My Sister Got Married and Divorced Eight Times

Maurice was even more handsome in person, with thick eyebrows and bright eyes. He was cheerful and courteous, impeccable in his manners.

My parents knew Shirley's situation, so they didn't expect much from Maurice's family.

They only asked that Maurice be devoted to Shirley and that they live a good life together.

Maurice and his parents readily agreed, clearly satisfied with Shirley.

The two families didn't talk for long before agreeing to combine the engagement and wedding on the twentieth of January.

Shirley beamed with joy, as expectant as she was for her first wedding.

But watching her smile, I couldn't shake a sense of foreboding.

Maurice had to return home to prepare, and before he left, I secretly got his contact information.

He was surprised when I asked for his number.

"Polly, is there something wrong? Shirley has my number. Why not ask her?"

I hesitated for a moment.

But in the end, I looked him in the eye and said, "I have something important to tell you. Please listen and consider carefully before deciding to marry Shirley."

Maurice looked confused, but before he could respond, someone called him away.

I decided to tell Maurice everything about Shirley's past.

I knew this might ruin the marriage.

But it was better to face a short-term pain than regret later.

After I guessed Maurice had safely arrived home, I sent him a long message on WhatsApp.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all.

In a half-dream, I imagined Maurice fuming at home after the wedding.

I saw his parents angrily accusing Shirley of deception.

I dreamt of Shirley in utter despair, attempting suicide again by slitting her wrists.

In the dream, her wrists were covered with gruesome, deep wounds.

The blood seeped into her white wedding gown.

Shirley's face, pale from blood loss, stared blankly at me with lifeless eyes.

It was as if she was asking, "Polly, why did you do this?"

In the dream, I cried my heart out, overwhelmed with pain.

I wanted to tell Shirley that I didn't want her to die, I didn't want Maurice to regret it, and I didn't want her to suffer anymore.

But my throat felt choked, unable to make any sound.

Knock, knock, knock.

I was jolted awake by a knock on the door, realizing it was already daylight.

"Polly, are you awake? I thought I heard crying from your room."

I quickly made an excuse.

After she left, I felt a sudden confusion, unsure if what I did was right or wrong.

In the mirror, my face looked fatigued.

The pillow was stained with tears as if I had washed it with them.

And Shirley knew nothing about this.

She was completely immersed in the joy of love.