After an argument with Zhou Mingyu, I jumped from the thirtieth floor with my five-month-old daughter in my arms.
When I opened my eyes again, time had actually returned to yesterday.
On this day, because the baby wouldn’t stop crying, Zhou Mingyu snapped at me for the first time: “Chen Ran, you don’t have a mother yourself, so it’s no wonder you don’t even know how to take care of a child!”
Our relationship had always been good, so I thought he hadn’t meant it; I blamed it on my own volatile temper and for taking things too hard.
But time continued to flow backward, and I discovered that this wasn’t the first time Zhou Mingyu had said such things: During my postpartum recovery month, he joked, “If your mother were still alive, my mother wouldn’t be so exhausted.”
On the day I was hospitalized to give birth, in response to the nurse’s questions, he said with a smile, “Her mother passed away, so who else could be her caregiver but me?”
At our wedding, he held my hand and vowed, “Chen Ran, I will definitely take good care of you in your mother’s stead!”
… It turned out he had always cared about the fact that I didn’t have a mother.
But the strange thing was, why didn’t I have any memory of my mother at all?
Had she ever truly existed?
If time continued to flow backward, would I eventually see her?
