Old Days

Old Days

          Over fifty years ago, he worked as a mid-level manager at the railway bureau. She worked at a different bureau as an ordinary junior clerk.
          Their marriage was arranged through mutual acquaintances. He was talented and handsome, she was beautiful and elegant--a match that everyone admired. After marriage, they treated each other with love and respect, living a harmonious and warm life.
          She was meticulous and virtuous, managing the household with great care. He, on the other hand, enjoyed a relaxed life, focusing on external matters. He was skilled with words, had excellent handwriting, and was particularly adept at writing legal documents. Every case he handled ended in a victory. As a result, many people sought his assistance, and he was always quick to help, never turning anyone away. To him, drafting a legal document was as simple as writing a few sentences.
          The young woman came to him, seeking help with a legal matter, guided by acquaintances. It was a property dispute between two families over land boundaries. Although it seemed trivial, she was determined to stand her ground and not be wronged. He agreed to help, prepared the legal documents, and as expected, she won the case, gaining both justice and dignity.
          At that time, he was a refined and talented man, gentle in speech, well-liked by his colleagues. At the age of thirty, he was already a father of two daughters, in the prime of his life, with a bright future ahead. Everyone who met him was drawn to him.
          The young woman, grateful for his help, was a little shy, as she was just a temporary worker, while he had a stable job. He noticed her shyness and treated her kindly, politely refusing any compensation, and sent her off with warmth. She felt indebted to him, and out of gratitude, she often visited their home, occasionally helping the wife care for the children.
          She was a gentle and pure young woman, full of innocence. Over time, he began to feel that something was lacking in his marriage, though he couldn't put his finger on it. As time passed, the young woman developed secret feelings for him. Every time she saw his handsome face, her heart would race. She was deeply drawn to him, lost in her emotions. Despite her attempts to stay away, her longing for him grew, like grass in the summer, uncontrollably spreading.
          He, too, noticed what was happening. He could sense his wife's feelings, and they had a deep conversation about wanting a pure and faithful marriage. However, he found it hard to give up his desires. His wife, an educated woman, expected perfection in their marriage. Though she loved him, she knew his heart was divided. Unable to accept this, she decided to separate. The children stayed with her, and six months later, she moved to a small town, hoping a change of scenery might change her heart. He, on the other hand, lost everything, including his job, which he was dismissed from due to his personal conduct.
          Their marriage, once unblessed by anyone, was full of affection in the beginning. But life, oh, life--without love, it becomes monotonous. Living off his sporadic income from legal work and her meager wages, their lives became strained. After the birth of a son, life became more difficult, and the noise of daily struggles overshadowed their love. The shortcomings of both became more apparent, and their clashes grew louder. He often thought of his first wife and felt regret. He knew that she had raised their two daughters alone, facing countless hardships. But it was all too late to fix.
          Fate, however, had another twist in store. When their son was four, less than five years after their marriage, the young woman fell seriously ill. He did everything he could, but she could not be saved. From that moment, he became both a father and mother to his son, his only focus being the hope that his son would grow up strong. Although others tried to match him with a new partner, he would look at his son and shake his head. Many times, he thought about his daughters from his first marriage and his former wife, feeling a deep sense of loss. Life went on, passing through years filled with memories--some happy, some regretful, but all things he had to swallow on his own.
          His first wife, balancing work and raising children, was strong and excelled in both. She achieved an engineering title through hard work. Their daughters inherited their good genes, being intelligent, diligent, and excelling in school. In her quieter moments, she would look at her two daughters and see in them their father's mannerisms and expressions. These memories filled her heart with both pain and love, a constant inner struggle. But she endured, always determined to be strong.
          As her daughters entered university, she was now in her forties, a woman in middle age. Life had become like plain water--simple, calm, and uneventful. She worked hard, waking up with the sun and returning home with the sunset. Her heart slowly found peace. The memories of the past felt like the plot of a film--someone else's story.
          He and she each focused on raising their children, ensuring they grew up happy, confident, and open-hearted. Perhaps their children benefited from not having step-parents in their lives.
          The days flowed like water, slowly passing by. The love they once shared had long been buried in the past. Yet, deep in their hearts, there was still a place reserved for each other. The love of the past still existed, but what had obstructed it? Was it the passage of time? The fading of passion? Or the peace that comes with aging?
          Over fifty years later, she was eighty-two, and he was eighty-three. One day, he received a call from his daughter, telling him that his first wife was gravely ill, her consciousness fading, and she kept mumbling his name. Without hesitation, he rushed to the hospital, bringing their son along. The two elderly people, with tears in their eyes, embraced each other. He wiped away her tears, and one tear fell from her eye, merging with her face. Her eyes suddenly brightened, just like when she was young--clear and beautiful. She lifted her frail hand and wiped his face, then smiled--a smile as lovely as when they were young. Their hands touched, warmed by deep love for each other.
          He made up for lost time by preparing soups and stews for her every day. He rented a small house near the hospital in that town, just to be able to care for her. Every night, he stayed by her side. They spoke of the past, calmly, and of the present, leaning on each other, as though the past fifty years had never happened. They were always together, never truly apart. As she recovered, even her doctor was surprised, since the prognosis had been that she had only a few days to live. Little did the doctor know, that a love so deep, enduring, and tested by time could heal all wounds.
          From the spring of her illness, through the lush summer, and into the autumn, she gradually grew weaker. Their conversations became fragmented, but they were still peaceful. He cared for her more than ever, unwilling to leave her for even a moment. He thought, seeing each other every day was love, and it gave him peace.
          One evening, as the sky glowed with the colors of the setting sun, he helped her to the window, pointing to the sky. "Look, the autumn sky is three times more beautiful than any other season!" she smiled weakly, but it was a struggle. For dinner, she asked for his chicken soup. He rushed to the market, prepared the soup, and hurried home. Even at over eighty, he was as quick as a man in his sixties. She sat there, watching him, content and happy. After a few spoonfuls, she said she was tired and lay down. She looked at him once more, closed her eyes, and never woke up again.
          He wept, the tears that had built up over fifty years falling freely. The years of youth, like a fleeting dream, were gone.