Chapter 180 I Want to Keep His Smile Forever

Chapter 180 I Want to Keep His Smile Forever
Jane's POV

My gaze slowly swept across the room, and childhood memories came flooding back—a stack of worn building blocks piled on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, a faded stuffed bear sitting on the corner of the desk, and that little train missing one wheel. These were all my most treasured possessions as a child.

My eyes finally settled on the nightstand, where a doll in a pink floral dress lay quietly. Her hair was a bit disheveled and the hem of her dress was frayed, but she looked exactly as I remembered.

The moment I saw her, my nose stung and tears nearly fell—I suddenly remembered that this doll was something my father Thomas had bought me when Mom was still alive.

Back then, he wasn't the cold, cruel man he'd become. He would smile and ruffle my hair, remembering wishes I'd mentioned in passing. The day I got the doll, I was so happy I jumped up and down, running circles around the yard with her, bragging to everyone that "Daddy bought this for me."

For the entire week after, I pestered Mom every day to teach me how to make little clothes, clumsily stitching with needle and thread.

Even though my sewing was crooked and uneven, I was thrilled to dress up my doll. Every night before bed, I'd hold her tight in my arms, whispering secrets in her ear as if she were my most intimate companion.

My fingers gently brushed through the doll's soft hair, those warm memories becoming clearer in my mind. But thinking about Thomas's attitude toward me now made my heart feel blocked up—warm and painful at the same time.

David stood not far behind me, saying nothing, just quietly watching me search. His gaze was gentle, offering silent comfort, but he didn't interrupt my frantic rummaging.

I crouched at the bottom of the closet, my fingers sliding over a pile of neatly folded old clothes, then pulled open every drawer in the desk, going through all the notebooks and letters inside.

But aside from a few psychology books with yellowed covers, I couldn't find anything that could be called a "trace of my mother." Disappointment spread through me bit by bit, my fingertips growing cold.

Seeing me standing there lost in thought, David picked up one of the books and gently flipped it open, his fingers slowly sliding along the pages, seemingly helping me look for something.

I took a deep breath and turned toward the space under the bed and the gaps between bookshelves, unwilling to miss any corner, silently thinking: There must be more of Mom's things...

Just then, David's voice suddenly broke the silence, carrying a hint of barely perceptible gravity. "I found something."

"What?" I whipped around, my heart instantly leaping into my throat, my feet rushing to his side as my eyes locked onto the book in his hands.

The next second, my breathing stopped completely, all the blood in my body seeming to freeze—between the pages of the book were several slightly curled old photographs.

The sunlight in the photos was exceptionally bright, three people smiling with crinkled eyes, radiating unmistakable happiness. But as I stared at the man in the photo, my brain went completely blank: that wasn't my father Thomas!

In the photograph, my mother's smile was sweet as honey, her eyes holding a gentle radiance.

She was holding a chubby little boy tightly in her arms, whose features actually resembled my mother's somewhat. The man stood beside them, his arm gently draped over my mother's shoulder, looking at her with eyes full of adoration.

What was this?

I reached out my hand, my fingers trembling as I tried to touch the photograph, but froze in mid-air. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest, confusion and shock washing over me like a tidal wave.

A hoarse voice escaped my lips involuntarily. "What... what does this mean?"

David's hand gently covered mine, his voice low and steady. "Jane, breathe."

But I couldn't tear my eyes away from the photograph. The little boy in my mother's arms—he looked to be about three or four years old, with bright, innocent eyes and a smile that lit up his whole face.

And that man... he was tall and handsome, with kind eyes and a warm smile. They looked like a perfect family, radiating the kind of happiness I thought I remembered from my own childhood.

"Who are they?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Who is this man? And this little boy..."

My hands shook as I flipped to the next photo. This one showed my mother and the same man sitting on a park bench, the little boy playing with a ball at their feet. On the back, in my mother's familiar handwriting, were the words: [I want to keep his smile forever]

My fingers gripping the photographs turned white, my knuckles aching from the pressure as a bitter sob rose in my throat, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "My mom... she actually wanted to make some other man smile forever? What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

"My mother's heart and soul were devoted to preserving someone else's happiness? Then what were me and our old family to her?" Tears splashed onto the photographs, creating small wet stains as I stared at my mother's sickeningly sweet smile, my chest feeling like it was being crushed by a blunt instrument over and over again.

"So what my mother really wanted was never the warmth of our family, but to keep some other man happy forever?" I let out a laugh—a sound filled with soul-crushing agony. "Then all these years, holding onto my memories of her, cherishing her... what was that? Some kind of sick joke?"

"I don't understand," I breathed, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "I don't understand any of this."