The first page, a cute little baby was smiling with her small mouth open, and below the photo, there were the words "Qianqian’s hundred days of longing."
It was her photo album, which must have been brought over from Qingdao.
Looking at the cute little baby inside, Zimo turned around, sat on the sofa, and started to carefully flip through the album.
Inside the album, it was nearly a chronicle of Luo Xiaoqian’s growth, from a cute little baby to a girl of four or five years old, with Xiaoqian in the photos growing up bit by bit.
Seeing the little girl’s cute appearances from her childhood, Zimo’s lips kept curling upwards.
Until he ca to the middle section.
Now, in front of him was a group photo, where Luo Xiaoqian looked about seven or eight years old, sitting in the lap of a beautiful woman with two little pigtails, their faces pressed closely together.
The woman was quite young, with a resemblance to Luo Xiaoqian in her brows and eyes, her smooth long hair draping over her shoulders, beautiful and moving, with a graceful air intermingled with a similar spirit to that of Xiaoqian.
Guessing this was probably Luo Xiaoqian’s mother, Zimo naturally took a longer look, feeling that this woman looked strangely familiar, with a feeling of déjà vu.
"It must be because she looks a lot like Xiaoqian, how could I have possibly t her!"
Zimo muttered to himself, continuing to flip through the album.
After that, the majority still consisted of photos of Luo Xiaoqian, along with so group photos with classmates, with her in the photos growing up even more.
Flipping towards the back, the group photo of Xiaoqian and her mother appeared once more; in this photo, Xiaoqian was already around fifteen or sixteen years old, and her mother, too, had cut her long hair and changed her hairstyle.
Perhaps through the rite of passage of ti, or perhaps because she had gone through certain events, her mother had noticeably lost weight, her expression lacking the previous sunshine and brimming with lancholy, a vast difference from the previously elegant woman.
Nevertheless, she was still unmistakably a beautiful middle-aged lady.
When he saw this photo, Zimo felt as if his gaze had been seared, frozen in place.
This face, this hairstyle, this gray top...
He could hardly believe his eyes.
"No, it can’t be!"
Whispering, he tremblingly took the photo out of the album and held it under the light to examine closely.
The more he looked, the more the woman in the photo rged with the person in his mory, becoming indistinguishable.
How could this be possible, how could Xiaoqian’s mom be that woman?!
Zimo abruptly stood up from the sofa and strode towards the stairs, ascending a step before freezing in place and retreating back.
Clutching the photo, he sat down on the stairs with a defeated expression, hands cradling his head.
Now, his mind was in complete disarray.
If that woman truly was Xiaoqian’s mother, then he... he and Xiaoqian, could they possibly have so relation between them?
He dared not think any further.
...
...
The next morning, Xiaoqian woke up, not yet opening her eyes, but her arms naturally stretched out.
But her arm wrapped around empty air.
She opened her eyes languidly, looking at the empty half of the bed in front of her without much surprise, knowing that Zimo always disliked lazing in bed.
Throwing off the covers, she got up wearing only her pajamas and walked out of the bedroom, all the way downstairs.
The living room was filled with the strong sll of cigar smoke, suffocatingly harsh; the ashtray on the coffee table was full of cigar ends, and beside it, the album was open, with a couple of photos having been taken out.
Slightly puzzled, she turned her head to see Zimo standing on the living room balcony; it was unclear what he was doing.
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