1

In the long river of memory, my first impression of this world is a pair of warm and gentle hands, which carefully took me, gently brushed my forehead with fingertips, and held me tightly in their arms. I heard a gentle voice saying, "Hello, Sophia." I stretched out my tender little hand and tried to explore the source of the voice, but I only held her long hair on her chest. At that moment, I understood that it was my mother.

In the following five years, I enjoyed my mother's meticulous care, which was an absolute preference. However, fate took a turn when I was six years old. My father passed away due to illness, and my mother was immersed in grief for a long time. Later, she met a man who treated her very well and married Uncle Johnson when I was eight years old. Uncle Johnson's ex-wife died of dystocia, leaving behind a daughter, Jessica Johnson, who was two years younger than me. The first time I saw her was on a snowy day. She stood next to Uncle Johnson in thick clothes, staring at my mother without blinking. She came over, held my mother's hand, and tears burst out of her eyes: "Mom, you finally came to see Jessica Johnson." My mother picked her up distressedly and kept comforting her softly. I stood there, with an inexplicable emotion in my heart, and said in a voice that only I could hear: "That's my mother, not yours."