Lin Xiaobao had just celebrated his third birthday when his mother sent him to kindergarten. The first few days were incredibly hard for him—he threw tantrums every morning, refusing to go. But after just one week, he had completely fallen in love with the place. Today, after waiting for the school bus for a while, he became anxious and looked up at his mother, asking, "Mom, why hasn't the bus come yet?"
Lin Wan was scrolling through Weibo and absentmindedly patted his head, saying, "It'll be here soon."
Not wanting to be left out, Xiaobao opened his mother's umbrella and loudly called, "Mom, do I look like a mushroom?"
Lin Wan looked up and, under the red-and-white-spotted umbrella, saw her son standing there. He truly did resemble a little mushroom.
"Mom, can you take a picture of me?" he asked.
"Sure," she replied.
As she took the photo, Lin Wan couldn't help but laugh. Her son, with his vanity and self-love, was the complete opposite of her.
After the picture, Xiaobao got closer, and Lin Wan squatted down. He looked at the photo and pretended to be surprised. "Who's this cute little baby? Which family does he belong to?"
Lin Wan smiled and played along, "He's mine."
Xiaobao giggled, hugging her neck, and asked in his sweet, baby voice, "Who's this beautiful mom?"
Lin Wan laughed and replied, "She's Lin Xiaobao's."
This was their classic exchange—constantly praising each other, never tiring of it. The mother and son continued their loving banter for a while, and just then, the school bus with sunflower patterns pulled up. Xiaobao cheered, then gave his mother a goodbye kiss on the cheek. Lin Wan helped him onto the bus, watching as he found his seat. Xiaobao leaned out of the window and loudly reminded, "Mom, don't forget to come watch my performance this afternoon!" He held up two fingers and emphasized, "Two o'clock."
Lin Wan smiled and nodded, waving goodbye to him.
With children, the concept of time is the most visible. In the blink of an eye, Xiaobao had turned three. From a soft little bundle that could only cry, he had grown into a lively little boy who could run, jump, talk, and cheer her up. She was truly thankful that she had kept him. If she had made a different decision at that moment, she didn't even want to imagine what would have happened.
She watched as the bright yellow school bus merged with the traffic and disappeared, then made her way to work. The office was nearby—only a twenty-minute walk, which also served as her exercise for the day. The job was a new one, as she had previously been staying home with Xiaobao. Compared to other single mothers, she considered herself lucky because she didn't have to worry about survival. The apartment she lived in was one of her father's properties, and nobody knew her there. When she was pregnant, going in and out alone with her big belly, there were no idle comments, and it was close to her father's place, so she could get help if needed. Every time she had a checkup, the maid would accompany her, reducing some of the awkwardness and loneliness.
At five months pregnant, the vomiting finally stopped, and she could feel the baby's movements. She still remembered the joy she felt when she first sensed the baby moving. It was an indescribable surprise, and it made her realize that she wasn't alone anymore. From then on, the hardships like swollen feet, poor sleep, and fatigue seemed insignificant compared to the joy and fulfillment that came with it.
When she gave birth to Xiaobao, she chose a natural birth. After three or four hours of labor, her father and the maid were both worried. When the nurse told her that she had delivered a healthy eight-pound baby boy, she fainted from exhaustion and didn't wake up until seven or eight hours later. It almost scared her father, but the doctor said it was just because she was too tired.
The postpartum period was bittersweet. On the one hand, her milk supply was sufficient, and Xiaobao continued breastfeeding until he was over a year old. On the other hand, she developed mild postpartum depression. There were many reasons: one was that she had a history of depression, and another was that Xiaobao was so energetic and overly dependent on her, causing her to lose sleep every night.
There was also another reason, one she tried to avoid but couldn't escape: Chen Jin. Early in her pregnancy, he had someone deliver the birth certificate and then disappeared without a word. Tan Xizhe, Fang Zheng, and the others would occasionally call her, and whenever they mentioned him, they only gave vague details. Her heart followed those pieces of information, floating from concern and anticipation to anxiety and worry, and finally forcing herself to stop thinking about it...
But thoughts are uncontrollable, and in the middle of the night, memories related to him would flood her mind, one after another. Sometimes, while looking at her child, she couldn't help but recall the past—the bad, the good, and those undefined moments, like an old movie replaying in her mind...
One day, when she was napping during lunch, she felt someone grab her arm. The soft touch felt like a kitten's paw brushing against her heart. She opened her eyes to meet her son's big, bright eyes, filled with curiosity and dependence. In that instant, she saw an angel.
Suddenly, it all clicked. What she couldn't let go of, she would leave on time.
Then, she became even busier. When her son was calm, he was like an angel, but when he was not, he was a little monster. Every morning, if he didn't see her as soon as he woke up, he would start wailing. Once, when she had gone downstairs to buy something and took longer than expected, the little guy had screamed his throat raw, his face streaked with tears. His temper was still heavy, his small body trembling with silent protests. It made her heart ache so much that she felt like the worst mother in the world.
Raising a child on her own had its challenges, but she felt that the hardships had limits, while the joy and fulfillment her son brought her were endless. When Xiaobao said his first word, "Mom," she cried tears of joy. When he, just learning to walk, shakily picked a little yellow flower and handed it to her, she felt like she had received the most beautiful gift in the world, a precious gift from the heavens.
She told herself, her son was her entire world, and she didn't need anything else.
Later on, Xiaobao started saying more and more words. He was like a little adult, always coming out with surprising remarks. Once, she was staring at his face, lost in thought, and he asked, "Mom, who are you looking at?"
She was stunned and asked, "Of course, I'm looking at you."
Xiaobao shook his head decisively, clearly not believing her.
She teased him, "Then who do you think I'm looking at?"
He furrowed his little brow and said, "How should I know?"
Lin Wan pulled him into her arms, letting out a quiet sigh. She really was looking at someone else. Someone invisible. As she watched Xiaobao grow, in both his looks and personality, she couldn't help but think: Did that person act like this when he was little too? Playful yet adorable, sometimes stubborn, sometimes sweet. Then, she would smile unconsciously, feeling a pang in her heart. And again, a hint of sadness would rise, followed by a sense of longing.
Last year, Sunflower Kindergarten received a donation, and in addition to renovating the dormitories and classrooms, they also built a small auditorium. For their five-year anniversary celebration, they held a small evening event, and the mysterious donor was among the guests. At the event, a group of children in bright yellow performance outfits were on stage striking poses. Each child had a circle of yellow petals on their heads, their little faces peeking out, pretending to be sunflowers.
After nearly a month of rehearsals, the little ones performed well. Their movements were coordinated, but the lead dancer, Xiaobao, wasn't quite in sync. He kept looking around, while the others smiled brightly, but he had a furrowed brow, clearly upset. The next movements weren't synchronized—while the others extended their left arms, Xiaobao stretched out his right, and when they turned left, he turned right, resulting in a collision with a nearby child, which made the audience of teachers, parents, and guests burst out laughing.
After the performance, the other children went backstage to change clothes, but Xiaobao, pouting, walked slowly along the hallway, occasionally kicking the wall with his little foot, leaving small black shoe prints on the white walls.
At that moment, a teacher came running up and called out, "Lin Xiaobao, your mom's on the phone."
Xiaobao stopped walking but didn't turn around. The teacher bent down, tugging at his headpiece to expose his ear, smiling and saying, "Quick, pick up the phone."
Xiaobao, with a blank expression, took the phone and held it to his ear, loudly shouting, "Lin Wan, you're a liar!"
Chen Jin, who had just stepped out, heard those words, and his heart gave a violent jolt. Lin Wan, Lin Wan—what a beautiful name. Just moments ago, when the group of little sunflowers rushed onto the stage, he immediately spotted that child. It was as if someone had poured a cup of hot water into his heart—it was burning, yet painful. His gaze never left him again. No matter how their formation shifted, he wouldn't confuse them because his son stood out so much. None of the other kids could compare...
How wonderful, now that little child, barely taller than his knee, stood just a meter away, calling out his mother's name—the woman he loved. The three of them were connected at that moment. He suddenly felt a sense of completeness, a profound sense of fulfillment.