He sat in the waiting room, fingers trembling as he straightened his tie in the mirror. The reflection showed a 35-year-old man who had weathered many storms but was trying to appear calm. Today was supposed to be his wedding day — a day of pure happiness — yet a vague, heavy worry pressed on his chest. The past lingered like a shadow that wouldn’t fade.

He had once been through a failed marriage. Five years together had become a continuous cycle of arguments; the smallest thing could blow up into a fight. When their daughter was born, instead of healing the rift, the tensions only deepened. He had often held his child and cried, helpless at his wife’s coldness. In the end, they divorced when the child was not yet one year old.

On the day of the divorce he transferred the house to his ex-wife. He also gave her an extra 300 million — all the savings he had accumulated over the years. She still wasn’t satisfied and wanted more, but he refused. At that time he only wanted to escape the suffocating marriage. He also gave her custody because he believed the child would be better cared for.

After the divorce he buried himself in work to fill the void. From time to time he tried to visit his daughter but was often blocked. His ex-wife repeatedly called, using every kind of words to demand more money. Once she caused a scene at his company gate, slandering him for not providing for the child. Those memories haunted him to this day.

Then he met his new wife — a gentle, forgiving woman who didn’t care about his broken past. New love lit a lamp in the darkness of his heart. Before long they married, and he vowed to throw a grand wedding to make up for that woman. He hoped it would be a happy new beginning. But fate had other plans.

On the wedding day his ex-wife suddenly appeared. Seeing her from a distance, his chest tightened and bitter memories flooded back. He immediately asked two security guards to escort her out. In his head he feared she would cause trouble and ruin his big day. But as he followed, he saw something he hadn’t expected.

During the scuffle her handbag fell. A bank card rolled across the shiny tile floor. He froze, heart racing, when he recognized the card — it was the very card he had given her at the time of the divorce. He lunged, picked it up, his eyes wide with panic. Old fear surged up, making it hard to breathe.

He fell to his knees, voice trembling and pleading: “Please don’t make a scene today… this is the most important day of my life.” His ex-wife stood silently, eyes red, hands slightly shaking. She shook her head: “You misunderstand — I didn’t come to ask for money.” His mind staggered; he didn’t know whether to believe her. For a moment the world seemed to stop.

She sighed and looked away: “After the divorce I fell into a deep crisis. I suffered severe depression and sometimes lost control, doing extreme things.” Her voice choked, but she continued: “During treatment I’ve gotten better. I’m sorry for what I did.” Those words struck him — unexpected and hard to trust.

Gently, she handed the bank card back, her hand unsteady: “The 300 million you gave is still there. I haven’t touched it. I want you to take it back — and take custody of our daughter. I’m afraid my mental state could harm her.” The words cut him like a knife.

He fumbled with the card, bewildered. “I… I can’t accept the money right now. Let’s talk after the wedding,” he said, voice breaking and eyes fixed on the floor. Inside, emotions tangled: compassion, remorse, confusion. He didn’t know how to face her.

That wedding night he lay beside his new wife but couldn’t sleep. She smiled gently, unaware of the turmoil inside him. Images of his ex-wife with red eyes kept coming back. He thought of his daughter and didn’t know how she was sleeping now, whether she was being held enough. A crushing guilt strangled him.

The next day he excused himself as busy and drove aimlessly, eventually stopping at his ex-wife’s apartment. The door opened and he found her in the living room, tired but calmer. Awkwardly he said, “I want to see our child for a moment.” She nodded and led him into the small room.

The little girl was three, hair tied in two pigtails, sleeping soundly on a small bed. Seeing her face brought tears to his eyes. How long had it been since he’d been this close to her? Their past meetings had been brief and strained. He bent down, laid his hand softly on his child’s hair, and his hands shook.

“Have you thought about taking custody?” his ex-wife asked from behind. He looked up at her and stayed silent a long time. “I’m afraid… that my new wife won’t accept it. I don’t want the happiness I’ve rebuilt to fall apart again,” he admitted, voice heavy.

She smiled faintly, pain in her eyes: “I won’t force you. I just want the child to have a stable life. I know I don’t have the strength anymore.” Her words choked him. Between duty and happiness, he felt like someone stranded at a fork with no way out.

That evening he returned home exhausted. His new wife noticed immediately: “What’s wrong? Are you hiding something?” He hesitated, then sighed: “I saw my ex. She asked me to take the child.” The room tightened with an unbearable tension.

His new wife fell silent for a long time, worry flickering across her face. “A stepchild? Are you sure you can handle it?” she asked, voice low but patient. He nodded, eyes full of regret: “I don’t know… but she is my blood. I can’t abandon her.” It felt like his heart was being torn in two.

That night neither of them slept. She turned away; he stared at the ceiling, mind in knots. He understood his new wife’s fears: being a stepmother to a child is never simple. But the image of his daughter sleeping stayed with him, and he couldn’t turn his back. He felt trapped between two worlds.

The next day he met his ex-wife at a quiet café. She looked frailer than before. “What do you think?” she asked, hopeful. He exhaled, weighed down: “I need time. But I promise I won’t abandon our child.” That half-answer left them both silent.

Time passed and the pressure mounted. His new wife tried, but her worry showed. His ex called daily about the child. Torn between two women, he felt destroyed. The inner rift had no end, like a shackle around his heart.

One afternoon he went to visit his daughter again. She called out for the first time, “Da—” The small, trembling voice almost made him cry. He picked her up, hugged her tightly, feeling that warm, sweet breath. In that moment he knew he could not turn away any longer.