"I said we had to find Bao. At first, my husband thought so too. The two of us searched together."
But before even a year had passed, the child's father no longer wanted to keep looking. He wanted to go home and live a quiet life. He even said we should have another child.
"But my Bao still hasn't been found! How can I have another child? Does that mean we just give up on my Bao?" As Tian Guihua spoke, her eyes began to sting and swell again. But her tears had already dried up. No matter how much pain, grievance, or sorrow she felt, she could no longer shed a single tear.
"That's my child, a living, breathing person—not some cat, dog, or little beast. How can we just stop looking? How can we pretend he was never born?" Tian Guihua slumped into her chair. "My child was taken by traffickers. Who knows how much suffering he's endured? Maybe he's counting on us, his parents, to save him. Tell me, how could his father be so heartless? His own flesh and blood, and he acts like he never had him?"
The neighbors exchanged glances, unsure how to comfort this miserable woman.
It was the old director who finally spoke. "What do you plan to do now?"
Hearing the old director's question, Tian Guihua froze. She stared blankly at him. She did not know what to do either.
"I'll just keep looking. If I can't find him in three years, I'll search for six. If I can't find him in six, I'll search for nine. I'll keep searching until I can't move anymore, until I'm about to breathe my last. If I still can't find him then, I'll accept my fate."
The old director looked at the gaunt, skeletal