When I was little, because my mom and dad went missing, I lived at my grandparents' house.
In front of the house, there were several Moonlight Magnolia trees planted when Grandma and Grandpa got married. Every autumn, they gave off a faint fragrance, and the leaves turned a moon-like pale blue.
Grandpa was once a decorated veteran of the Southern Legion, and we lived comfortably on his pension. But after he passed away, life became difficult.
Grandma was a weaver, crafting durable and beautiful cloth in her youth. But after marrying Grandpa, she hadn't touched her loom for a long time, and following my parents' disappearance, she lived in a daze for many years—until Grandpa also passed, the grief urged her to recover herself.
