I sat not far from Xia Ling and Wang Xiong, clutching my phone tightly. The screen's light illuminated my face, making me appear pale and powerless. When I opened my WeChat Moments and saw that photo, I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over me; my fingers trembled involuntarily.
A table laden with an exquisite French meal, beautifully presented and softly lit, yet across the table, a small patch of a school uniform hem peeked out, wrinkled and stained, utterly clashing with the elegant style of the photo.
The caption was brief: "Enjoyed dinner tonight."
This post from Xia Ling's WeChat Moments filled me with a deep sense of humiliation and anger.
Just seconds later, the comment section exploded.
"Oh, Xiaowei's so sensible, accompanying President Xia to a fancy dinner?"
—This was from a senior executive at Xia Ling's company, his tone laced with mockery.
"Like mother, like son. Xiaowei is becoming more and more like you, Ms. Xia."
—This was a business partner, usually so respectful to Xia Ling, but now commenting with such familiarity, mentioning me so naturally based on just a glimpse of my school uniform in the photo.
"Haha, Xiaowei's school uniform looks so familiar. Did he just get out of school and go to keep Xia Ling company?"
—This was a relative, speaking casually, even with a hint of joking.
Each comment felt like a sharp knife stabbing into my heart.
They all assumed the school uniform in the photo was mine, that I was the one having dinner with Xia Ling. They couldn't see the truth, couldn't see the hoodlum in the school uniform on the other side of the photo, couldn't see the humiliation and oppression Xia Ling endured at that meal. They only saw a glamorous surface, mistaking it for a heartwarming mother-son dinner.
But I know the truth. I know what happened behind the scenes.
I even clearly understand Xia Ling's feelings when she took the photo—she was suppressing disgust and humiliation, her very courage to resist crushed. Her fingers must have been trembling when she posted that message on WeChat Moments, her heart filled with despair.
And I, as her son, could do nothing.
I could only sit here, staring blankly at my phone screen, letting those comments pierce my heart like knives.
My shame was inescapable.
After reading the post, I looked up and saw that Xia Ling and Wang Xiong had already gotten up to leave.
On Xia Ling's white silk satin blouse, red wine stains had spread across the collar, like a dark red flower, a stark reminder of what had just happened. And on the cuffs, the grime left by Wang Xiong's dirty hands was even more shocking, a stark contrast to the blouse's elegant fabric.
Xia Ling's bare legs, no longer concealed by stockings, looked particularly vulnerable in her high heels. With each step, she felt like she was walking a tightrope, maintaining an elegant posture while enduring the discomfort of her bare legs rubbing against the inside of her high heels.
The pale gray stockings she had just taken off were casually stuffed into her school uniform pocket by Wang Xiong, a corner peeking out as if showing off his spoils.
As they walked out of the restaurant, Wang Xiong suddenly reached out and wrapped his arm around Xia Ling's slender waist.
His hand roamed freely over her waist, his lustful eyes fixed on her bare legs. He licked his lips and said, "Aunt Xia, tonight was a wonderful start. Next time, let's find a more private place..."
Xia Ling's body instantly stiffened. A mother's heart is connected to her son's; although I couldn't see her face, I could clearly feel her emotions at that moment—she must have been suppressing disgust and revulsion.
However, she dared not resist, only allowing Wang Xiong to hold her waist, leading her towards the restaurant entrance like a soulless body.
I followed her at a distance, watching Xia Ling's bare legs, clad in patent leather high heels, starkly exposed under the streetlights. Every step she took seemed like an act of immense humiliation. The usually poised and elegant female CEO was now being led out of a high-class restaurant by a thug about my age—the sight tore at my heart.
Finally, at the restaurant entrance, they parted ways.
Before leaving, Wang Xiong, seemingly deliberately, quickly reached out and touched Xia Ling's bare thigh, then pulled a gray silk thong from his school uniform pocket, waving it triumphantly at her before leaving, satisfied.
Xia Ling stood there, her tense body only relaxing slightly after Wang Xiong's figure disappeared into a taxi. But the humiliation and pain in her heart would likely linger for a long time.
...
When I got home, Xia Ling's high heels lay in the entryway. The 10cm patent leather stilettos stood silently on the carpet, a few specks of dust clinging to the heels, as if telling the story of the humiliation and exhaustion her owner had endured that evening.
I knew Xia Ling was home, but the living room was empty, save for a faint light coming from upstairs.
I quietly climbed the stairs, my footsteps light, afraid of disturbing her.
The study door was ajar, warm yellow light seeping through the crack. Xia Ling sat in her luxurious leather office chair, now dressed in a silk nightgown, her slender fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard, as if nothing had happened.
Next weekend was the launch of her company's new stockings. She had reverted to her usual decisive and efficient CEO style, currently dealing with a mountain of work.
However, her bare legs betrayed her inner unease.
Even at home, Mom always wore stockings with black trousers, maintaining her usual elegance. But now, her bare legs were the biggest problem—evidence of the humiliation Wang Xiong had caused her at the restaurant that evening.
I stood at the door, hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open and went in.
"Mom…" I called softly.
She looked up, her face regaining its usual calm and authority, as if nothing had happened.
Her eyes were still sharp, and her voice was as piercing as ever: "What's wrong? Have you finished your homework?"
I opened my mouth, wanting to ask her what had happened tonight, wanting to tell her that I had seen everything, but ultimately swallowed all the words, only whispering, "I…I'm done."
Mom nodded, her gaze returning to the computer screen, as if the conversation had just occurred as a minor incident in her work. I turned and left, but a huge weight pressed on my heart, making it hard to breathe.
...
Time ticked by. I finished washing up and lay in bed, unable to fall asleep.
Scenes from the restaurant kept replaying in my mind: Xia Ling being repeatedly humiliated by Wang Xiong, forced to squat on the floor to pick up a fork, then coerced into taking photos and posting them on social media; the humiliating sight of her bare legs in high heels after removing her stockings; and her silk shirt stained with red wine... These images haunted me like a nightmare.
I couldn't help but get up and quietly walked to the study door.
The door wasn't fully closed. Through the crack, I saw Xia Ling still sitting at her desk, but she was no longer the decisive and efficient female CEO.
Her hair was disheveled, her makeup was smudged, and tear tracks were clearly visible at the corners of her eyes.
She held a photograph on the desk. I knew it was my father's portrait. In the photo, the father is wearing a suit, his smile warm, while Xia Ling sobs softly, her shoulders shaking like a helpless child.
Her gaze shifts from the photo to her own legs.