Mom had sprained her ankle and was sitting on a bench rubbing it when she suddenly said to me, "Call a car."
"Oh... okay." Ever since she returned, Mom hadn't spoken to me voluntarily, which made me feel a bit uneasy.
"Call a car," Mom repeated, her tone still cold, even somewhat impatient.
I quickly agreed and ran to hail a taxi. When I helped her into the car, she pushed me aside forcefully.
After we arrived at the hotel and got out, Mom limped inside, sweating with every step, gritting her teeth in obvious pain. I hesitated for a moment but finally mustered the courage to go over and support her. Fortunately, this time Mom only resisted symbolically before giving in.
Due to stranded passengers from the strike and the approaching typhoon, the hotel was fully booked. They had just had two cancellations, leaving only one room available.
Mom argued with the front desk for a long time, but the answer remained the same: only one room left. If we didn't book it now, even that would be gone.
We contacted a few other hotels, but they were all fully booked too. With no other choice, we reluctantly checked in.
Once in the room, Mom swung her arm, elbowing me away, then slumped into a chair. Rubbing her temples, she muttered wearily, "Just my luck to run into all this trouble."
"Isn't that pretty normal?" I said softly.
Mom looked up at me, and I quickly explained, "That's how it always goes in TV dramas. In situations like this, there's always only one room left..."
I had intended to lighten the mood with a bit of humor and ease the tension between us, but Mom's expression remained unchanged—still cold and distant—making the atmosphere even more awkward.
I quickly shut my mouth and obediently sat down on the edge of the bed.
For the next half hour, the two of us just sat there in silence. No one said a word. Apart from the ticking of the wall clock, the room was completely quiet—so quiet it was almost eerie.
Mom sat in the chair, staring at me motionlessly. I didn't dare breathe too loudly, shrinking into myself as much as possible. After living for over a decade, I finally understood what it meant to feel utterly uncomfortable.
The tension was so thick I started feeling the urge to pee, but for some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to go.
Finally, I couldn't hold it any longer. Trembling, I raised my hand and gave Mom an awkward smile. "Mom... I need to use the bathroom."
Mom didn't scold or lecture me. Instead, she rolled her eyes with a hint of disdain. Feeling as if I'd received a royal decree, I dashed into the bathroom.
I had thought that being alone with Mom might help ease the tension between us, but instead, things had become even more strained.
When Dad and Beibei were around a few days ago, they could at least lighten the mood. But now, with just Mom and me in the same room, all we could do was stare at each other.
I was sweating nervously, feeling as if I had thorns in my seat, restless and utterly uncomfortable.
After suffering through another half hour, it suddenly occurred to me that it was still daytime. I could just go outside—why did I have to stay cooped up in the room?
But Mom had sprained her ankle, so she definitely couldn't go out. That meant I was the only one who could leave.
Just as I stood up to leave, my mother also rose from her chair. We both froze, staring at each other for a moment before simultaneously sitting back down.
After another ten minutes or so, I couldn't hold back any longer and tentatively asked, "Mom, can I go out for a walk?"
Mom turned her head and looked at me expressionlessly. I cautiously lifted myself slightly from the seat and asked, "Then... then I... I'll go out, okay?"
Mom continued to stare at me without saying a word. I couldn't stand the oppressive atmosphere any longer. Gritting my teeth, I dashed out of the room.
Once outside the hotel, I took deep breaths of the fresh air mixed with the scent of the sea, truly experiencing the feeling of freedom for the first time.
The streets were crowded, filled with marching protestors and striking workers, chaotic and noisy—a scene rarely seen back home.
Curious, I stood on the street watching the commotion. At first, everyone was chanting unified slogans, but soon I heard noise and arguments up ahead, followed by the sound of gunshots. The crowd instantly erupted.
Many people started running back. I thought to myself that this had nothing to do with me—the fire wouldn't reach me, right?
I had intended to keep watching, but as the crowd grew more panicked and chaotic, I felt a bit nervous too. I followed the crowd as they retreated, eventually rushing back to the hotel in a fluster.
Standing outside the hotel room, I knocked on the door for a long time before Mom finally opened it.
Once inside, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and said breathlessly, "It's chaos out there. You can't go out—it's extremely chaotic."
Mom frowned, hesitated for a moment, and asked, "What happened outside?"
"I don't know either, but it's just really chaotic." After saying this, Mom and I fell into silence again, staring at each other.
Just as the atmosphere in the room was about to freeze over again, I suddenly remembered I could use studying to distract myself.
Fortunately, I had my backpack with me—it hadn't been taken back to the country by Dad and the others.
I quickly pulled out my textbooks, sat at the desk, and buried myself in my books.
Seeing me start to study, Mom sat on the bed playing with her phone, occasionally standing by the window lost in thought. We spent the rest of the day like this, not exchanging a single word.
We could still eat meals together, but sleeping in the same room was definitely out of the question.
It was already 11 p.m. Mom leaned against the headboard, hugging a pillow with her legs crossed, fully dressed, and looked at me coldly.
It was clear she was getting sleepy, but she definitely wasn't comfortable sharing a room with me—I understood that without her having to say it.
I wanted to tell her she could sleep peacefully, that I would never do anything inappropriate again, but I didn't know how to bring it up.
Feeling parched, I got up, walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of soda, and took a big gulp.
Then, remembering Mom, I turned around and asked, "Would... would you like something to drink?"
Mom looked at me without responding. Taking her silence as consent, I took a can of chilled beer from the fridge and said with a smile, "How about some beer? I remember you saying beer helps with sleep..."
Seeing my mother's expression suddenly change, her slender phoenix eyes gradually narrowing with a murderous glint, I finally realized how thoughtless I had been. I slapped my mouth hard, then quickly swapped out the milk bottle.
After taking the milk, my mother turned her body away.
I thought I should still explain things to her. After a moment of hesitation, I spoke up: "Mom, actually... that night, I really wasn't..."
"Shut up."
My words were cut off halfway by my mother's sharp rebuke. I sighed helplessly, grabbed a pillow, arranged two chairs together, and curled up on them.
My mother still didn't trust me. After finishing the milk, she leaned back against the headboard, staring straight at me. Even though she looked tired, she refused to close her eyes.
Lying on the chairs, I couldn't stretch out my body or straighten my legs, with my butt and lower back suspended in the air—naturally, it was very uncomfortable.
But what was most unbearable was my mother's wary gaze.
After about half an hour of this stalemate, I felt it wasn't right to continue like this. I stood up, tucked the pillow under my arm, and walked to the bathroom door. Turning back, I said to my mother, "I promise I won't come out tonight. You can rest assured. If you're really worried, you can block the door with the chairs." With that, I went into the bathroom.
Sleeping in the bathtub was definitely uncomfortable—smooth and slippery, with no room to stretch my legs. By morning, my back ached, my legs cramped, and my neck was stiff.
My mother woke up early, still sitting neatly dressed on the bed, though her hair was slightly disheveled and her complexion didn't look good. She must have slept in her clothes last night and, like me, had a restless sleep.
Breakfast was delivered by room service. After eating, I retreated to a corner to study again.
My mother still didn't speak to me, but from time to time, she let out soft groans.
I stole a glance and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, massaging her ankle with a pained expression. The injured area was already red and swollen.
After a moment's thought, I put down my pen, stood up, and said to her, "Maybe... I should get you some ointment."
"No need," my mother replied coldly.
"Your foot is swollen like that."
"I said no need," she said impatiently. "Just focus on your studies."
I sat back down and buried myself in my books, but I couldn't stop worrying. In the end, without saying another word to my mother, I got up, left the room, and went to the front desk to ask for some spray for sprains and bruises.
Returning to the room, I gently placed the spray beside my mother and silently went back to studying.
My mother watched me for a moment, then unscrewed the cap and applied the spray herself, massaging the area. The pain still made her let out low groans.
Another day passed like this. That night, I locked myself in the bathroom again and slept in the bathtub. By the next day, my stiff neck had worsened—even the slightest movement made me grimace in pain.
Seeing me constantly rubbing my neck and groaning softly, my mother couldn't help but ask, "What's wrong with your neck?"
Faced with her sudden concern, I was overjoyed inside, but I replied with a dry laugh, "It's nothing, just a bit of a stiff neck."
My mother didn't say anything more, but I secretly rejoiced. After all, she was still my mother. No matter how big a mistake I had made, she would still care about me when it mattered.
After a while, there came a rustling sound from the bed, followed by my mother getting up. She limped over to stand behind me, placing her hands on my neck and gently massaging it.
Her hands were cool, slender, and smooth. After just a few rubs, the pain immediately eased. Of course, my heart was practically blooming with joy, and I nearly couldn't hold back a laugh.
After massaging for about ten minutes, my mother turned and went back to bed. Throughout the whole time, she remained silent, not uttering a single word. Still, I was already quite satisfied—asking for more would have been ungrateful.
With this little interlude, my mood lightened considerably. I felt cheerful all day, almost laughing out loud during meals.
My mother seemed to notice something odd and glanced at me sideways. I quickly reined in my emotions.
That night, as I was heading to the bathroom with my pillow in my arms, my mother suddenly called out to me, "You… make a bed on the floor."
"Huh?" I didn't quite catch it at first and turned to look at her.
She glared at me, her expression blank, and said, "Sleep on the floor. Don't sleep in the bathtub anymore." Then she tossed a sheet onto the floor.
"Oh," I nodded obediently, spread it out, and slowly lay down, my eyes fixed on my mother.
The hard floor was naturally no match for a soft mattress, but it was infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.
Sharing a room with my mother made my heart pound wildly. Coupled with the howling wind outside, I tossed and turned on the floor like a pancake, unable to fall asleep.
From above, I could occasionally hear the sound of her shifting in bed. It seemed she couldn't sleep either.
For some reason, I suddenly remembered when I was little and couldn't sleep—my mother would lean close to my ear and softly hum "The Lupine Flower."
Although she didn't sing it very well… it remains one of my most vivid childhood memories.
Ah…
"The stars in the sky don't speak, the child on earth misses her mother. The stars in the sky twinkle, mother's heart is like the lupine flower…"
Curled up on the floor, I hummed softly.
My mother suddenly said, "Stop singing. It sounds awful."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Could it be worse than how you used to sing it?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I quickly shut my mouth and pretended to sleep.
The room fell silent again. After a long while, a soft sigh came from the bed, filled with melancholy and helplessness. My heart ached, and I whispered, "Mom, are you asleep?"
She didn't reply.
I continued on my own, "Do you remember? When I was little and money went missing at home, you asked if I had stolen it. I denied it. You said making mistakes wasn't scary, as long as I could bravely admit and correct them, you would forgive me."
My mother remained silent, so I went on, "I know the mistake I made is too big, unforgivable, but I still hope you can forgive me this once. I know it's selfish of me to say this, but… you're my mother. I… I could live without anyone else in this world, but I can't live without my mom."
By the end, my voice was choked with tears.
Then, my mother let out a sigh.
"I spoiled you too much."
Her voice trembled slightly, carrying a faint sob. I took two sharp breaths, and tears began to flow uncontrollably.
"Mom, I've made up my mind. Once I start college, I'll... move out. I promise... I'll never hurt you like this again."
Mom didn't say a word. I couldn't hold back any longer and buried my face in the pillow, sobbing quietly.
...
Our relationship didn't improve much after that late-night conversation. Communication between mother and son remained limited to only what was necessary.
But I could feel the atmosphere wasn't as awkward as before. At least I wasn't too scared to speak anymore.
After lunch, Mom silently stood behind me and gently massaged my neck.
Deeply moved, I decided to show my determination to make amends. Apart from eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom, I spent all my time studying hard.
A typhoon had been raging outside for the past two days, and the protest crowds had disappeared. Mom checked the weather and found that the typhoon would stop tomorrow, and we could fly back home the day after.
To be honest, I felt a bit reluctant to leave. Even with the awkward atmosphere, even if we just sat in the room doing nothing, staring at each other—as long as I could be with Mom, I was incredibly happy.
The next day, the sky finally cleared. After being cooped up indoors for days, Mom wanted to go out for a walk.
Before leaving, Mom sat on the edge of the bed and sprayed some medicine.
Her feet were fair, smooth, and delicate, with a lovely shape. I used to adore Mom's beautiful feet, feeling an inexplicable urge every time I saw them. But now, as I looked at her fair and sensual bare feet, I felt nothing. Even when she later kicked me out and changed into a pair of flesh-colored sheer pantyhose, I didn't feel the slightest impulse.
I helped Mom out of the hotel, and we strolled leisurely along the seaside path. Although she didn't speak to me the entire way, at least she didn't shy away from physical contact anymore.
Mom seemed to be in a good mood. After walking along the beach for a while, we found a buffet restaurant and went inside.
The restaurant was quiet and peaceful, with bright sunlight streaming in and the sound of waves occasionally reaching our ears.
Mom sat across from me, leisurely eating grilled fish, while I, like a waiter, eagerly fetched the dishes she loved.
In recent days, the relationship between us had been quite cold, and there were things I hadn't been able to say. Seeing Mom in a good mood today, I decided to take the opportunity to explain.
"Mom... there's something I want to clarify."
Mom glanced up at me but didn't say anything.
Nervously, I swallowed and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Actually, that night..."
I had just started when Mom suddenly frowned and let out a soft "ouch." I didn't pay much attention and continued, "It was Lu Yiyi who helped you into her room."
"Ah... oh..." Mom clutched her stomach and leaned forward onto the table.
"Whether you believe me or not, I really didn't know. I thought it was Lu Yiyi sleeping in the room."
"Shut up!" Mom hissed in a low voice.
Startled, I quickly looked up and saw her brows tightly furrowed, her facial features almost scrunched together. In the blink of an eye, her originally fair face had turned bright red.
Alarmed, I stood up and asked, "What... what's wrong?"
"My stomach hurts," Mom said, her voice trembling.
"Then... then... could it be a chill? Or maybe you ate something bad?" I watched as beads of sweat poured from Mom's forehead, feeling as frantic as an ant on a hot pan.
Mom clenched her teeth, a painful groan squeezing from her throat, too agonized to even speak.
Seeing this, I thumped my head a few times to calm myself down and said to Mom, "Call an ambulance, call an ambulance. Hold on a little longer, just a little longer." While comforting her, I pulled out my phone to make the call.
Fortunately, the hospital was nearby, and the ambulance arrived shortly after. I rode along to the hospital, and the whole way, Mom tightly gripped my hand, her originally flushed, pretty face turning deathly pale.
It was the first time I had ever seen Mom in such pain. I leaned close to her, continuously offering words of comfort.
Finally, we made it to the hospital, where we were told Mom had acute appendicitis and needed immediate surgery.
Though it wasn't a life-threatening illness, watching Mom being wheeled into the operating room still filled me with anxiety.
I hesitated about whether to tell Dad about Mom's sudden illness. After thinking it over, I realized they were far away in our home country, and even if they wanted to come, they couldn't fly over right away. Why make them worry needlessly?
About an hour later, the surgery finally ended. When the doctor told me everything had gone smoothly, I finally let out a long sigh of relief.
Pushing open the door to the hospital room, I saw Mom in a patient gown, her face pale and her eyes closed. Because she had just undergone surgery, she couldn't lie flat, so she was propped up at an angle on the bed.
I tiptoed over, and as if hearing the movement, Mom actually raised her right hand. I quickly reached out with both hands and held it tightly.
Just as I was thinking about how to comfort her, Mom instead asked weakly, "Boy or girl?"
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