The umbrella that fell into the puddle
The most luxurious thing Qiao Mohua did every day was to peek at Ji Nianlin for seven minutes in the subway station.
The husband turned down the air conditioner by two degrees: "The fat layer is thin and is afraid of the cold, so don't lose weight like the little girl."
The mother-in-law put the paternity test on the coffee table: "Is Yunyun a child of our Zhang family?"
Only when the subway whizzes past, Ji Nianlin's fingers turning over the book will pause for a moment - that is the only evidence of the existence of her heartbeat.
It wasn't until a rainstorm day that Ji Nianlin's umbrella suddenly leaned toward her soaked left shoulder: "You seem to be always waiting for someone?"
She took a half step back holding the diagnosis report. The shadow of the breast tumor spread into thorns on the film.
"No wait." Raindrops fell on her collar along her eyelashes, "My car... Is always late."
Intention: Listen to all kinds of voices, but only be yourself.