North Family Letters

The stepmother took the water glass, her fingertips trembling slightly. The warmth of the glass traveled from her fingertips to her heart, and the pent-up grievances and exhaustion of the past few days surged up instantly, her eyes instantly reddening. These past few days, she had stayed by her husband's bedside without changing her clothes, her eyes sunken, several more gray hairs appearing at her temples, and she had lost a lot of weight, already utterly exhausted. On one hand, she had to take care of her husband, who was on an IV drip and could barely turn over, monitoring the IV rate, feeding him water and wiping his body on time, not daring to get a full night's sleep; on the other hand, she was worried about the grudges that had accumulated among the six men and women over half a lifetime, fearing that her daughters would not be able to resolve their inner conflicts and would only give her a cold shoulder when they came to the hospital, adding to the already serious suffering of the elderly man. Now that I saw my elder sister Song Chunyan finally speak up, her gentle "Thank you for your hard work" felt like a warm current flowing through my heart. The stone that had been hanging over me for countless days and nights finally settled down.

She tugged at her clothes, steadied the bedside railing, and subconsciously lowered her voice, afraid of disturbing her father who had just caught his breath. Her tone was full of unconcealed sorrow: "His illness didn't develop overnight. For the past two years, whenever it rained, he would always clutch his chest and say he felt stuffy, his whole body weak and powerless. Even carrying a shopping basket was difficult. I urged him to go to the hospital for a checkup every day, but he absolutely refused. He said he was afraid that if he found out, it would cost money and burden the family, and he was even more afraid... afraid that you children would find out and think he was deliberately causing trouble and disturbing your peaceful life."

The sixth son held his father's withered, bark-like hand tightly, his fingertips gently tracing the bulging veins, the dense age spots, and the thick calluses from years of farm work on the back of his hand. Tears streamed down his face like broken beads, falling onto his father's hand. "Dad always secretly saved money in the tin box, penny by penny, saying that it wasn't easy for my sisters to run their small shop, and if they ever encountered difficulties or had trouble making ends meet, his little bit of money could help them out. But after saving for several years, the box was almost full, and he never dared to deliver any money to the shop. He just stood at the street corner watching from afar, saying he was afraid you would see him and be annoyed, afraid you would refuse to accept his money and make him lose face."

Qiuju's hands, hanging limply at her sides, clenched tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms, leaving several white marks. But she felt no pain; only a suffocating, aching feeling in her chest, as if a large hand were gripping it tightly. She remembered the year her shop first opened, when the pandemic control measures hit, resulting in months of no business. She was almost six months behind on rent, and the landlord came to her door every day demanding payment. She was so anxious she developed blisters in her mouth, couldn't sleep at night, and tried to borrow money everywhere, only to be met with rejection. Those days were almost unbearable. But she never knew that during her most difficult time, a father she had deliberately distanced himself from was silently watching her shop from afar, secretly saving money to help her, afraid to even take a step closer lest he annoy her.

The father, lying on the hospital bed, slowly recovered from his violent cough. His chest still heaved, and his cloudy eyes slowly opened. His gaze moved with difficulty from Song Chunyan to Qiuju, then swept over Xiahe and the fourth daughter, finally settling on the fifth and sixth daughters. His eyes no longer held their usual harshness, but were filled with guilt and unease, like a child who had done something wrong and was bowing his head to admit his mistake. His lips trembled several times, wanting to say something apologetic, but he was afraid that his tone would be too harsh and upset his daughters. So he swallowed the words back, leaving only a look of helplessness in his eyes.

Xia He walked slowly to the bedside. Her initially cold, aloof, and resentful gaze softened little by little. Years ago, she had spent three years abroad, struggling alone in a foreign land. She had witnessed the coldness and indifference of human relationships, the loneliness and helplessness of old age, and the confusion and panic that followed the loss of a partner. When her mother passed away and her father remarried hastily, the hatred and resentment in her heart were as deep as those of her older sisters. For so many years, she had refused to forgive. But now, looking at her father lying on the sickbed, dying and emaciated, those sharp emotions hidden deep within her heart were finally suppressed little by little by the unbreakable bond of blood.

She sighed softly, her voice as light as a feather, yet carrying an unprecedented gentleness and firmness, and said, word by word, "Focus on getting better. Don't think about anything else. If the sky falls, the six of us sisters will handle it. We'll pool our money for the medical expenses. Just focus on getting better and recover quickly."

Upon hearing this, the fourth sister, standing in the corner, could no longer hold back. She abruptly turned her face away, raised her hand, and fiercely wiped away her tears, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Over the years, she had been the most conflicted person in her life. On one hand, she vividly remembered the pain of her mother's death, the grievances suffered by her sisters, and resentment towards her father's remarriage; on the other hand, she occasionally recalled the warmth of her father carrying her to the market and buying her candy when she was little, cherishing that unbreakable paternal love. For so many years, she had been torn between resentment and guilt, suffering night after night, enduring most of her life. Now, all her entanglement and inner turmoil transformed into unstoppable tears at this moment.

Song Chunyan walked to the other end of the hospital bed, bent down to carefully examine the doctor's orders and prescriptions posted on the headboard, her gaze sweeping over the label on the IV bottle, then at her father's complexion. Her usually decisive and efficient tone softened with a rare tenderness and responsibility as she calmly arranged the follow-up: "We'll take turns caring for Dad. I'll arrange the shifts. I'm the eldest, so I'll stay for the first few days, keeping him company at night; Qiuju manages the shop's business and daily expenses, running between the two to ensure the shop doesn't lose its livelihood and that hospital expenses aren't neglected; Xiahe is worldly and knows the rules, so she'll help with the hospital procedures and communicate with doctors about the condition; the fourth, fifth, and sixth children are younger, so they'll lend a hand, bringing meals during the day, helping with bathing and turning him over. We'll divide the work and take good care of Dad."

These simple words, devoid of flowery language, acted like a thread, tightly binding together six hearts that had been separated for most of their lives, each harboring their own secrets.

Looking at his six daughters standing neatly in front of him from his sickbed, seeing their red eyes and concerned expressions, the father's turbid tears flowed down his cheeks again, soaking his pillow. His lips trembled, and he murmured only two words over and over: "Good...good..." Each word was slurred with a heavy nasal tone, full of relief and emotion.

The ward was quiet, with only the regular beeping of the monitors, each beep tapping on everyone's heart. The previous stiffness and awkwardness were replaced by an indescribable warmth, mixed with the bitterness, regret, and relief of the past decades.

The resentment that had been building up for half a lifetime, the estrangement and indifference that had lasted for countless days and nights, finally began to melt away before this small hospital bed, in the face of life and death. They might still often think of their mother who passed away early, and the difficult days and nights that followed. The knot in their hearts wouldn't completely dissipate all at once, after all, the pain was real, the estrangement was real. But they were, after all, father and daughters connected by blood, family members whose bones were broken but whose tendons remained connected. This kinship had never truly been severed.

The afternoon sun streamed warmly through the glass window of the ward, falling on the father's withered and weak hands, on the tired but relieved face of the stepmother by the bedside, and on the six sisters who were closely huddled together, casting long shadows that were so close together that they were indistinguishable from one another.

This family, broken for most of its life by the passing of its mother and the remarriage of its father, is finally beginning to take shape again amidst the sudden illness and the comfort and companionship at its bedside.