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Zhumu Inn was bathed in the cozy glow of warm yellow wall lights, giving the room an extra touch of warmth.
Fu Jinqiao, wrapped in a bathrobe and drying her hair, walked out to see An Yan leaning against the headboard, looking at her phone.
She knew An Yan was looking at photos of Fu Shiyan, and it pained her to see An Yan like this.
As a woman, who wouldn't want their man by their side?
To be there to make you juice when you're thirsty, cook you a delicious meal when you're hungry, give you a massage when you're tired, share in your happiness when you're joyful, offer comfort when you're sad, and hold you as you fall asleep at night.
These were things An Yan hadn't had for five whole years.
She could imagine that every night, An Yan fell asleep looking at photographs of Fu Shiyan.
Truth be told, they hoped Fu Shiyan would return, but had come to feel that hope was as faint as finding a needle in the ocean.