North Family Letters

But no one could have imagined that cracks had already been quietly lurking beneath the surface of peaceful life.

After moving to the city, my stepmother seemed to have completely let go of her inhibitions and gradually became addicted to playing mahjong. Every day at dawn, she would quickly get ready and rush out the door, often returning exhausted in the evening. Sometimes she wouldn't even bother to cook dinner, just grabbing a quick bite outside. My father, with his weak legs and frail health, struggled even to get up to pour himself a glass of water, let alone start a fire and cook. While my stepmother was at home, there was at least a hot meal; once she left, the house was empty and desolate. My father would often sit hungry until dark, staring at the empty house, his eyes gradually dimming.

He had tried to speak up, but the words always caught in his throat. A man of strong character his whole life, he didn't want to show weakness in front of his children, much less bring the awkwardness between him and his wife to the forefront. Sometimes, when his stepmother came home late, the two would inevitably exchange a few words, and if they couldn't agree, a long silence would follow. The days when they could help each other out in the countryside had slowly turned into a distant separation in the city. His stepmother's heart seemed to have long since left this small family, left her ailing father, but instead was tied to the lively atmosphere of the mahjong table, tied to the freedom of not having to worry about housework.

Qiu Ju and Song Chunyan were the first to notice something was wrong.

Every time I came home, I would often see my father sitting alone in his wheelchair, the house cold and empty, without a trace of warmth. When I asked why, he would just lower his head and mumble, "I'm not hungry," "I just ate," but the loneliness in his eyes was unmistakable. My two older sisters felt a pang of sadness, so they secretly agreed to rush home whenever they had free time to buy groceries, cook, and clean the house, taking meticulous care of their father's three meals a day. The six sisters also took turns coming over to keep their father company and keep him company, so he wouldn't feel lonely and isolated at home.

The more frequently the six sisters visited, the clearer it became that the warmth of the home had long since vanished.

The stepmother continued to be away all day, increasingly neglecting the father's daily needs and the family. She would say things like, "City life is boring, what else can I do besides playing cards?" but she never considered that what this frail old man needed most wasn't leisure, but companionship and care. The father didn't say anything, but his heart grew colder. He slowly realized that some companionship had already become a mere formality, and some of the affection between husband and wife had faded to almost nothing in the daily neglect and indifference.

He often sits on the balcony, touching the handle of the old hoe he brought from his hometown, and can sit there for most of the day.

It's not about missing the land or the crops, but about missing the warmth of mutual support from the past.

Now I have a city, a house, and my daughters are all around me, but the hearts of those around me have long since drifted away.

Some things were already destined for their fate from the way the stepmother hurriedly left each time.

The father was unwilling to say it aloud, and the six sisters were unwilling to reveal it either; they only understood it secretly in their hearts—

This cobbled-together home may fall apart sooner or later.

But the father's true support was never the companions by his side, but these six daughters before him, who would never abandon him no matter what. The relief at his bedside melted away the estrangement of half a lifetime.

The day we moved into the apartment building with an elevator in town, the sky was clear and the air was crisp. My stepmother put away the old things she had packed one by one, while my father sat in his brand-new wheelchair, looking out at the neat buildings and wide asphalt roads, but his eyes revealed a sense of unfamiliar emptiness.

Having lived most of his life with his roots firmly planted in the rural soil, he now truly understands that the city is not like the countryside, lacking the ingrained warmth and tranquility of everyday life.

In the city, there's none of the lively crowing of roosters and barking of dogs that fill the rural mornings. Opening the window, you can't smell the sweet, earthy scent of grass, nor hear the shouts of villagers calling to each other to head to the fields. Instead, you hear the honking of passing cars, the tightly shut doors of neighbors, and even the wind carries the cold, hard feel of reinforced concrete. My father always liked to lean on the balcony railing and look down. He couldn't see the familiar rice paddies and vegetable gardens, the earthen walls covered in vines, or the old locust tree providing shade at the gate. All he saw were rows of windows and hurried passersby. Even the sunlight seemed to lack the relaxed gentleness of the countryside.

The city lacks the slow pace and the hustle and bustle of the countryside. My father, now fully retired, used to be able to squat in the yard in the countryside, even with his frail health, touching the seedlings and feeding the chickens and ducks, his fingertips touching the soil, which brought him peace of mind. But in the city, even going downstairs requires getting used to the flat yet unfamiliar paved streets. Finding a plot of land to grow some vegetables has become a luxury. Without a hoe in his hand and without land beside him, he always feels uneasy. He often sits in a daze, muttering about the fields and the yard back home, and about the batch of vegetables he hadn't had time to harvest before the demolition.

There's no neighborly affection in the city like in the countryside. In the countryside, every household has its gates open, and people can chat over a bowl of rice. If someone is in trouble, neighbors will lend a helping hand. But in the city, you don't even know who lives across the hall. If you meet someone, you might nod at most, and no one will pull you aside to chat about crops or everyday life anymore. My father was always introverted, and after his illness, he became even more shy. Most of the time, he would just sit at home, either watching my stepmother do housework or touching the handle of the old hoe he brought from our hometown, longing for the warmth and closeness of the countryside.

The sisters saw his disappointment and felt his pain deeply. They understood his despondency. The city offered convenience, a clean environment, and better conditions to care for him, but it lacked the rural roots he had cherished all his life. So they decided that whenever they had free time on weekends, they would drive him back to his old village. Even though the old house had been demolished and only a vacant lot remained, they wanted him to step onto the rural soil again, see his familiar neighbors, and hear the sounds of the village.

Every time we returned to the village, my father's eyes would light up. As soon as the car entered the country lanes, he would stare intently out the window at the vast fields, the winding river, and the low old houses, a smile unconsciously playing on his lips. After getting out of the car, his sisters would help him walk slowly along the ridges between the fields. Mud would cling to the soles of his shoes, and the air would carry the fresh scent of crops. Villagers would gather around to greet him, their calls of "Big Brother" and "Uncle" instantly bringing back a sense of familiarity. He would ask, albeit in a daze, about the crops and the neighbors, and even though his speech wasn't fluent, he would still smile broadly.

Song Chunyan specially cultivated a small vegetable garden on the balcony of her new home. She bought anti-corrosion wooden flower boxes, filled them with soil, and planted her father's favorite scallions, greens, and cilantro, so that he could touch the soil and find some rural memories even in the city. Song Xiahe invited old neighbors from the countryside to come over from time to time to chat with her father and talk about the latest happenings in the village. Song Qiuling brought free-range chickens from the countryside and raised them in a corner of the balcony, recreating a bit of the rural atmosphere. Song Dongxue carefully tended to the flower boxes on the balcony, loosening the soil and watering them regularly, doing the farm work that her father wanted to do. Song Xiaoman and Song Xiaoya always stayed by their father's side, telling him interesting stories from school and work, trying to get him to talk. At first, the stepmother stayed at home, keeping her father company and reminiscing about the days in their hometown, but this patience didn't last long before it completely dissipated.

The afternoon sun shone on the small vegetable garden on the balcony. The father, sitting in his wheelchair, gently tended to the tender green leaves. Occasionally, the aroma of food wafted from the house. What should have been a peaceful old age was gradually shattered by the sound of mahjong. After moving to the city, the stepmother made friends with a group of mahjong players and devoted herself entirely to the mahjong table, no longer caring for her family or her ailing father.

She would often get ready before dawn, grab a few coins, and rush out the door, not returning until dusk, or even late at night. The stove in the house remained cold all day, devoid of any warmth or cooking. Her father, with his legs weak, could barely stand up to pour himself a cup of hot water, let alone light a fire and cook. He often sat hungry from dawn till dusk, drinking cold water when thirsty and nibbling on a few bites of dried-out steamed buns when starving. Alone in the empty house, his eyes grew dimmer with each passing day.

He was a man of great forbearance and strength his whole life, unwilling to tell his daughters about the unpleasantness between him and his wife. At first, he just silently endured it, watching his stepmother's hurried departure time and time again, his disappointment gradually building up. But his stepmother became increasingly unscrupulous. Sometimes, when she was engrossed in a card game, she would simply stay out all night, leaving her father alone at home. He couldn't even turn over in bed at night without anyone to help him, and when his illness flared up, he could only grit his teeth and endure it, without even a sip of hot water.

The eldest sister, Song Chunyan, and the second sister, Song Xiahe, were the first to notice something was wrong. Every time they rushed home with groceries, they found their father curled up in a wheelchair, looking haggard, with the house cold and empty. Their father, afraid of upsetting his daughters, always insisted he wasn't hungry or that he was fine, but the desolation in his eyes was impossible to hide. The two sisters were heartbroken and secretly agreed to take turns rushing home whenever they had free time, starting a fire, cooking, bringing hot soup and food to their father, helping him bathe and massage, and tidying up the messy house. Song Qiuling and Song Dongxue also often came to lend a hand, while Song Xiaoman and Song Xiaoya would rush home as soon as they got off school or work to keep their father company, talking to him and keeping him company, afraid he would be lonely and suffer.

The six sisters took turns caring for their father, ensuring he had a hot meal and some support. However, their stepmother felt no remorse; instead, she thought the sisters were meddling and interfering with her card-playing. Her expression grew increasingly grim, and the atmosphere at home became increasingly oppressive. Occasionally, the father would gently suggest she stay home more and play cards less, but this was met with scolding and complaints from his stepmother. She said he was a burden, that city life was too dull, and she couldn't survive without playing cards. The silence between them grew thicker, and the last vestiges of affection were slowly eroded by the daily neglect and arguments.

The last straw that broke the camel's back fell on a rainy day. That day, the stepmother went out early in the morning and did not return until evening. The father tried to move to the table to get a drink of water, but he lost his balance and fell directly off his wheelchair. His body was heavy and he was plagued by illness. He struggled for a long time but could not get up. He lay on the cold floor, shouting until he was hoarse, but no one answered. He lay there alone for more than an hour.

When Song Chunyan and Song Xiahe rushed home from get off work and opened the door to see this scene, they were terrified. They quickly helped their father back into his wheelchair. Seeing the dust on his body and the cold sweat on his forehead, the two sisters were both heartbroken and angry, their hands trembling. They carefully patted their father's clothes clean, rubbed the sore spots, and their eyes were red with tears.

Just then, her stepmother, humming a tune, casually pushed open the door and entered, her clothes still smelling of cigarette smoke from the mahjong parlor, completely oblivious to the commotion. Song Chunyan could no longer contain her anger. Looking at her stepmother's nonchalant attitude, she said in a low voice, "Mom, Dad fell to the ground today and lay there alone for almost an hour. Where were you? He's in this condition, and you go out to play mahjong every day, ignoring his well-being. How can you face him like this?"

Upon hearing this, the stepmother's face instantly changed. She put her hands on her hips and retorted sharply, "What business is it of yours if I play cards? He accidentally fell, how can you blame me? I'm bored to death staying home with a sick person every day. What else am I supposed to do if I don't play cards?!"

"He's your husband, not a burden!" Song Xiahe's eyes also reddened, her voice choked with sobs. "We make time to come back and take care of him every day, not because we're bored, but because we feel sorry for him who has suffered his whole life. He deserves a companion in his old age. But you, all you care about is mahjong. You don't care if he's hungry or in pain. How are we supposed to live like this?"

The stepmother, her sore spot touched, became even more unreasonable, hurling insults at the two sisters, accusing them of sowing discord and saying their father was a burden to her, her mouth full of complaints and impatience. Sitting in his wheelchair, the father listened to his stepmother's harsh words and watched the fierce argument unfold. A lifetime of forbearance, grievances, and disappointment erupted at this moment. He trembled slightly, his cloudy eyes brimming with tears, but he stubbornly held them back.

Looking at his hysterical stepmother, the last vestige of hope in his heart vanished completely. This woman was no longer the companion who had shared his life in the countryside, offering mutual support. In her heart, there was never a home, no memory of his frail health; only the lively and carefree atmosphere of the mahjong table. After a lifetime of trials and tribulations, now old and suffering from illness, he didn't crave great wealth or status, only a hot meal and companionship. But even these small wishes had become unattainable.

As the stepmother's scolding subsided, the father slowly raised his head, his voice hoarse but unusually firm, and said, word by word, "Stop arguing, let's get a divorce."

One sentence silenced the entire room instantly. The stepmother stood frozen, clearly not expecting her usually timid and reserved father to utter such words. Song Chunyan and Song Xiahe were also stunned, their hearts filled with bitterness as they looked at the resolute look in their father's eyes, yet they understood that this was a decision he had made after accumulating all his disappointment.

The father looked at his stepmother, his eyes filled with no resentment, only utter calm: "Thank you for walking with me for a part of the journey all these years. Now, you can live your peaceful life. I won't be a burden to you. Let's part amicably. I have six daughters to take care of, so you don't need to worry about them. From now on, we won't bother each other."

He never wanted to trouble others his whole life, not even his spouse, and he didn't want to force himself to maintain this relationship that existed in name only. His stepmother was stunned for a long time, probably tired of taking care of a patient and being able to play cards freely after the divorce. In the end, she didn't make a fuss and silently nodded.

There were no disputes over property, no heated arguments; the father simply sorted out the trivial matters between the two and quickly went through the divorce proceedings with his stepmother. The stepmother packed her bags and left this home she had never cared about, without looking back, to pursue the freedom she wanted.

The room suddenly felt empty, but the usual oppressive and cold atmosphere was gone. Song Chunyan, Song Xiahe, Song Qiuling, Song Dongxue, Song Xiaoman, and Song Xiaoya surrounded their father, gently holding his hands and softly comforting him. Looking at his six caring daughters beside him, the father's tense lips slowly relaxed, and the loneliness in his eyes was gradually replaced by warmth.

He finally understood that true companionship is not about making do, but about genuine care and concern; true home is not just a house, but about having loved ones by your side, providing warmth and companionship. That failed second marriage is now in the past, and his six daughters are his strongest support in his later years, his most precious treasure in life.

In the days that followed, there was no neglect, no loneliness. The six sisters took turns staying by their father's side, caring for him meticulously. The small vegetable garden on the balcony remained lush and green, and the house was filled with the aroma of food every day. Laughter replaced the silence and arguments of the past. The regrets and sorrows of half a lifetime were ultimately melted away by the filial piety of his daughters. The barriers at his bedside had long since dissolved. With family by his side, he found the most peaceful refuge and the best fulfillment in his later years.