Lu Mian recalled her childhood.
No matter what she did, her mother's first reaction was always one of skepticism. When she won a prize, her mother accused her of theft. When she fixed the television, her mother accused her of causing damage. When she saved someone, her mother said she was overreaching.
It was only natural for her to give in to her younger sister; she was the first to be reprimanded when problems arose.
There were too many trivial matters, too many for Lu Mian to remember the specific scenes, but she would forever remember the feelings at the time. It was a coldness that seeped into her hands and feet, chilling to the very tip of her heart—a sense of abandonment and loneliness.
She questioned herself over and over again: had she really done something wrong?
It wasn't until she grew older that she slowly forgave herself.
She wasn't wrong.
But she had to admit fault.
