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.

The nineteenth of January arrived in the blink of an eye.

Since Maurice Congreve's family was from out of town, according to our local customs, he was supposed to come a day early to fetch the bride, as agreed with our family.

I had been on edge since the night before.

In these days, I often opened my chat history with Maurice, desperately wanting to ask, "Have you made up your mind? Are you going to marry her or not?"

But every time I typed the question, I deleted it, too scared to send it.

I was conflicted to the point of bursting!

The next day, Shirley put on her most beautiful makeup, waiting for Maurice to arrive.

I cautiously asked her, "Shirley, have you been in touch with Maurice these past few days? How are his preparations going?"

Shirley's expression became a bit unnatural. "Maurice said there's a tradition in his place where the couple shouldn't see or contact each other for half a month before the wedding for good luck."

My heart sank.

Had Maurice made up his mind?

Which place would have such a tradition? It was obviously an excuse.

But seeing the hopeful look in Shirley's eyes, I couldn't bear to tell her the truth.

Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock...

Time ticked by, and still no sign of Maurice.

Shirley's eyes gradually dimmed. She moved a chair to the doorway, staring blankly at the gate.

"Polly, do you think Maurice regrets it?" she muttered.

I almost burst into tears but quickly turned away, covering my eyes so she wouldn't see.

After a long pause, I murmured, "Maybe there's traffic. It could be delayed..."

Shirley sighed softly and fell silent.

We waited from sunrise to sunset.

The weather was chilly in January. Seeing Shirley's forlorn figure sitting there, I hurried to drape a thick coat over her shoulders.

"Shirley, let's go inside. Maybe it's for the best if he doesn't come..."

Shirley sighed heavily, as if waking from a spell, and prepared to stand.

But she had been sitting too long, and she staggered as she got up.

I quickly supported her, and just then, a blinding light shone into the yard, like the first rays of dawn piercing the night, illuminating everything!

Maurice had arrived!

He actually came!