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The driver stared at me in the rearview mirror. "Turn around?" "Please." He hesitated, then pulled into the next lane. "Miss, are you sure? That looked like a wedding." "It was." "And you are the bride?" "I was." He drove in silence for a while. Then he said, "The man who marries you should carry you over the threshold. I carried my wife. I would not let another woman sit in my wedding car." I looked out the window. Zhou Xun had carried me once. In our third year of university, a blizzard buried the campus. I had a fever of forty degrees. He ran into the women's dormitory, ignored the shouting, and carried me five kilometers to the hospital. I remembered his back, warm through his coat, and the way he shook from the cold. I had loved him since that night. Ten years. He did not believe I would leave. He had said so on the phone: "You have invested ten years. You will not give up now." I took off my veil and folded it on my lap. The driver turned up the radio. A song about love ending at a red light was playing. I laughed. It was almost too perfect.0

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