat with me on the phone about his virtues, and while I was happy for her, I was also a bit worried.

Once, I asked if she had told Maurice about her past.

Shirley was silent, then sighed deeply.

"Polly, I'm afraid.

"You know, except for my first husband, the other seven were just because I didn't want to accept my fate.

"I didn't love them. They were attracted to my looks or wanted to win a bet. They didn't truly love me.

"But this time is different. Maurice loves me, and I love him.

"Polly, you know what? I really love him!

"I really want to try again!"

Her tone was firm, as if she were staking everything on one last gamble.

The words of caution I had ready got stuck in my throat.

I told my mother about my worries.

She said Maurice Congreve had a good name.

She also consulted a fortune teller, who said that nine was the ultimate number, and once the ninth trial was over, everything would be fine.

The fortune teller said that Maurice would seal Shirley's curse. They were a perfect match.

But I wasn't convinced.

This time, I could clearly see that Shirley was serious.

And I was terrified of her seriousness.

What if Maurice couldn't last a year? What should Shirley do then?

Would she attempt suicide like the first time?

After her first husband drowned, his parents came to our house, insisting that Shirley had cursed him.

They demanded she return all the wedding gifts and pay extra compensation.

They also insisted that during the burial, Shirley make a doll in her likeness, dressed in her clothes, to be buried with him.

In our culture, this was called a ghost marriage, which was considered very bad for the living.

But Shirley agreed without hesitation and secretly drank poison, intending to follow him in death.

Luckily, I discovered it in time; otherwise, she would have been gone.

I could hardly bear to think about it. If something happened to Maurice...

Would Shirley attempt suicide again?

But my worries were in vain.

During the holidays, Maurice came with his parents, traveling a long distance to propose.

Maurice was even more handsome in person, with thick eyebrows and bright eyes. He was cheerful and courteous, impeccable in his manners.

My parents knew Shirley's situation, so they didn't expect much from Maurice's family.

They only asked that Maurice be devoted to Shirley and that they live a good life together.

Maurice and his parents readily agreed, clearly satisfied with Shirley.

The two families didn't talk for long before agreeing to combine the engagement and wedding on the twentieth of January.

Shirley beamed with joy, as expectant as she was for her first wedding.

But watching her smile, I couldn't shake a sense of foreboding.

Maurice had to return home to prepare, and before he left, I secretly got his contact information.

He was surprised when I asked for his number.

"Polly, is there something wrong? Shirley has my number. Why not ask her?"

I hesitated for a moment.

But in the end, I looked him in the eye and said, "I have something important to tell you. Please listen and consider carefully before deciding to marry Shirley."

Maurice looked confused, but before he could respond, someone called him away.

I decided to tell Maurice everything about Shirley's past.

I knew this might ruin the marriage.

But it was better to face a short-term pain than regret later.

After I guessed Maurice had safely arrived home, I sent him a long message on WhatsApp.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all.

In a half-dream, I imagined Maurice fuming at home after the wedding.

I saw his parents angrily accusing Shirley of deception.

I dreamt of Shirley in utter despair, attempting suicide again by slitting her wrists.

In the dream, her wrists were covered with gruesome, deep wounds.

The blood seeped into her white wedding gown.

Shirley's face, pale from blood loss, stared blankly at me with lifeless eyes.

It was as if she was asking, "Polly, why did you do this?"

In the dream, I cried my heart out, overwhelmed with pain.

I wanted to tell Shirley that I didn't want her to die, I didn't want Maurice to regret it, and I didn't want her to suffer anymore.

But my throat felt choked, unable to make any sound.

Knock, knock, knock.

I was jolted awake by a knock on the door, realizing it was already daylight.

"Polly, are you awake? I thought I heard crying from your room."

I quickly made an excuse.

After she left, I felt a sudden confusion, unsure if what I did was right or wrong.

In the mirror, my face looked fatigued.

The pillow was stained with tears as if I had washed it with them.

And Shirley knew nothing about this.

She was completely immersed in the joy of love.