I walked aimlessly beside Auntie along the shoreline, my thoughts drifting with the sea breeze up to the sky, then sinking down into the depths of the ocean.

Auntie noticed my long sleeves and gently unbuttoned the cuffs, rolling them up layer by layer into neat short sleeves. She smiled and walked on ahead.

She gives me feelings I’ve never known. On my first day at her house, she secretly polished my sneakers until they looked brand new, washed the laces, and taught me how to tie them properly so I’d make a good impression. Though she claims she doesn’t enjoy cooking, she somehow makes everything taste incredible. Worried that I might not like European food, she learned to make Chinese dishes just for me—meat porridge or fried rice, things I loved. Once, I apologized to her for ruining some bedding after a sudden post-surgery bleed, offering to buy her a new set. She pretended to be angry and scolded, “Are you crazy? We’re both women here—I can definitely wash this clean for you.” Time spent with her, with Miss Lin and Uncle, has been the most free, the most joyful, and the most loved I’ve ever felt in my life.

Happiness glowed inside a clear, glass box right in front of me. It felt so close, like I could hear it breathing.

But at my touch, this miraculous glass shattered around me. I gasped for air mixed with splintered glass, the act of breathing feeling strangely foreign as each shard tore into my throat.

I felt nothing but the sting and tears.

I could never be her real child. In my mind, without a shared blood bond, every kindness she showed me had to be repaid twofold. I couldn’t lay in her arms and be vulnerable like a child; I could never be selfish or difficult—these are privileges for real children, privileges forever beyond my reach. It’s my fault, I know, but I long to be by her side forever. So, I try to carefully shape myself into the person I think she would like, as if crafting a once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece.

I know that isn’t what Auntie wants. Her kindness makes me want to call her “Mom.”

But my mother is no longer in this world. I spent ten years accepting that the mother who loved me is gone, holding countless funerals in my heart for her and the little child within me, preparing myself for a lifetime without a mother.

And now, God has sent me this woman, a perfect mother figure, asking me to spend half my life growing close to her and the other half preparing to let her go.

Is there anything more cruel?

I don’t want to lose another mother. Even if it means never feeling love again, I don’t want to experience another loss so deep it reaches into my bones.

But her love—her love kept me alive.