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The name Yan Jingting always carried the word "disabled" behind it.
The wheelchair was an inseparable part of him; wherever Yan Jingting was, a wheelchair was sure to follow.
Now, Chu Zhiyi stood at the corner of the corridor, staring at Yan Jingting leaning on the sofa and making a phone call, with the wheelchair placed at the entrance of the door.
Lonely, as if it were simply a decoration.
Sensing someone approaching, Yan Jingting looked over and said to the person on the phone, "I understand, I have something else, I'll hang up first."
After the words, Yan Jingting put away his mobile phone.
His wife stood at a distance, looking at him bewilderingly, as if trapped in some great predicament, unable to find an exit.
Yan Jingting sighed in his heart.
He had always known this day would come.
He had intended for her to accept it slowly, yet he hadn't anticipated that disaster would strike.