Welcome Home

“Welcome home.”

For many people, this should be a very simple sentence.

It seems that as long as you open the door and enter the hallway, under the light you’re familiar with, there must be someone. Maybe your father, your mother, your lover or your wife, looking up from their busy daily affairs. Smiled and said these one-size-fits-all words to you.

And you will nod to them, perhaps saying “I’m back late,” or complain about the traffic situation tonight, you will walk into the warm light and take off your exhaustion. You may hug, kiss, or do nothing, just passing by, exchanging a glance just enough to confirm each other’s existence.

Sometimes, you may also be the person standing under the light, smiling and saying to the other person: Hello, welcome home.

However, not everyone knows that for some people, this is a sentence they will never hear nor speak.

A sentence out of reach.

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“I killed my mother.”

This was the first thing A-Xiao said to me when he hurriedly got into the passenger seat of the car.