“Sorry, Wrong Person!".

The whole world seemed to disappear in these few words. Nothing did matter any more. Subconsciously, her hands stretched into her pocket and reached a picture. She took it out. A young beautiful woman holding a baby smiled at her in the picture.  It was a rather old picture, already yellowed with age. Its creased corners told us it must have been looked at many times in the past years.

It couldn’t be a mistake, couldn’t be. A daughter recognizes her own mother; even they haven’t met for about 12 years. 

About a few minutes ago, when Ping finally arrived there, for a moment she could hear her friend Ming’s voice in her head: “You think she would take you in and mother to you after all she did? Don’t be silly!” With shaking legs, she approached the front door of the house and knocked. A middle aged woman opened the door. Though 12 years had weathered her look, left the mark on her face and there was a tired circle around her eyes. But it was her, the same person in picture---Ping’s mother standing there. Ping knew it at once.

A lot of confusing came across her look, then a flash of recognition.

“Mum, it’s me.” Ping said weakly. She could hear her heart quickening and her mouth suddenly went dry. Her mother just looked at her, as if looking directly into her soul. And she said: “Sorry, Wrong Person!” then closed the door.

“Sorry, Wrong Person!” her words flooded Ping, stole her breath. It was hot outside, but she was sized by bouts of chillness---chilly to the bone. She felt heavy, as if all the blood had suddenly pooled down there, and her trembling legs could no longer stand her weight. Finally she squatted down and burst into crying.