Days passed quietly.
Hong Yi made it a habit to come home early.
Every evening, he played with Haoyu—building blocks on the floor, racing toy cars across the table, reading the same picture book again and again because Haoyu liked it that way. Sometimes they went to the park. Sometimes they just sat together, watching cartoons, Haoyu leaning against his side without thinking twice.
Xiamen often stood at a distance, watching.
Her heart felt full.
This was the picture she had once been too afraid to imagine—father and son, laughter filling the house, warmth replacing the loneliness that had lived there for years.
Hong Yi was careful.
He never crossed the line. Never claimed a title. Never forced affection.
He simply stayed.
Until one afternoon—
They were sitting on the floor, pieces of a puzzle scattered between them. Haoyu suddenly stopped, holding a piece in his hand.
"Hong Yi uncle," he said quietly.
Hong Yi looked up.
"Yes?"
Haoyu hesitated, then lifted his head. His eyes were serious—too serious for a child his age.
"Uncle… you can tell me the truth."
Hong Yi's heart skipped.
"I hear people talking," Haoyu continued slowly.
"I don't understand everything… but I understand some things."
From the doorway, Xiamen froze.
Haoyu looked straight at Hong Yi.
"They say… you are my father."
The room went silent.
Hong Yi's breath caught painfully.
Haoyu didn't stop.
"They say you love my mom," he said in a small voice.
"That's why you were here before."
His fingers tightened around the puzzle piece.
"Then why did you leave us?"
Hong Yi felt something break inside his chest.
Haoyu swallowed hard.
"I know my mom cries sometimes," he whispered.
"She thinks I'm sleeping, but I hear her."
Tears welled up in his eyes.
"Did you not love us?" he asked softly.
"Is that why you went away?"
From the doorway, Xiamen covered her mouth.
Tears slid down her face silently.
Hong Yi slowly reached out and pulled Haoyu into his arms.
"No," he said firmly, his voice trembling.
"That's not true."
Haoyu clutched his shirt.
"I loved your mom," Hong Yi said honestly.
"I still do."
Haoyu looked up at him, eyes wide.
"I didn't leave because I didn't love you," Hong Yi continued, his voice breaking.
"I left because I was afraid… and because I made mistakes."
He cupped Haoyu's face gently.
"But none of that was your fault," he said.
"Not even a little."
Haoyu's tears spilled over.
"You really love my mom?" he asked again.
Hong Yi nodded.
"Yes."
"And me?"
Hong Yi hugged him tightly.
"More than I know how to say."
From the doorway, Xiamen collapsed into silent tears—
Because the truth had finally found its way home.