Although I had been wronged, no one believed me. My mother pressed my head down, forcing me to bow alongside her in apology. With the police mediating at the station, the young woman finally agreed to a settlement.
When we left the police station, I expected my mother to scold or beat me once we were alone. Instead, after we got into the car, she slumped forward, resting her head on the steering wheel. She looked utterly exhausted. If she had yelled or struck me, I could have handled it—I was used to that. But seeing her like this filled me with a deep sense of guilt.
I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Mom, don’t be angry. Please listen to my explanation.”
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, her voice sharp with anger. She shrugged her shoulder vigorously, shaking off my hand.
Seeing her so furious, I didn’t dare say another word. I sat quietly in the passenger seat, tense and cautious.
After a long silence, my mother finally lifted her head and sighed heavily. “Ethan, what do you think your mother should do with you?”
I replied in a wronged tone, “Mom, I’m really innocent. I was framed.”
“Who framed you?”
“A girl. She claimed she was the daughter of Dad’s colleague.”
“The daughter of your dad’s colleague?” Mom frowned. “Why would she frame you?”
“How would I know? Maybe because I’m so handsome,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You’re talking nonsense!”
“Mom, why can’t you trust me?”
She looked at me with a mix of frustration and weariness. “I’m wondering the same thing. Why can’t I believe you anymore?”
I fell silent, at a loss for words. She was right. At some point, I had become someone my own mother couldn’t trust.
After another pause, she continued, “Don’t blame others for not believing you. Think about what you’ve done. If you were in my position, could you believe in yourself?”
“I… what have I done wrong?”
“Ethan, don’t think I don’t know about the things you do in secret. I’ve held back from saying everything to save you some face. Do you really think your mother is a fool?” Her eyes glared at me. “Did you understand what I told you that day?”
“I understood. I really did,” I said, nodding earnestly, though my brows furrowed.
“You understood, yet you still caused trouble outside! All those promises you made were nothing but empty words!”
“I… I was truly wronged this time. I didn’t do anything. If you don’t believe me, we can ask Dad when he gets home. He can prove it.”
“Whether you were wronged or not, you still dragged me to the police station and embarrassed me in front of everyone.”
She was right. For someone with my mother’s strong personality, having to bow and apologize at the station must have been humiliating.
She started the car, and we drove home in complete silence. Not a single word passed between us.
When we arrived, she neither punished me nor scolded me further. With a loud bang, she shut herself in her bedroom and didn’t come out, not even to prepare dinner. It seemed this incident had truly broken her heart.
Later that evening, when Dad returned, I angrily recounted the day’s events to him, hoping he would bring his colleague’s daughter over to clear my name.
Dad listened with surprise. “She came to you?”
He paused, looking uneasy, then began rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a few ten-dollar bills and pressed them into my hand. “Didn’t you say you needed more pocket money? This is my change from buying cigarettes. Take it for now. If it’s not enough, I’ll give you more later. If that girl comes around again, just ignore her. And don’t let your mother know about this.”
His reaction was strange—there was clearly something he wasn’t telling me. Could that girl really be his secret lover? But if so, why would she target me?
I didn’t understand, but Dad kept urging me, mixing threats and bribes until I finally stayed quiet, swallowing my grievances like bitter herbs.
That night, I woke up needing to use the bathroom. As I opened my door, I heard faint, familiar voices coming from the balcony. It sounded like my mother was on the phone. It was late—why was she still talking to someone?
Instinctively, I felt the call had something to do with me. I crept closer on tiptoe.
In the soft moonlight filtering through the glass, I saw her clearly. She wore a violet silk pajama set, curled up on the lazy sofa. Her head was tilted slightly, the phone wedged between her shoulder and cheek. In one hand, she held a brush, absent mindedly applying nail polish to her toes.
My footsteps were light enough that she didn’t notice me. She sighed into the phone, “I understand everything you’re saying. I’ve already beaten and scolded him. He’s really thick-skinned. I don’t even know what to do with him anymore.”
It was definitely about me. Forgetting my trip to the bathroom, I hid in the shadows, listening curiously.
“I know he’s in adolescence now, and I understand that boys his age can be sensitive. I’ve tried to preserve his dignity. A while ago, he had a nocturnal emission and stained his pants. He hid them out of embarrassment. When I found them while cleaning, I quietly put them back so he wouldn’t feel ashamed.”
My face burned with humiliation. Why does Mom have to tell people everything? Still, it confirmed she had discovered my secret long ago.
“I’m worried he’ll cause more trouble outside. Today, the girl didn’t press charges, but what if someone else does? What if it spreads to school or online? His future would be ruined… Nonsense, of course I worry. I’m his mother—who else would care if I don’t?”
Her words touched me, stirring guilt. Despite all the scoldings and punishments over the years, she had always worked tirelessly for my sake.
“I know he’s a handful, but I gave birth to him. What else can I do? Throw him away?” She chuckled lightly. “That’s for you—do you want him?”
The warmth I felt vanished instantly. Her resentment ran deep.
“What do you mean I didn’t educate him well? You think my son seduced your daughter? Lily isn’t some blank sheet of paper. With the internet these days, kids know everything… Aren’t we both parents here? Why are you blaming me alone?”
Her tone was half-serious, half-joking, like old friends teasing each other.
Oh, let me tell you something, but keep it secret.”
Mom lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ethan stole my stockings… You know what I mean. Don’t play dumb.”
I felt a wave of heat rush over me. Mom, why share something so embarrassing? But she had known for a while.
"You think he's got some weird mother fixation?" she said, half-jokingly. "You're his future mother-in-law, basically a second mother. Is he falling for you?"
Aunt Sophia's stern face flashed in my mind—always cold, unsmiling, in her police uniform. I wouldn’t dare develop feelings for her.
“Originally, it wasn’t , but lately it seems closer to that,” Mom added.
Truthfully, I was confused. I used to be fixated only on stockings, but recently, I found myself noticing my mother more and more—even when she wasn’t wearing them. The impulses frightened me.
“Really, the magazines I found under his mattress were all related to stockings. That’s why I’m considering the psychiatrist. I don’t even dare wear stockings at home anymore.”
That explained her more conservative style lately.
“Even though it’s late autumn, we’re in the south where it stays warm. Women still wear stockings or go bare-legged on the streets. I’m scared he’ll steal someone else’s or touch a stranger’s leg… You’re calling me the pervert? I know, I know. I’m not trying to turn him into one. This behavior started after I stopped him from seeing Lily. That’s why the psychiatrist's idea came up.” You are reading on novelping dot com, the official source.
A wry smile crossed my face. In their eyes, I had become a pervert.
“Better to guide than to block, right? What kind of guidance? …Nonsense, why don’t you give your stockings to my son? Don’t laugh—your stockings probably stink, and he wouldn’t want them anyway.”
Aunt Sophia usually wore her police uniform; I couldn’t recall her in stockings. I wondered briefly what she might look like in them.
“Do you really think this will work? What if it gets worse? I know I’m holding back from hitting him only because of the upcoming exams… Yes, that’s what I mean. Let’s get through high school first. Having Lily around might help later.”
So Mom hadn’t meant it when she talked about separating us permanently with force.
“What do you mean you won’t accept this son-in-law? You have to accept him… Stop talking nonsense. When the time comes, I’ll send him to your house to be your son-in-law whether you like it or not.”
She was being playful now, which was rare.
“What worries me is the present. What if he gets bolder? He touched that girl’s leg on the bus this time—what if next time it’s me? If it escalates, I might need your help… I think letting him reconcile with Lily is better. What do you mean pushing your daughter into the fire pit? What’s wrong with our Ethan ? Fine, fine, I’ll think about it more. I have work tomorrow. Let’s talk later.”
Hearing her about to end the call, I quickly slipped back to my room, abandoning my bathroom trip to avoid being caught.
The next day, I couldn’t focus on studying. Aunt Sophia advice to Mom kept swirling in my mind.
I returned home on time after school and noticed Mom’s high heels by the door. I called out, but there was no answer.
I searched the house and found no one. Setting down my schoolbag, I headed to the bathroom. As I approached, I saw Mom standing by the washing machine, staring into the laundry basket. In her hands, she held several pairs of unopened new stockings. Her brows were furrowed tightly, as if she were wrestling with a difficult decision.
I hesitated, wondering what had made her so absorbed that she hadn’t heard me earlier.
Before I could speak, she began opening the packages one by one, rubbing the fabric between her fingers, and dropping them into the basket. Then she paused, stared at them, pulled them all out again, hesitated, and put them back. She repeated this several times—taking them out, putting them in—until she finally made up her mind. She tossed them into the basket and turned to leave.
That’s when she spotted me leaning against the wall. She jumped, clutching her chest. “You dead child! You move like a cat. Why didn’t you say anything when you came home? You scared me half to death!”
“I did say hello,” I replied innocently. “You just didn’t hear me.”
She glanced back at the stockings, then looked at me with a serious expression. “Although I don’t keep count of the stockings I change, you are not allowed to steal them anymore.”
“What?” I stared at her blankly.
“What do you mean, ‘what’? You’re not far from getting into real trouble, you know that? You’re going to anger me to death.” She glared at me, then muttered to herself as she returned to her bedroom.
I stood there, confused, replaying the scene. Her panicked reaction seemed oddly cute. Using “cute” to describe Mom felt strange and terrifying.
As for her warning, she had emphasized the “changed” stockings, but the ones in the basket were brand new. It felt like a deliberate hint. Did she want me to steal them, or was she testing me?
I crossed my arms, tilting my head as I examined the basket. While I had an obsession with stockings, these new ones held little appeal. Worn ones that carried her scent were different.
Is Mom setting a trap? I wondered. Luring me to steal them so she could catch me and drag me to a psychiatrist?
But that didn’t fit. On the phone last night, she had said she was restraining herself to protect my exams. She wouldn’t complicate things unnecessarily. She had also mentioned that blocking urges was worse than guiding them—perhaps she was turning a blind eye so I could handle things at home?
Even so, it felt too calculated. She must know the difference between new and worn stockings.
I hooked one pair with my little finger, smirked, and tossed it back.
As I turned around, I saw Mom standing just outside the doorway, watching me silently. I startled, clutching my chest. “Mom, what are you doing? I thought you went back to your room. You scared me