Han Xinmei's lips trembled uncontrollably, and words filled with dissatisfaction spilled out one by one. "Do you think I can forgive you for doing this? Do you think I can still love you the way I did?"
Xiao Zhiming was stunned; he thought Han Xinmei had already forgiven him, but now looking at her, it was clear she hadn't. She cared so much after all.
"Meimei..." He called her name with immense guilt.
Han Xinmei felt even more guilty than he did, her voice small as she spoke. "Zhiming, I know I shouldn't care so much. A man like you having a fling outside—I should understand. I've told myself over and over not to dwell on it, to let it go, but in truth, I simply can't. I care so much. When I see you now, my mind floods with images of you and those two women together. It makes me sick, nauseous. When you touch me, I feel uncomfortable all over, as if countless viruses are spreading… Zhiming, I beg you, don't touch me for now. Can you? Please?"
