The teacher on the other end of the line fell silent for a long time, probably thinking, “This is a single mother, don’t ask too much.”
That night, she cried.
Not because she felt wronged, but because Xiao Niangao walked over, stuck that single-person photo on her bedside, and said, “Mom, you alone can be a family.”
A three-year-old child, saying something like that.
It wasn’t innate intelligence—it was an innate ability to read people.
Because he had grown up in a household of only two, he had learned too early to understand his mother’s emotions, to fill the void left by the absent one in his own way.
Shen Luning looked at him, her eyes reddening again.
She blinked hard, forcing back the moisture, and reached out to pinch his cheek.
“Mom isn’t angry.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then why did you burn the eggs?”
Shen Luning turned around abruptly. Sure enough, one side of the egg in the pan was burnt, with a blackened, charred edge. The shape of the sun had turned into a solar eclipse.
“Mom, your egg is burnt.”
Xiao Niangao leaned in to take a look. “This can’t be eaten. Burnt food can cause cancer.”
“Where did you learn the word ‘carcinogenic’?”
“From TV.”
Shen Luning dumped the burnt egg into the trash, turned the stove back on, and poured fresh oil into the pan.
“Mom.”
“Hmm.”
“Uncle is still downstairs.”
“I know.”
“He hasn’t had breakfast yet.”
“That’s none of our business.”
“But his neck…”
“He put on a band-aid.”
“His knee…”
“That’s his problem.”
Xiao Niangao fell silent for a moment.
“Mom,” he said, “are you still angry with him?”
Shen Luning cracked an egg into the pan, careful this time. The yolk landed perfectly in the center of the egg white, round, like a small sun just risen.
“Xiao Niangao,” she said without turning around, “some things can’t be explained with just the word ‘angry.’ Mom isn’t angry, Mom is…”
“Tired.”
Xiao Niangao walked up behind her, stretched out his two small hands, and wrapped them around her leg.
“Mom,” his muffled voice came from the level of her thigh, “when will you not be tired anymore? If you’re tired, you can rest first. We can talk after you’ve rested.”
Shen Luning looked down at the little head leaning against her leg, his hair messy, the crown of his head tilted to the right side, exactly like hers.
She reached out and patted his head.
“Xiao Niangao.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you really want to see Dad?”
Xiao Niangao didn’t answer immediately.
He clung to her leg, his face buried in her pants, silent for a long while.
Then he said, “I want Mom to be happy. If Dad can make Mom happy, then I want to see him. If he makes Mom cry, then I don’t want to see him anymore.”
Shen Luning closed her eyes.
The range hood hummed softly. Outside the window, birds chirped. Downstairs, a car engine started. In the distance, a vendor called out, selling tofu pudding.
These were all sounds she had grown familiar with over the past five years. They were her life, the life she had built alone.
But now, beneath all these sounds, there was a new one.
Very soft, very careful, as if afraid of disturbing someone. Gently, six taps.
Not knocking on the door—it was Morse code, a signal.
They had used it before.
Shen Luning’s body froze. In the kitchen, only the hum of the range hood remained.
She held the spatula, and three seconds later, her phone vibrated. She picked it up.
A text message from an unfamiliar number—no, not unfamiliar. It was a number she had deleted but never forgotten.
“Do you still remember Morse code? You once said that in this world, only the two of us understand this secret signal.”
Shen Luning stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
She typed a line, then deleted it.
She typed another line, then deleted it again.
She repeated this countless times. The range hood hummed, the eggs sizzled in the pan, and Xiao Niangao clung to her leg.
In the end, she didn’t send a single word. Instead, she flipped the phone over and placed it face down on the countertop.
But just before she turned it over, the screen lit up.
Another message.
Just one line: “I won’t leave. You can keep the door closed, ignore my messages, and keep pretending I don’t exist. But I’ll be right here, not going anywhere.”
Shen Luning gripped her phone.
A memory surfaced.
Many years ago, probably during their first year together, she once asked him, “What is your greatest fear?”
He remained silent for a long time.
Then he said, “Being left behind.”
Back then, she didn’t understand.
How could someone fear being left behind? If you’re left behind, just walk away on your own—it’s not like you don’t have legs.
It was only later that she realized, for someone who had been abandoned three times since childhood, the greatest fear wasn’t the act of “being left behind” itself, but “not knowing why I was left behind.”
Because he didn’t know why, he would think it was his fault.
It’s because I’m not good enough, because I’m not worth staying for, because I deserve it.
This thought was like a thorn, piercing deep into his bones, growing within his flesh and blood, following him for thirty years.
All his madness, obsession, need for control, and insecurity stemmed from that thorn.
Shen Luning stared at the line: “I won’t leave.”
She suddenly wanted to ask…
Why didn’t you say that five years ago?
But she didn’t.
She flipped the phone over and placed it face down on the countertop.
She crouched down, placed the fried eggs on the plate in front of Xiao Niangao, sprinkled a little salt, and made a smiley face.
“Time to eat.”
Xiao Niangao looked at the eggs, then at her, and said, “Mom, you have something you want to say.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do. The corners of your mouth are turned down, just like when Grandma Wang downstairs said her son wasn’t coming home for the New Year.”
Shen Luning took a deep breath.
“Lu Xingye, can you stop exposing me every time?”
“No.” Xiao Niangao picked up his chopsticks, carefully poked the yolk, and watched as the golden egg yolk slowly flowed out, spreading over the egg white and onto the plate.
“Mom,” he said, “if you want to go find him, go ahead. I’ll eat by myself.”
Shen Luning looked at him.
A five-year-old child, speaking to her so seriously, saying, “Go ahead, I’ll eat by myself.”
As if he weren’t her son, but her roommate—a very considerate roommate who would willingly give her space.
She suddenly felt like laughing, and also like crying.
In the end, she did neither. She pulled out a chair, sat down, picked up her chopsticks, cut the egg white into small pieces, and placed them in Xiao Niangao’s bowl.
“Eat,” she said. “We’ll talk after we finish.”
Xiao Niangao glanced at her, lowered his head, and began eating seriously.
After a few bites, he looked up again.
“Mom.”
“What now?”
“Uncle said last night that he has a sickness, and the sickness is called Shen Luning.”
Shen Luning’s chopsticks paused mid-air.
“You heard that?”
“Mm, he said it really loudly—the whole building heard it.”
Xiao Niangao chewed on the egg white, cheeks puffed out, mumbling indistinctly, “Grandma Wang on the fourth floor even said, ‘Young people these days really know how to have fun.'”
Shen Luning closed her eyes.
She decided she absolutely would not leave the house today.