Half a year ago, my husband was suddenly given a terminal diagnosis. Since then, he had been recuperating at home, but finally, the day of our parting arrived. Before I knew it, the seventh-day memorial service came around. Perhaps because I was so busy, his death felt like something from a distant past, but looking at his posthumous portrait still hurt too much for me to bear. However, this tragedy was not over yet. A demon began to approach my weakened heart and body, slowly... slowly.
