She watched her daughter’s lowered lashes, still damp with unshed tears. The child was clearly on the verge of crying, yet she stubbornly refused to admit it.
She didn’t call out the child’s pretense. Instead, she picked up a strawberry from the plate and slowly peeled away the stem.
“Mom knows. Leyi is a good girl. Even without Mom around, you can take care of yourself just fine.”
Her voice grew even softer, gentler than the strawberries on the plate.
“But Mom is different. When I was out there, every single day I thought about whether Leyi was eating well, how she was doing at university all by herself.”
Because before she’d come, her daughter hadn’t even seemed to have any friends at school. She sometimes wanted to spend more time with her daughter, but she had to work hard to get back to her family sooner.
Jiang Leyi bit into her strawberry, not saying anything. But she’d long since stopped being able to focus on the tablet. She set both the tablet and the stuffed doll aside, staying silent. She didn’t want to answer Shen Ruxue’s questions right now. The answers were so simple she could figure them out herself—why force her to say it out loud…
“This is for you. Clean and ready.”
Jiang Leyi looked at the strawberry offered to her, then at Shen Ruxue. After a moment of hesitation, she finally reached out and took it.
“You already know everything… so why do you have to ask me?”
That hurdle just couldn’t be crossed. It was like her. She knew Shen Ruxue had her reasons, that she hadn’t been able to come back to find her or the family right away. But that hurdle in her heart still wouldn’t go away.
The mother in front of her had been absent for nearly her entire upbringing. Even if it wasn’t something Shen Ruxue had wanted, Jiang Leyi still couldn’t treat her as her mother, because in her heart, the person most suited to be her mother was her aunt.
“I don’t know what to call you. Whether to call you Mom, or keep calling you Xiaoxue like before, I just don’t know…”
Jiang Leyi bit into her strawberry, spilling all her thoughts out to Shen Ruxue without holding anything back.
“In my heart, I don’t know where to put you. Should I call you Mom? With me, I can barely remember anything about you.
When you were with me, I was too little. I don’t remember anything. Even though Dad always told me growing up that Mom truly loved me and did so much for me, and he’d tell me stories about you every so often—what kind of person you were, describing what my mom was like.
After Dad finished talking, he’d always ask if I understood, and I’d nod. But I didn’t understand. Everything about you is just too fuzzy, too fuzzy…
I only vaguely remember that I had a mother—my aunt’s older sister. Maybe you can call me cold-hearted, but this is the truth. I’ve almost completely forgotten you existed. Or rather, whether you’re here or not doesn’t matter to me anymore.
When I was little and needed my mom most, needed family most, it was my aunt who was by my side. Growing up, my aunt taught me everything. When Dad couldn’t make it to parent-teacher meetings, my aunt went.
What I’m about to say will hurt, but I hope you won’t be angry with Aunt because of it—and that’s that in my eyes, Aunt is more suited to be my mom. I want her to be my mom more. The image of a mother in my heart has always been Aunt. Apart from what we call each other, I can’t find any difference between you two.
When you hadn’t come back, every so often, I’d think about trying to set Dad and Aunt up, because in my eyes, that would be the perfect family… I wished we three could be together forever.
So what position can I put you in? Aunt has done so much for me, accompanied me for so long. She’s the one who feels like my real mom. But you… my mother…
I know you didn’t leave us on purpose. I know you had your own reasons. But I really can’t just casually call you Mom. It would make everything Aunt did for me feel cheap. I don’t know… Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe I’ll figure it out in the future and slowly learn to accept your presence. But right now, I’m not there yet.”
Jiang Leyi’s words fell like fine shards of ice, landing gently on Shen Ruxue’s heart. They didn’t draw blood, but they froze her fingertips numb.
She sat on the sofa, watching her daughter’s bowed head, the delicate nape visible above her collar. Shen Ruxue remembered teaching her daughter to walk all those years ago.
So many years had passed, and her child had grown old enough to clearly say “whether you’re here or not doesn’t matter”—and she, as the mother, didn’t even have the right to argue.
Shen Ruxue’s fingers curled. Sweet juice from the strawberry still lingered on her fingertips, but now it tasted bitter and astringent.
She didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she reached out and pushed the plate of strawberries a little closer to Leyi. The sugar at the edge of the plate shifted, scattering like fine starlight.
“I know.”
Her voice was even lighter than before, carrying a tremor she herself hadn’t noticed.
“Leyi didn’t say anything wrong, and it’s not dramatic. Mom came too late, and I failed to do what a mother should do. I really don’t have the right to be your mother.”
Jiang Leyi didn’t look up, just clutched the hem of her clothes tighter. The wall clock kept ticking. The tablet screen had long gone dark. The only things filling the air were the faint sweetness of strawberries and the unspoken hurt between them.
“No, it’s not that… I just can’t get past this. Give me more time to adjust, and maybe I’ll be able to accept it.”
Shen Ruxue looked at her daughter’s crown of hair and suddenly remembered what her sister had told her before: that Leyi seemed obedient on the surface, but she was more stubborn than anyone inside. Once she decided something, it was hard to change.
“Before I came back, I thought about it many times.”
Shen Ruxue spoke slowly, as if talking to Leyi and herself at the same time.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me, afraid you wouldn’t want to see me, and even more afraid you’d think that this mother who suddenly showed up would take away the people around you.”
She paused, her eyes slowly reddening.
“Your aunt told me too, about all the things she did in my place over the years—parent-teacher meetings, parent-child activities, even your first lost tooth. She was there with you.
When I heard that, I felt both bitter and warm. Bitter because I missed out on so much, and warm because you had such a good aunt by your side, so you never had to suffer. I really don’t have the right to talk about these things, but I’ll work hard from now on…”
Jiang Leyi finally moved. She lifted her head to look at her. Shen Ruxue’s eyes were red, like a little rabbit that had just cried, tears still clinging to her lashes, stubbornly refusing to fall.
“I won’t take anything away, and I won’t change anything…”
Shen Ruxue whispered, a sob catching in her voice.
“I came back not to make you move the title ‘Mom’ from her to me, and not to disrupt your life now. I just… want to see you more, want to stay by your side, want to make it up to you.
I know the word ‘Mom’ isn’t something I can just claim by coming back. Leyi doesn’t need to accept me right away, and she doesn’t need to force herself to call me Mom. You can call me Xiaoxue, or nothing at all—whatever you want. I just… can you give me a chance to slowly tell you about what I’ve been through all these years? Not for you to forgive me, but just so you know… Mom has never forgotten you.”
Jiang Leyi looked at the redness in Shen Ruxue’s eyes, and something gently knocked against her heart. Her fingers, which had been clutching her clothes, slowly loosened. Her gaze landed on the plate of strawberries on the coffee table.
“I know you haven’t forgotten.”
Jiang Leyi spoke suddenly, her voice softer than before.
“Dad always tells me that nothing short of death would ever separate our family. I can’t blame you for this. I’m just… having a little trouble accepting it.”
Shen Ruxue’s heart jolted violently. The memory of closing her eyes back then, the pain she’d felt—even now, she couldn’t put it into words. Just thinking about it made tears threaten to spill. She wiped the corner of her eye, her voice thick with emotion:
“I won’t force you to accept me quickly. But will you let me stay by your side properly? I want to do what a mother should do.”
Jiang Leyi looked at the tears falling from the mother in front of her, and her own eyes grew red. She slowly shifted closer, pressing herself against Shen Ruxue, wanting to comfort her.
When Jiang Leyi’s shoulder gently touched Shen Ruxue’s arm, Shen Ruxue froze, as if scalded. Even her breathing became shallow.
She could clearly smell the faint milky scent of her child, mixed with the sweetness of strawberries, drifting into her nose. It was the scent she’d relied on to remember her child in countless sleepless nights, now finally truly lingering beside her.
“I… I never said you couldn’t stay.”
Jiang Leyi’s voice was muffled in Shen Ruxue’s sleeve, stuffy and quiet, like a small creature that had just let down its guard.
“It’s just that sometimes when I see you, my heart gets confused. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”
Shen Ruxue slowly raised her hand, hesitated for a long moment, then gently laid it on Jiang Leyi’s back. Her fingertips carefully traced the fabric of the child’s clothes.
“It’s not confused.”
Her voice was softer than cotton.
“You don’t need to think about anything, don’t need to figure anything out. Just let me stay by your side.”
Jiang Leyi didn’t say anything. She just burrowed deeper into her arms, pressing her face against Shen Ruxue’s chest.
Shen Ruxue could feel her child’s tears seeping into her sweater, burning her chest with a pain that ached.
“Mom truly missed you both so much. I wanted to come back every single moment, wanted to be by your side. But my situation was so complicated. Rushing back before it was resolved would only have brought endless trouble to all of you.”
Shen Ruxue gently combed her fingers through Jiang Leyi’s hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear.
“But now it’s okay… I’ll have so much more time to spend with you.”
Jiang Leyi’s ear twitched. When she looked up, tears still clung to her lashes, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes:
“Really?”
“Of course it’s really. Once everything is completely settled, our family can be together again.”
Even with her eyes still red, Shen Ruxue’s lips curved into a faint smile as she thought about that beautiful future.
Jiang Leyi’s mouth slowly curled upward. Tears still hung on her lashes, but a small smile broke through.
She shuffled forward, stretched out her arms, and gently wrapped them around Shen Ruxue’s waist.
“Mom.”
That word came out very softly—a sound Jiang Leyi had wrestled with for a long time before letting it escape—but it landed clearly in Shen Ruxue’s ears, like a small pebble dropped into a still lake, rippling outward in rings.
Shen Ruxue’s body trembled. Her tears broke free instantly. She hugged Jiang Leyi back tightly, burying her face in her child’s hair, feeling the small, warm body in her arms as if she’d finally found a treasure she’d lost years ago.
“Mm… Mom’s here.”
Her voice was choked, but filled with a steadiness she’d never known before.
“From now on, Mom will always be with you. We’ll never be apart again.”