我儿子今天又来医院了。他坐在病房里，低着头看着手机屏幕，眉头紧锁。我知道他又遇到了什么麻烦。

“呼唤我……”

他的声音有些颤抖，像是在求救又像是在倾诉。我站在门口，看着这个曾经在我膝下称王的小生命，心中涌起复杂的情绪。

“老公公”，我轻声叫出这两个字时，儿子的脸色更白了。他抬起头，眼神空洞，似乎在等待什么。我的手指无意识地摩挲着床头柜的装饰物，那些 years ago的画面突然涌入脑海：那个满头大汗、满脸疲惫的小男孩，那时的我多希望能拥有一份安宁。

“老公公……”儿子轻声说。

我的 heart races. He’s not my own son.

“老公公，儿媳妇……”

他的声音越来越低沉。我转身走向病房，看到他坐在椅子上，双手撑在膝上。他的脸上布满皱纹，眼神空洞，就像被遗忘的老人。

“老公公……”

“儿子！”我的 voice颤抖着喊出这两个字时，他的眼睛突然亮起一丝希望。他站起身，踉跄几步后 stabilization下来。我闻到一股浓重的酒气扑面而来。

“Honey, it’s me.”

“老公公……” his voice is filled with relief.

I hug him tightly. The warmth is familiar, like the first touch of my son’s skin after years apart.

But then he pulls away, looking at me with a mixture of guilt and fear in his eyes.

“Honey, you need to talk to your father.”

“他……他说我……做了对不起大家的事情。”

I nod, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. He looks at me as if I’m the root of all this mess.

But I can’t let go of this son who still loves me. His existence reminds me that even in the face of loss and pain, love can still find a way to heal.

As I leave his room, I see him standing at the door, waiting for me with open arms. He’s changed so much, but there’s something inside him that hasn’t.

I take a deep breath. This is just the beginning.

他的手轻轻搭在我的肩上，我知道，无论未来会带我走多远，今天，我在他身边。