True romantic tales

This winter was particularly cold. One snowy and rainy noon, I visited Wang Sihua, a female worker from the spinning factory. Wang Sihua is 52 years old. Her recently deceased husband, Zeng Wen, was two years older than her and had died of lung cancer.

As I arrived, I felt it inappropriate to dive straight into the interview, so we chatted casually first. Unexpectedly, I spent the entire afternoon listening to her story. The tale of her and Zeng Wen was enough to touch anyone’s heart.

“My name is Wang Sihua because I have three brothers and I am the only girl. My parents and brothers treasured me since childhood, not allowing me to do any chores. When I was young and working at the cotton mill, I had countless suitors.

Later, I was introduced to Zeng Wen, who worked at a candy factory. His family was not well off; his father was a sailor and was rarely home, and his mother passed away when he was 11. He was the eldest, with a younger brother and sister. When I first visited his home, it was in disarray without a mother’s touch, with quilts in tatters. Zeng Wen was embarrassed, but I told him there was nothing to be ashamed of and started tidying up.

“I kept our relationship a secret from my family. They suspected I had a boyfriend when I turned down several suitors they introduced to me. Eventually, I told them the truth, and they were not happy. They couldn’t bear the thought of their beloved daughter marrying into such a poor family.

I brought him home, and when he asked what gifts to bring, I laughed and told him he couldn’t afford them with his meager wages. I bought the gifts myself but told my parents they were from Zeng Wen. He helped my mother in the kitchen despite being clumsy, and he ate heartily at dinner, which impressed my mother. She thought he was straightforward and not bashful.

Actually, he had never had such good food and ate to his heart’s content. Later, he told me he was stuffed. His respect and filial piety towards my parents eventually won them over.

“This furniture is still from when we got married, all designed and made by Zeng Wen himself. It was quite fashionable at the time. Though our house is small, he always found ways to add an artistic touch, like the stained glass windows with tulip designs.

“Throughout our marriage, Zeng Wen never raised his voice at me. He always yielded to me, and I never let him do any housework. He had suffered enough hardships taking care of his siblings. I don’t know why I loved him so much, but I did. Even after we got cell phones, he would send me sweet messages, like telling me he bought something delicious for me but wouldn’t reveal what it was until I got home.

My colleagues would tease me, saying we were old enough to be grandparents yet still so affectionate. I would come home from a night shift to find he had bought my favorite sweets, watching me eat every bite, not taking any for himself.

“Zeng Wen never smoked or drank, but in the latter half of 20XX, he suddenly complained of bone pain. We went to many doctors, initially thinking it was a joint problem, but it only got worse. Eventually, another hospital suggested a CT scan, and the results showed a large mass on his lung, likely cancer.

My world collapsed. I instructed the doctors not to tell him. When I returned, he looked pale and said the doctors told him it was an old ailment. I lied, saying the same. That night, he cried for the first time, calling me ‘Huahua,’ a name he never used. He said he might not have long to live because he had seen the report.

“Overnight, he became like a child, extremely fearful when I wasn’t around. In the hospital, he would constantly hold my hand. If I left briefly, the nurses would quickly call me back because he was calling for me. When it became clear he wouldn’t recover, the hospital sent him home. On the way, his 180 cm frame leaned weakly on me.

Near our apartment, he insisted on walking by himself, not wanting others to see him so frail. He walked step by step to our 8th-floor apartment.

“Later, he could barely sit up. One day, he quietly said, ‘Dear, I’m sorry. I can’t stay with you for life; I have to go first.’ I cried, saying I couldn’t live without him. He reminded me of our son. He requested not to have any flowers or ceremonies at home, fearing that if people knew he died, they might bully me, a widow. I hugged him, promising to seek treatment abroad if necessary. But he still left.

“The whole afternoon, Wang Sihua remained composed while recounting her story, but now tears streamed down her face. Six months before Zeng Wen’s diagnosis, he excitedly told her about a nearby photo studio offering a ‘Sunset Red’ package, taking wedding photos for the elderly for just 160 yuan. He felt they missed out on a proper wedding due to poverty, so he wanted to make it up with wedding photos.

They went to the studio, which even provided makeup services. He stayed in the dressing room, watching her get made up, never having seen her like that before. After the photo session, he insisted she keep the makeup on, holding her hand as they walked home and even went shopping at the supermarket.

“The winter wind sneaked through the window cracks, gently fluttering the curtains. This winter, I realized that love is not just a legend.”

Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “