Han Zhou paused mid-chop, the knife halting against the carrot with a soft thud. His brows furrowed as he slowly turned to look at her.
"But… weren't you only eight when you were taken away from her. Your father had never met that wo.." he cleared his throat, when he noticed her eyes. "Your mother since then?"
Xia Yu didn't meet his gaze. Her fingers worked silently as she stirred the sauce and turned to mix spices in it.
"Yes, I was!" he did not know why but her voice sounded painful.
"Then how did you—?"
"She left me a diary," she said quietly, her voice steady but distant. "I read it sometimes when I miss her."
She had written down recipes, memories, even small notes about the kind of woman she hoped I would become."
Han Zhou's heart gave an unexpected tug.
"I only read it sometimes. She was a very kind woman.," she added, almost too softly.
