With trembling hands, she lifted the phone back to her ear. Her voice came out soft and unsteady, fragile with a hope she barely dared to believe.
“Ningning? Are you… Ningning?”
The hesitation in her mother’s voice, so familiar, so real, shattered the last of Jiang Yining’s restraint.
“Mom… yes… it’s me…”
Her voice broke as tears poured out uncontrollably. She wanted to explain everything, to tell her where she was, to prove that she was truly alive.
But at that critical moment—
Beep, beep, beep—
A harsh red warning flashed across the screen.
[ Low Battery! Shutting down in 30 seconds! ]
“No!”
Panic surged through her. Her eyes widened as she clutched the phone tighter, forcing her voice through sobs as she shouted into it.
“Mom, I’m at a flower shop! Lemon Whisper Florals… Lem—”
The word had barely left her lips.
The screen went black.
The call was cut off.
“Hello? Hello? Ningning? What flower shop? Speak clearly, Ningning!”
Her mother’s voice disappeared into silence.
Jiang Yining stared blankly at the lifeless phone, as if something inside her had been torn away.
Her strength gave out.
She collapsed onto the floor, her breathing uneven, her chest rising and falling as silent tears slipped down her face.
With shaking hands, she fumbled for the charger and plugged it in.
Only when the small charging icon flickered to life did she let out a long, trembling breath.
Hope had just been lit.
And in the next second, it had been extinguished, leaving behind nothing but cold emptiness.
…
At the Jiang residence.
Mrs. Jiang sat frozen in place, the phone pressed tightly to her ear.
All she could hear was the hollow, mechanical tone of the disconnected call.
But in her mind, one sentence echoed over and over again.
“Mom… it’s me… Ningning…”
And those broken words—
“Flower shop…”
“Lemon Whisper…”
A tear fell onto the screen, blurring the display.
The sensation jolted her awake.
Her hands began to shake uncontrollably as she hurriedly pressed redial.
“The subscriber you dialed is powered off. Sorry, the subscriber you dialed is powered off…”
The cold, emotionless voice repeated itself again and again in the silent room.
She did not stop.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Ten times.
Dozens of times.
Every attempt ended the same way.
Her grip tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. Tears streamed silently down her face, tracing the lines time had carved into her.
…
Back at the flower shop.
Jiang Yining had planned to turn the phone on as soon as it gained a bit of power.
But she was too exhausted.
Physically drained.
Emotionally hollow.
She fell asleep without realizing it.
She never knew that, on the other side of the city, a light remained on all night.
Mrs. Jiang sat by the window in her bedroom, the curtains slightly parted to let in the dim glow of streetlights.
Again and again, she pressed redial.
Again and again, the same response came.
“The subscriber you dialed is powered off…”
She did not dare tell her husband.
She did not dare wake her son, Jiang Yunting, who now had his own family to care for.
In this house, the name “Ningning” had long become a wound no one dared to touch.
Eight years ago, that loss had shattered everything.
The gentle woman she once was had aged overnight, half her hair turning white. She left her teaching job, and grief wrapped itself around her like a suffocating vine.
At her lowest point, she had even tried to follow her daughter into death.
It was only the desperate cries of her family and timely rescue that pulled her back.
After that, Mr. Jiang resigned from his position, choosing to stay by her side.
Jiang Yunting grew up overnight, doing his best to hold the family together.
With time, medication, and careful support, she had slowly climbed back from the edge.
On the surface, life had returned to normal.
But only she knew the truth.
Beneath that calm was an endless void.
Anything related to “Ningning” could stir it into a storm.
So she stayed silent.
She feared the worried looks of her husband and son.
She feared they would dismiss it as a scam, someone pretending to be their lost daughter for money.
She feared the fragile peace they had rebuilt would shatter again.
But more than anything—
She feared missing it.
That voice.
That trembling cry of “Mom.”
It was too real.
Too familiar.
A voice she had carried within her for ten months.
A voice she had raised with her own hands for twenty years.
Even if it was a lie.
Even if it was dangerous.
If she could just hear it one more time, even once more, it would feel as if the heavens had shown her mercy.
In the darkness, she curled into herself, burying her face against her knees.
Her quiet sobs filled the room.
The faint glow of her phone illuminated her tear stained face.
On the screen was that unfamiliar number.
A number she had already called more than a hundred times.