Chapter 203

"Mom, I'm home."

Lin Xiao pushed open the door to find her mother sitting blankly on the sofa. A half-drunk cup of cold tea sat on the coffee table, and the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts.

"You're smoking again?" She frowned, walking over to crack open a window.

Mrs. Lin looked up as if startled awake, her fingers absently tracing the armrest. "Xiao... when did you get back?"

"Just now." Lin Xiao set down her bag and sat beside her mother. "The doctor said your lungs—"

"I know." Mrs. Lin cut her off, suddenly gripping her daughter's hand. "Xiao, I owe you an apology."

Lin Xiao froze.

Her mother's hands were cold, the knuckles lined with wrinkles. Only then did she notice the new streaks of silver at her mother's temples.

"Why bring this up now?"

"I was cleaning today and found your childhood photos." Mrs. Lin's voice trembled. "That time you had a high fever at five... I was away on business..."

Lin Xiao's chest tightened.

That night remained etched in her memory—the 40-degree fever, the frantic nanny, and her mother's distant voice on the phone saying, "Just call a doctor."

"It's in the past," she murmured.

"No, it isn't." Mrs. Lin's voice turned urgent. "All these years, I missed your first recital, your graduation, even..."

Her words dissolved into silent tears.

Lin Xiao had never seen her mother like this—the formidable businesswoman now fragile as a child.

"Mom..."

"You must hate me." Mrs. Lin wiped her face. "When your father passed, I didn't even make it to the funeral."

Rain began pattering against the window, mirroring the sobs from that funeral decades ago.

Lin Xiao drew a steadying breath. "I don't hate you."

She pulled her trembling mother into an embrace—one twenty years overdue.

"I just... really missed you."

The downpour drowned their quiet weeping. On the coffee table, a framed photo showed a five-year-old girl beaming at the camera, while the mother holding her stared at a stack of work documents.

"You're really married?" Mrs. Johnson's voice trembled slightly, the teacup nearly slipping from her grasp. She never imagined her beloved youngest daughter would secretly marry a country man without telling the family.

Emily nodded, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her cup. "Mom, I'm happy here."

"Happy?" Mrs. Johnson glanced around the modest brick-tile house—clean but a far cry from their city home. "You chose to stay in this place?"

Children's laughter drifted through the window. Emily's lips curved unconsciously. "The air is fresh, and people are simple here."

Mrs. Johnson took a deep breath, suppressing her rising emotions. "How long?"

"Six years," Emily replied calmly. "I married the year after I came here."

Six years! The revelation struck Mrs. Johnson like a blow. She remembered her youngest son's suggestion to bring Emily back to the city—blocked by her eldest son's family. Her nails dug into her palms, but she felt no pain.

"The children?" Her voice turned hoarse.

"Playing inside." Emily stood. "I'll call them."

Watching her daughter walk away, Mrs. Johnson noticed her gait had changed. The once-delicate girl now moved with quiet confidence.

"David, Tommy, come meet Grandma."

Two rosy-cheeked children peeked shyly from the doorway. The elder, about five, and the younger around three, both wore neat new clothes, their faces round and healthy.

"Hello, Grandma!" they chorused.

Mrs. Johnson's eyes welled up instantly. These children looked better cared for than her city grandchildren—plump and bright-eyed, clearly untouched by hardship.

"Good children. What are your names?"

"I'm David!"

"I'm Tommy!"

When Mrs. Johnson reached to pat their heads, they instinctively ducked behind their mother. That small movement pierced her heart like a needle.

"Where's their father?" She forced her tone to remain even.

"Out on business." Emily's answer was light, but her eyes flickered.

Mrs. Johnson caught the hesitation. Suddenly, she realized how much of her daughter's life remained unknown to her. What had Emily endured these six years? How had she raised two such healthy children alone?

Small clothes fluttered on the clothesline outside. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled patterns on the floor. Studying her daughter's serene profile, Mrs. Johnson truly understood for the first time—the girl who once depended on her had become a capable mother.

And she had missed it all.