Mingxi walked through the quiet hallway, moonlight spilling across the floor from his bedroom behind him. His oversized pyjamas swallowed his hands and feet, and he clutched a small plush dog to his chest as he padded forward. He stopped outside his parents’ room and leaned his head against the door. It was another winter month. Exactly a year since he had received the scarf he treasured so much.

He stood there silently until the door opened. His forehead tipped forward into soft fabric. When he looked up, he met his baba’s confused gaze and offered a sleepy smile.

“Mingxi, what are you doing awake?” Qiang asked. He bent down, gathered Mingxi into his arms, and lifted him from the floor. The plushie dangled loosely from Mingxi’s hand as Qiang carried him toward the kitchen. He retrieved a cold bottle from the fridge before returning to the bedroom.

“Couldn’t…sleep…” Mingxi murmured, yawning. He wrapped his arms around his baba’s neck and buried his face against him.

Back in the bedroom, Qiang sat on the chair and settled Mingxi on his lap, the boy’s back resting against his chest. He placed the bottle on the table. The room was lit, but the bed was empty. Adoella was not there.

Mingxi noticed, “Where’s mama?” he asked. His eyes wandered over the table. A pen that had clearly been used over and over again. A blank sheet of paper waiting to be filled. A single rose petal resting near the edge.

Qiang’s fingers stilled for a moment before he answered, “Mama is spending time with her friend. She will be staying there for a week.”

Mingxi’s hands clutched at the plushie tighter, “Did I do something wrong?” His voice was barely above a whisper. Qiang felt his chest tighten. He hated that his son always believed the distance between him and Adoella was somehow his fault. It never was.

“She is not angry with you,” Qiang said, taking Mingxi’s hands into his own and rubbing warmth back into them. “This week is difficult for her. The thirty-first of December is our anniversary. She would rather be anywhere than be reminded of our marriage.”

“Anniversary?” Mingxi tilted his head, “What’s that?”

Qiang gave a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “It is a day when you spend time with your wife. A day to remind her how grateful you are to be married to her. To be loved by her. A day when only the two of you matter.”

Mingxi stared at him with admiration. Suddenly, he twisted around in Qiang’s lap and began bouncing excitedly on his legs, “Baba, I want a day like that too!”

Qiang steadied him with a laugh, the plushie forgotten on the floor due to excitement, “One day you will. When you find the right person.”

Mingxi’s earlier sleepiness had completely vanished. His eyes shone with imagination, “When I find her, I will spend every day like it’s our anniversary,” he declared proudly, swinging his legs over the edge of the chair when he sat down on his baba’s lap again.

Qiang raised an eyebrow, amusement softening his expression, “That is a big promise. Can you keep it?”

“Yes!” Mingxi answered without hesitation.

Qiang looked down at the blank sheet of paper on the table. The rose petal rested beside it. Mingxi couldn’t feel what it actually meant to love someone with all their heart but he could show him.

“Mingxi, do you want to help Baba?” Qiang asked.

“Help?” Mingxi looked up at him, confused, “Baba does everything without me. What could I help with?”

Qiang smiled and brushed his thumb over his son’s hand. “This is something Baba desperately needs help with. Wouldn’t you help your Baba?”

A faint pink spread across Mingxi’s ears. He lowered his gaze, shy but unable to hide his smile. Qiang noticed the embarrassment, but he also knew his son needed this moment. After a few seconds, Mingxi nodded.

Qiang guided him closer to the table and placed a pen in his left hand, carefully adjusting his fingers around it. Then he covered Mingxi’s hand with his own and began to write on a blank sheet of paper. The first words formed in neat Chinese characters.

To Adoella,

“You are going to tell me whatever you feel for Mama,” Qiang said, “We will write it together in Chinese. Alright?”

Mingxi hesitated, “But Mama doesn’t read Chinese much. What would be the use of it if she can’t read it?”

Qiang’s expression softened, “Language doesn’t matter when it comes to love, Mingxi. Just say what your heart feels for Mama.”

Mingxi grew silent. He stared at the paper for a long while, his brows drawn together in deep thought. The room was still except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Then he closed his eyes. When he finally began to speak, his voice was small but steady. Qiang listened, writing each word as it came, letting the sentences flow from his son’s heart onto the page.

This is my first time writing a letter, but Baba encouraged me to do this. So I will try my best, okay Mama?

I really love you, Mama. Even though you do not smile much when you are with us, I know you love us too, right?

You don’t spend time with us as much as I wish you would, but I like the moments when you are home. I just wish you would stay longer. I wish you would pay more attention to me and Baba. He really loves you! He tells me so many stories about you, and when he does, his eyes look very bright. It makes me happy that I am your son. I would never ask for another parent when I already have you both.

But there is something, Mama.

Sometimes I feel lonely when I see my classmates spending time with their families. They laugh together. They eat together. They walk home holding hands. I wish I could do that with you and Baba too.

I know we are a little different from other families. My classmates call me a half-breed. I don’t really know what that means, but it must be something bad, right? The teachers always scold them when they say it. So there has to be something wrong.

But you don’t think of me like that. I know you don’t. I know because

Mingxi didn’t say anything after that. He turned around on his baba’s lap and buried his face into Qiang’s shirt, gripping the fabric tightly. Qiang didn’t press him to continue. Instead, he folded the letter and slid it into an envelope.

He opened the cabinet on the right and took out a small stamp. Carefully, he placed the single rose petal over the envelope’s seal and pressed the stamp down on top of it, securing both paper and petal together.

Then he opened another cabinet on the left. Mingxi lifted his head slightly, watching with curiosity. The cabinet was filled with envelopes, stacked neatly one over another. His eyes widened a little. He wondered how long his baba had been writing them.

Qiang closed the cabinet and stood up, carrying Mingxi back to his room. He laid him on the bed, then left for a moment before returning with the forgotten plush dog. He placed it into Mingxi’s arms, who hugged it close to his chest.

Qiang pulled the blanket up to his son’s shoulders and patted his side in a slow, soothing rhythm. Mingxi’s eyes remained open. His thoughts were still on the cabinet full of letters.

“Baba,” he asked, “Why do you write so many letters? Are they all for Mama?”

Qiang smiled, “When you love someone, letters become a way to show that love, even when you know they may never read them.” His fingers brushed through Mingxi’s hair, “And they are not only for Mama. Some are for you as well.”

Mingxi blinked in surprise, “Really? Can I read them?”

“When you grow up,” Qiang replied. He reached down and lightly tapped Mingxi’s nose, earning a giggle, “And when you can write your own letters, you should write them too. People may not always say it, but they treasure words written just for them. After all, letters are one of the oldest ways to express love.”

Mingxi nodded eagerly, “Yes, Baba.”

Qiang leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son’s temple before intertwining their fingers.

“Goodnight, Mingxi.”

“Goodnight, Baba.”

This time, Mingxi’s eyes slowly began to close.