What exactly happened last night?
I hadn't seen everything. By the time I reached the warehouse, I only caught the part where Mom was being penetrated by Daguo. So what happened before that?
Suddenly, I remembered—hadn't I installed a surveillance camera?
I could use the footage to uncover the whole truth. Besides, last night outside the warehouse, with the thunder and lightning roaring, I hadn't been able to hear what the two of them were saying.
I couldn't help but feel grateful for my own foresight. Thankfully, I had used my pocket money to buy that cheap surveillance system. I never thought it would come in so handy one day.
I picked up my phone, opened the app, and entered the time difference, setting it to roughly when I had gone to sleep last night. The footage began to play.
Before the surveillance video started, my hands were trembling. What if the storage on the device had malfunctioned? Would I never know the truth?
If the surveillance had failed, my only options would be to ask Daguo or Mom. There was no way I could confront Mom directly.
As for Daguo, I could confront him, but that guy was so cunning—who knew how much of the truth he would actually tell me?
Just then, Mom happened to be out. I had no idea how long she would be gone. I put on my headphones and started watching the playback, switching the view to the inside of the house...
Last night after I lay down, my mother was tidying up the house and cleaning in the kitchen.
While cleaning, she seemed somewhat absent-minded, and her phone kept ringing incessantly. Occasionally, she would take out her phone to type, responding to something. Just like before, she was only using that one phone—it must have been her chatting with Daguo via text.
Recalling the past few days during our trip, my mother would spend a short period of time each day, both during the day and at night, typing and chatting on that phone. If my guess is correct, then her WeChat communication with Daguo has been uninterrupted all these days.
After finishing up, Mom prepared to return to her bedroom, wearing her conservative pajamas, and turned off her room light.
I remembered that last night, it was only after seeing the light in Mom's room go out that I fell into a deep sleep.
What I hadn't expected was that after turning off the light, Mom didn't go to sleep. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought, clutching her phone, as if pondering something.
In the darkness, she just sat there. After a while, her phone chimed with a WeChat notification. Mom glanced at it, hesitated for a moment, and then began typing. Throughout this process, her breathing was noticeably unsteady.
Every time the WeChat notification sounded, Mom would pause for a while before replying.
Time passed little by little. After about ten minutes, Mom put down her phone, but she didn't get into bed to rest.
Instead, she got up, picked out a nightgown, and quietly left the room. She opened the door and walked with extreme caution.
Soon after, she entered the bathroom, and the sound of running water could be heard.
There was no surveillance camera installed in the bathroom, so I couldn't see what Mom looked like while showering.
This time, however, her shower was unusually quick. Normally, Mom would take at least half an hour, but this time, she only spent about ten minutes, as if she had just rinsed off briefly.
When Mom stepped out of the bathroom, she had changed into a light pink nightgown and was holding her pajamas in her hand.
After returning to her bedroom, she neatly folded the pajamas and placed them by the bedside. Then, as if remembering something, she gently opened the door again—this time, the door to my bedroom.
She stood at the doorway for a long while, simply watching me from afar as I slept soundly. Having just returned from several days of travel, I was exhausted and slept like a log, snoring lightly—something I rarely do.
Mom remained standing there for a long time, her gaze shifting in the darkness, her thoughts unclear.
After what felt like an eternity, a soft sigh escaped her lips, and the door slowly closed.
Mom returned to her bedroom once more and quietly turned on her room light, though she dimmed it to its lowest setting.
She then walked over to the coat rack and reached into the pocket of her jacket. Her hand lingered there, hesitating to pull it out.
Her expression was deeply conflicted—troubled, melancholic, tangled with a hint of fear and unease.
After steadying her breath a few times, she finally withdrew her hand from the pocket. In it was a photograph—one I had seen many times during our trip. It was a picture of Dad. During the trip, Mom had often taken it out, talking to it softly and even taking selfies with me and the photo.
Now, standing by the coat rack, Mom stared at the photograph in her hand. But unlike during the trip, there was no nostalgia or tenderness in her gaze. Instead, her expression was complex, even sorrowful, as if she couldn't bear to face the photo or meet Dad's eyes in the picture.
Mom's hand trembled as she held the photograph, standing motionless by the coat rack. No one could tell what she was thinking at that moment.
She lowered her head, gazing at Dad's picture, then extended her slender fingers to gently trace its surface, as if caressing his face. In that moment, she seemed lost in memories of the times they had shared.
Ding, ding, ding… Just then, her phone chimed again with a WeChat notification. In the quiet of the night, the sound was jarring. Mom's delicate frame shuddered slightly.
Startled out of her reverie, she walked over to the bed, picked up her phone, and glanced at the message. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, her full chest heaved sharply, and she let out a heavy sigh.
Holding Dad's photo in one hand and her phone in the other, the scene felt strangely symbolic—as if she were holding Dad's hand with one hand and Da Guo's with the other.
Two men from different worlds and generations, both now held in her hands.
Mom lifted her head, closed her eyes, and let both hands—the one holding the photo and the one holding the phone—drop naturally to her sides.
Her shoulder-length hair cascaded down her back. Dressed in her nightgown, she looked tall and slender, as though trying to calm the turmoil within. The pronounced rise and fall of her chest betrayed her inner unrest.
Pfft… Finally, she pressed her red lips together and exhaled softly, opening her eyes before lowering her head again.
She didn't reply to the message. Instead, she placed the phone on the bed, picked up the photo, and walked step by step to the cabinet. Gently opening the door, she took out the photo album.
Flipping it open, she carefully returned Dad's picture to its place inside.
But this time, after putting the album back, she didn't place it on top of the wardrobe where it used to be, easily accessible whenever the door was opened. Instead, she tucked it deep into the innermost corner of the cabinet, pressing clothes over it to keep it hidden.
Was Mom saying her final goodbye to Dad, who had passed away?
Even though I was young, I couldn't help but sense that meaning in her actions.
After closing the wardrobe door, Mom leaned against it, trying to steady herself. Her face was flushed, etched with struggle and sorrow.
Ding, ding, ding… Her phone chimed again. Slowly, she walked toward the bed, her footsteps noticeably heavy.
When she picked up the phone and read the message, I clearly saw her breath hitch. Almost involuntarily, her eyes darted toward the window. Though the curtains were drawn, there seemed to be faint noises coming from outside.
Ding, ding, ding… Another notification sounded. After reading the new message, Mom set the phone down, took a moment to steady her breathing, and then walked slowly toward the door.
Her steps were heavy, and with each movement, her full breasts swayed visibly beneath her nightgown, creating a rippling effect across the front of the fabric.
Even though she wore a bra under her nightgown, it couldn't fully contain the fullness of her chest.
Mother cautiously opened the door, then glanced once more toward my bedroom before standing at the front entrance. With a trembling hand, she reached for the door lock. Upon touching it, she hesitated and withdrew slightly. After a brief internal struggle, she finally unlocked the door.
As the lock clicked open, the door swung inward gently, and a tall figure slipped inside, moving stealthily as if sneaking around like a thief...
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