This article is a novel story, some of the plots are fictional, if there are similarities are purely coincidental, the picture comes from the Internet, invaded and deleted.
Text | Zero Seven Story Meeting
Edit | Zero Seven Story Meeting
My name is Mr. Zhang, an ordinary middle-aged male. My life is plain and stable, with a good job and a harmonious little family. But there is one existence in the family that always makes me feel a little unhappy, and that is my stepmother.
The picture comes from the Internet
Since my father died eleven years ago, she has moved in with me. Although she is 72 years old, she has never contributed a penny to the family. Every time this thought comes to me, I feel a wave of displeasure.
Still, stepmothers play an integral role in the family. She is the soul of the kitchen, my son's loving grandmother, maintaining the warmth of home in her own unique way.
But I have never been able to fully accept her way of existence in my heart, and I always feel that there is some secret behind her lack of money.
Over time, my stepmother's health began to deteriorate gradually, which forced me to pay more attention to her. At first, I just felt that it was my responsibility, after all, she was my father's wife and part of the family.
I started accompanying her to the hospital for check-ups and dealing with the inconveniences of her daily life. In the process, I had to admit that although she didn't contribute money to the family, there were other contributions she made to the family that I hadn't really realized before.
In the white walls of the hospital and the cold machine room, I saw the frail figure of my stepmother, and it made me feel a heartache that I had never felt before. Despite her exhaustion, she always cared for me and my son.
She would ask about my job, about my son's school, and her words would be full of concern, which made me feel guilty. I began to think back to how she would wake up early every day to prepare breakfast for the family.
How to always leave a light waiting for me to come home when I work late into the night. Her meticulous care for her family and her meticulous attention to her grandchildren's education are indeed intangible investments.
The picture comes from the Internet
However, my inner conflict still haunts me. I often wonder if she really did it just out of love, and my doubts never fully dispelled.
One night, while looking through some old photo albums and trying to find some memories of my father, I stumbled upon a photo of my stepmother when she was younger. Her eyes were full of energy and dreams when she was young, and it made me wonder, how much did she give up for this family?
My son, Xiao Ming, also began to notice the emotional distance between me and my stepmother. Once, he asked me, "Dad, why do you always look at Grandma's complicated eyes?" and the question hit me like a hammer in the heart.
I can't explain all the complex adult emotions to a seven-year-old, but I knew I couldn't let this go on and I needed to find a way to release those emotional entanglements.
On a sunny weekend, I decided to have a real conversation with my stepmom in hopes of being able to understand her thoughts and feelings.
As we sat in the little garden of our home, I plucked up the courage to try to open my heart for the first time and ask her about her past and her thoughts on the future. My stepmom looked at me with mixed emotions in her eyes, but she didn't answer me right away.
There was silence for a few moments before she began to tell some of her stories, about her dreams when she was younger, about her encounter with my father, and why she chose to stay in this home.
Her voice was gentle and firm, and every detail she told made me feel her sincerity and sacrifice. On that day, we talked for a long time, and the sun slowly sank in the west, and our shadows lengthened.
I began to realize that this woman, her love is so deep, and her contribution to the family is much more than money, but the investment of her whole life.
The picture comes from the Internet
I've finally come to understand that true breadwinners are sometimes not measured in terms of money. The long-dusty letter, before I could find it, lay quietly in the drawer of her room, waiting for the final secret to be revealed.
My stepmother's health took a turn for the worse that spring, and the hospital became a frequent place for us. Every cough she made my heart tighten, and every smile seemed to comfort me.
During these long days, I did my best to fulfill the duty of filial piety, but the burden on my heart was not lightened. Finally, on a sleepless night, the stepmother went quietly. She left peacefully, as if asleep, but left a deep void.
As I was sorting through her belongings, my hands touched an old envelope containing dense text that my stepmother had written to me by hand.
Opening the letter, I discovered a shocking secret: my stepmother had been secretly supporting our family with her pension all these years.
The letter wrote that most of her monthly pension was transferred to an account that only she knew about to pay for my son's education, as well as some of the family's emergency expenses.
She said she did it because she loved the family, she knew I was taking on too much, and she wanted to help me in her own way. I sat there, clutching the letter in my hand, tears streaming down my face.
After years of misunderstanding and indifference, I have questioned her inaction countless times, and even complained, but she has always supported us silently behind our backs. How can I make amends? This letter is like a mirror of my selfishness and narrow-mindedness over the years.
The picture comes from the Internet
At my stepmother's funeral, I decided to make the letter public. I stood in front of all my friends and family, my voice choked but firm in my reading of every word of the letter.
I told them how deep the love of this ordinary but great old man was, how she silently bore the unspoken weight of this family.
I shared the lessons I've learned from this, about understanding and cherishing, about how the real pillars in the family are often not the obvious contributors.
At that moment, the air was solemn and solemn, and I saw that the corners of many people's eyes were moistened. This letter not only changed my opinion about my stepmother, but also touched everyone's heart.
From that day on, I had a new perspective on life. The death of my stepmother and the letter she left behind changed me deeply. I have learned to value every give, whether it is directly visible to my eyes or not.
The true meaning of home is not only the space to live together, but also the silent support and deep love. I began to treat everyone in my life with more patience and understanding, especially with my own children.
I hope that he will learn to be grateful and cherish from an early age, and understand that the value of everyone in the family is not just measured by money. By sharing the story of my stepmother, I hope that more people can understand that the real pillars of the family are often those who pay silently behind the scenes.
My state of mind has changed, and I know that the power of love is great and that it can overcome any difficulty. This deep understanding and perception will accompany me for the rest of my life.