The morning began with a soft, uncertain rain as Mei stood by the window in her room. The aroma of ginger porridge wafted from the kitchen—Lina's silent gesture of reconciliation.
When Mei came, Guo Yu was setting the table for lunch.
"Maa, Li na has already prepared the lunch; we can eat," Guo Yu said gently, offering her a warm smile.
"Please sit down, Maa ; you haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry," Mei replied tersely.
"Is everything alright, Maa?" he asked softly.
Mei's voice quivered, not out of anger but from a deeper vulnerability.
"You've changed the curtains again."
Guo Yu blinked. "We thought lighter ones would brighten the room."
Mei's eyes narrowed. "Bright enough to blind an already visually challenged old lady."
(The words cut sharply through the air.)
Guo Yu froze. "Maa, what are you talking about?"
"You believe you've created a new home and new life, but happiness rooted in forgetting is not true happiness.", she cried.
"Maa, please," Guo said, his voice calm and steady.
I'm referencing to Li na's father's house! The life she had left behind.
"She hasn't forgotten anything, Maa. She's trying to live." Guo Yu said forcing a smile.
"You think you understand her?" she sighed. "Do you believe that by redecorating the house, changing the furniture, or altering your appearance and behavior, you can forge a life that will make her happy—or make me happy?" She let out a bitter laugh.
"No, that will never happen."
"Do you even remember her father, how he waits alone each night for her call? How the peonies bloom without her to witness them?"
"Maa, please."Guo Yu said in a low voice.
Her voice faltered mid-sentence.
"I just wanted my little girl back," she whispered. "Just one more time."
"And you." Her eyes locked onto his once more.
"You will always be the Man who took my daughter away."
For a long moment, Guo Yu remained still. Then his lips quivered, and his shoulders sagged. His mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile. The strength that had kept him together finally crumbled.
Mei continued. "I never wanted to be an burden, but I had to."
"You were never a burden," he replied. "But you've made this house feel like one."
Her hand froze. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting," he said slowly, "that you didn't come here to visit. You came to reclaim what you can no longer control."
Mei inhaled sharply. "Wanting my daughter's happiness is control to you?"
He met her gaze. "No, I call it fear. You're terrified that she might find happiness without you."
The words hit like a bolt of lightning, causing Mei to clench the fabric of her coat tightly.
Do you really think I don't know what happiness is? I raised her on my own for half her life while her father worked! I comforted her through fevers and sleepless nights filled with tears! And you—" her voice quivered, "you're here judging me as if love is something you can measure."
Guo Yu's voice softened instead of rising. "Love can't be measured, Maa, it's something you feel. Yet yours comes with conditions."
For the first time, her composure faltered. "I just wanted her to have the life she rightfully deserves."
"And who decides what that is? You?" Guo Yu rose slowly, his voice calm but firm. "You wanted her to marry a man with a secure job, a peaceful home, no risks. She did. She married me. I fit all your criteria. I gave her everything. But now, you've altered your standards again —because stability isn't enough unless it's under your roof."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't twist this. I simply wanted—"
"You wanted her to live out your unfinished dreams," he interrupted, cutting her off. "To compensate for your own losses."
A heavy silence settled between them, shattering like glass.
Mei's voice was barely audible now. "And what about you? What gives you the authority to speak for her? You've pushed her further away from her culture, her family, her roots."
He let out a soft, bitter laugh. "No, Maa. She's moving towards herself. You just can't accept that her happiness isn't centered around you."
Mei turned away, gripping the edge of the table. Her reflection shimmered weakly in the window—small, tired, unfamiliar. "You talk as if you understand love more than I do," she murmured.
"But tell me, Guo Yu, if you truly loved her, why does she still look exhausted, even after sleeping next to you?"
His voice cracked, softer yet sharper. "Because every night she wrestles with the fear of choosing between her husband and her mother."
Her breath hitched.
He continued, nearly broken, "Do you know how it feels to watch the woman you love hesitate to love you—because she fears that loving me might mean betraying you?"
Her knees wobbled slightly, but she stood firm. "I never made her choose."
"No," he whispered. "But you've made it impossible for her not to."
Mei's lips quivered, her pride shattering into pain. Her throat tightened.
"So that's it then? You're sending me away?
"You've always wanted me gone, haven't you?"
"Just say it."
He called to her tenderly, "Maa, let's start over, we—"
"Because you'll always be the Man who took my daughter away," she cried.
"Yes, you can leave," he said, tears brimming in his eyes.
All his efforts, courage, and strength to hold on had been in vain.
It had come to this.
Before he could say anything else, she left—the soft click of the door sounding like a heart closing off.
Outside, the rain started again, slow and steady, washing away the lingering scent of lavender. Inside, Guo Yu stood alone, surrounded by the faint remnants of her presence—her teacup, her folded shawl, her silence.
He sank into the chair she occupied every morning and let the tears flow.
The rain intensified.