The livestream was off. The light by the pool shifted from gold to copper, the water's surface no longer dazzling. The tiles were cooling. I sat against the wall, adjusting my cover-up ties. Dianzi sat beside me, squirrel in her arms. No camera, only the waves and distant laughter fading as children were led away.
The young mother sat five steps from us, child asleep in her arms, bag on the chair back with the last two diapers crumpled inside. Her fingers patted the child's back—slow, over and over—then stopped mid-pat, just resting there. A stray lock of hair had come loose from behind her ear. She didn't tuck it back. Her gaze stayed on the water, but she wasn't watching the ripples. She was somewhere else entirely.
Dianzi glanced at me. I nodded. She stood, walked over, and crouched beside her. The hem of her cover-up spread like a blooming flower.
"He's so cute. How many months?"
She looked up, startled, then smiled briefly. "Eight months."
"Can this girl touch him?"
"Yes. He's sleeping soundly."
Dianzi touched his tiny hand. His fingers clenched tight around hers—pink nails like seashells. She let him hold it.
"He's so strong."
"He's even more rambunctious awake." Her mouth curved slightly. "He grabs everything. Even the air." A hint of amusement laced her voice, very faint, but it was definitely laughter.
I sat on her other side. The chair was cool. The residual warmth from a full afternoon of sun had faded, leaving only the bare chill of the plastic through my cover-up.
"You came out here alone with him?"
"Mm. His dad is away." Her voice was soft. "When I worked, he'd go to daycare. Not anymore." She looked down at the child's face. The baby's lips puckered in sleep, as if dreaming of milk.
"And now?"
She was silent, drawing slow circles on his back as if counting.
"Laid off last month. Marketing department. Six years." She paused, her voice dropping even lower. So low it was almost drowned out by the distant waves. "After I had him, my performance couldn't keep up. They saw me as a liability. My supervisor told me to rest for two months. I waited. What came was a termination notice." Her mouth pulled down, then recovered.
The child's onesie collar was washed to faded white, edges frayed. A faint red mark circled his wrist—the clothes too tight, the elastic long since worn out. She pulled the sleeve down gently, trying to cover the mark, but it rode back up.
The child stirred, letting out a small whimper. She paused to pat him, humming a few tuneless notes under her breath. He settled.
"Your past performance?"
"Outstanding three years straight." She paused. "Didn't matter. Too slow, couldn't keep up."
She laughed—a short, sad sound that died in her throat before it could fully emerge.
"The copy you wrote was better than most."
She raised her head. Something indescribable in her eyes—not gratitude or surprise, but the hollow look of someone unseen for too long, suddenly seen, not knowing how to react.
"Good for what? No one reads it. No one remembers it. No one pays for it."
She pressed her finger to the child's back with each word, keeping a beat, as if each syllable were a nail she was hammering into a coffin she had already climbed inside.
——The hands of someone who's given up struggling don't tremble. Hers are still trembling, which means she hasn't given up.
She said this might be her last time leaving the house. The words came out flat, the way someone says the weather is turning cold—a fact, not a cry for help.
The child turned, a tiny hand clenching my finger—so small and soft, the nails gleaming with a pale pink luster. Then he let go and burst into a wail, the cry echoing off empty tiles. She bent to soothe him, voice soft, face pressed to his forehead, whispering words I couldn't hear.
She held him tighter and stood, swaying slightly. I reached out and steadied her elbow—thin, the bone sharp against my palm.
"Thank you for talking with me. It's been a long time since anyone listened."
"Take care." Dianzi stood, tucking the squirrel away.
She nodded, turned. After a few steps she stopped, corridor light slicing her face into halves of light and shadow. "Thank you for making me feel there are still people willing to listen."
She smiled—brief, the lines at her eyes squeezing out. This one lingered a second longer than the last.
She left. The bag swayed with two diapers. At the corner, the child shifted, a tiny hand dangling. She bent and kissed those fingers, lips lingering, then vanished.
The corridor lights dimmed. Emergency lights cast pale glow on gray carpet patterns. I stared at the empty corner until the last shadow was swallowed by the wall. There was nothing on the wall, just the shadow of the lights.
Sea breeze through a porthole. I leaned back, adjusting my collar. The cover-up clung to my skin, cool from the sea breeze.
Dianzi brushed her cover-up and hugged the squirrel close. "Sister, she said this might be her last time leaving the house."
"I heard."
"Her voice was flat. No tears, no tremble. Like saying 'the weather is nice today.'"
"She's accepted it." I looked at the empty corridor. "Acceptance doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Just too exhausted to cry."
She rested her chin on the squirrel's head. "Will she come back?"
"She will. She needs someone to listen. Talking to us is easier than talking to herself. When you talk to yourself, no one responds. When you talk to us, we respond."
Our footsteps were absorbed. The water vapor had dispersed, leaving disinfectant. Loungers were piled in a corner, plastic legs stacked like white bones. A puddle gleamed under pale light.
The seagull tilted its head at us, then spread its wings and flew over the stern, wings fading into gray-blue silence.
[chat] Daughter is so kind 😭
[chat] That mom has it so hard
[chat] I hope she can find a job
[chat] The wives are so warm-hearted ❤️