My parents’ favorite show was called “Today’s Daughter News.”

For three years of high school, my parents had one mission every night:

Break me out of school.

Our school had a rule:

Students weren’t allowed to go home every day.

My parents respected the rule.

Then they started figuring out how to get around it.

I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t keep asking for permission.

So they started researching:

“How can we pick up our daughter without going through the teacher?”

Our school had two gates and several security guards.

My parents asked around, found people they knew, brought small gifts, and tried to make it work.

The plan worked…

Until the security guards changed shifts.

The familiar guard would let me out.

The unfamiliar guard wouldn’t.

So my parents upgraded the plan.

The school vehicle was a black Volkswagen Passat.

Luckily, my dad had a friend with the same car.

So he borrowed it.

Around 10 PM, a black Passat slowly drove into the school.

The guard looked at it:

Black.

Passat.

Approved.

The car stopped somewhere quiet on campus.

I walked out with my backpack and got inside.

Then the car casually drove away.

Honestly, it looked like a scene from a spy movie.

But their only “crime” was:

Picking up their daughter from school.

Every night at 10:30, both of my parents drove 20 minutes just to get me.

And the car always had supplies:

Warm milk.

Sunflower seeds.

Once I got in, I started my daily report:

Did I solve the math problem?

Who argued with who today?

Did the person I liked talk to me?

My parents came every night just to listen to “Today’s Daughter News.”

And they had to join the discussion too.

When we got home, there was always late-night food.

Whatever good food they had during the day,

they saved some for me.

Fish.

Hot pot.

Anything they thought I would like.

Most people lose weight during high school.

My family clearly didn’t allow that.

But we couldn’t borrow the Passat forever.

So my parents upgraded again.

My aunt worked at the school,

so they got a vehicle pass.

From then on,

they could officially drive into school to pick me up.

The three-year “secret operation” finally became legal.

At 6 AM, my dad would drive me back to school.

There was always a blanket in the passenger seat.

I would get in and continue sleeping.

My mom was in charge of supplies:

Dumplings.

Soup.

Rice and dishes packed in containers.

Plus coffee and juice.

Back then, I never thought any of this was special.

My only job was:

Eat.

Then, almost 30 years old, I suddenly wondered:

Who washed that blender with a million tiny parts?

My dad handled transportation.

My mom handled preparation.

And I was responsible for giving positive feedback after finishing everything.

When I was younger, I thought parents’ love had to be something big and emotional.

But my parents didn’t have time to study those things.

They spent three years studying one thing:

How to bring their daughter home every day.

Now that I’m older and living away from them,

I realize love isn’t always a big moment.

Sometimes it’s just asking:

“What did you eat today?”

“How was your day?”

“Did you sleep well?”

Those ordinary little moments

are the memories we want to keep.

That’s why I love Amivo Frame.

It helps me stay connected with my family through the everyday moments:

photos, voice messages, and little updates from our lives.

Because years later,

we don’t just miss the big events.

We miss the small things we used to share every day.

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