Zhou Ning looked into the old man's eyes, gritted his teeth, and finally spoke:
"I've been having dreams lately where someone is holding my hand, I know it's a woman, and I vaguely sense that it should be my mother, but when I lift my head, I can't see her face clearly.
We stand by a window, everything outside is a vast expanse of white — I don't know if it's fog or snow. She asks me if I can see my father, and of course, there are many more scenes afterward, but they are all intermittent, like moving photographs. There seem to be stone monuments and group photos, but I can't make out their faces.
Grandpa, I've never asked about my parents before. You've always told me that our family of three was in a car accident, so my parents died, and I lost my memory. As a child, I was afraid to ask and deliberately avoided the topic. However, I lived in deep self-blame, always feeling that it was because of me that they died. Grandpa, can you tell me the truth?"
