As dusk deepened and I returned from playing outside, Mom always stood in the kitchen wearing her white apron. When I quietly approached from behind, she'd gently smile at me, emitting a soothing, pleasant fragrance. After my father suddenly remarried and a new mother came into our lives, I realized how stunningly beautiful she was. One summer day, while giving her a shoulder massage as an act of filial devotion, the soft sensation of her breasts being gently kneaded sent my heart racing. Growing up in a single-parent household, we had learned to rely on each other, forming a deep, loving bond. She always treated me with tenderness and warmth—a feeling I still can't forget. Here lies the nostalgic warmth of a mother from a bygone era...