It is rather strange, but in this life-and-death moment, with the tension at its peak, my thoughts inexplicably drifted away. A particular memory, warm and distinct, surfaced in my mind.
When had that happened? I paused to recollect, and it must have been shortly after finalizing the divorce, when I had been looking for a place to rent with my daughter.
After much searching, I finally found one that seemed relatively suitable. While negotiating the rent with the elderly landlady, her suspicious eyes scanned me up and down. In the end, she directly pointed at my nose, implying—without saying it outright—that I was involved in some disreputable profession. Her gaze and tone seemed to pass judgment upon me, as if she had already convicted me.
Fortunately, after a bit of haggling, we agreed on the rent.
But as soon as we entered the house and closed the door, the accumulated frustration and sorrow overwhelmed me. Unable to hold back any longer, I broke down in front of my daughter, tears streaming down my face.
I held her tightly, collapsing in the corner of the small, empty spare room. I cried uncontrollably, the sorrow flooding out of me like an unstoppable tide.
Suddenly, I felt her small hand reach up to gently wipe the tears from my face.
Then, she turned around, found a piece of paper and a pen, and began writing carefully, with focus and care. When she was done, she cradled the paper in her hands and offered it to me.
I looked down, and there, written in bold letters, were the words: "Mom is a great hero."
In that moment, I was frozen, overwhelmed with emotions. Her pure trust and love filled my heart with both joy and a deep, aching sadness. That moment became the brightest light in my otherwise bleak days.