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However, Noah was like a sticky plaster that couldn't be shaken off. Not only did he not sign, he also shamelessly moved to the opposite side of our room.

Every morning, as soon as he opened the door, he would hold a bouquet of roses and stuff them into my hands without saying anything. Then he took my daughter's schoolbag and sent her to school. In the evening, he started to learn how to cook. After a long time of clumsy work, he finally made a bowl of chicken noodle soup and coaxed his daughter to eat it. Then he went to sweep and mop the floor, trying to leave a good impression on us. However, he made the house full of dust, sweating profusely but still couldn't do a single thing well.

Noah's face was covered with flour, and he smiled at us, but I felt mixed emotions. These little things he did with great effort were what I did for him day after day, but he never saw them, let alone felt precious.