Sweetheart.

Precious as a jewel.

My mother had passed away early. My father raised me. He gave me the nickname, Sweetheart.

When Brad found out, he started calling me that.

He called me it for years.

In my youth, he would hold my hand and run down the country lanes to school, turning to me and smiling. "Sweetheart, we'll be late if we don't hurry."

On our wedding night, he kissed my forehead, his fingertips trembling. "Sweetheart, I love you."

When my father passed away, he held me tightly. "Sweetheart, you're not alone. I'm here for you. Don't be afraid."

At that time, he loved me the most.

But at some point, he stopped calling me Sweetheart, and instead it was just Stella.

I thought I'd forgotten the name.

But that night.

I was able to make him drunk and tried to strangle him. I started by putting my hands around his neck. I was slowly squeezing. He opened his eyes, and through his blurred vision he saw my tears. He didn't see my hands that were tying him, his first reaction was to ask,

"Sweetheart, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

I was stunned.

He was drunk. He didn't remember that he had betrayed and hurt me. He only remembered that he loved me and couldn't bear to see me cry.

So I told him that it was him who had hurt me.

Brad was instantly panicked. He looked at me and said in a pitiful tone, "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I was wrong. You can hit me. I'll take you to get some roasted sweet potatoes from Uncle Lee's tomorrow, okay?"

I had a sweet tooth and loved the sweet potatoes that Uncle Lee made.

But I could never afford to buy them.

Every time, Brad would save up his money to buy them for me. He wouldn't even let me taste them. He'd only let me feed him, and only then would he eat them.

That was when we were the poorest, but that was when we loved each other the most.

When he made me angry, he'd always look at me pitifully, like a little dog afraid of losing its owner.

Just like that night.

So, I gave in.

I released my hands from his neck and untied him.

In his increasingly anxious calls, I went out and stood on the top floor. I looked down. I thought, if I couldn't kill Brad, then I'd just kill myself.

But the thought had just popped into my head.

It was broken by a long, piercing sound.

Looking up.

One firework, then another, and another, exploded in front of my eyes.

Red, blue, and pink.

Brilliant and beautiful, lighting up half the sky.

I looked out the window and into the night sky and my voice was soft.

"At that moment, I suddenly didn't want to die. I was even glad that I didn't kill you.

"Otherwise, I would never see such beautiful fireworks again."

On the phone, Brad was silent for a long time. I thought he was scared by the things I'd done. But after a moment, he asked, "Do you still want to kill me now?"

He was serious.

So, I thought about it, and then I answered him seriously.

"No, I don't. It's not worth it."