She liked to control this and hid it for a long time.
From the first night in the nanny's room, from the moment she stood barefoot on the stairs and bumped into left and right pouring water, from the moment the plate of sweet and sour pork ribs was gently placed in front of her, and from the moment left and right said to her "knock three times, any time".
But she didn't dare to say that she was a picked-up oil bottle, standing under the crystal chandelier in old clothes. She didn't know why the door was opened to her.
She could only look at it from a distance - at the people on the left and right who rejected confessions one after another, at the red convertible that happened to be parked within a distance that she could see every day, at the long crimson hair hanging down when she lowered her head to eat.
What she didn't know was that those eyes that she thought were well hidden all fell into another pair of eyes.
It was earlier than her. As early as the first day she stepped into this house, a tall and thin figure holding an old schoolbag walked out of the car and stood in the rain for two seconds. I stood by the window on the second floor, flipping through page after page of the book in my hand, without reading a single word.
As early as when she caught her crying in the nanny's room because she couldn't go to school, she had already thought about it: move her to a south-facing room in the main building, let her wear new clothes, let her go to school, and open the door the moment she finally dared to knock on the door.
She was waiting for the three knocks on the door.
——Lower than any sound, yet heavier than any sound.
Intention: Even at the lowest point, someone will see you, claim you, and quietly include you in her territory