"Auntie, is it true?"
Jiashu looked directly into his aunt's eyes, waiting for her answer.
Nan Wan pressed her lips together, ruffled his hair, and smiled gently, "Of course not."
"But mom always hides on the balcony to cry, she seems really sad."
Hearing Jiashu's words, Nan Wan could almost picture the scene: in the quiet night, Shen Zhimei hugging her knees, nestled on the sofa, tears streaming down her face but not daring to make a sound.
In Nan Wan's memory, she had never cried, not even when Nan Ze was carried into the emergency room covered in blood, with his life hanging by a thread, she hadn't shed a single tear.
Nan Wan remembered clearly, that day, the day after Nan Ze's surgery, the day the doctor said they were unsure when he would wake up, Shen Zhimei said only one thing: "At least he's still alive."
In those four months, Nan Wan watched her grow thinner and thinner, yet she never showed even a trace of weakness in front of others.
