Years later, life moved as if sleepwalking.
One weekend, our daughter returned home. Bright and determined, she had gone into geriatric medical research. Alzheimer’s was one of her chosen studies. Her mentor, an expert in the field, had told her new drug trials were beginning.
"Mom, when I get access to the trial, Dad will be one of the first patients," she promised, eyes fierce.
That day, she placed a framed wedding portrait of Shen Weilin and Zhao Yulan in our living room. Their youth was radiant handsome, graceful, perfect together. More striking than any photo he and I had ever taken.
For the first time in decades, strange peace entered me. This, I thought, was the truth all along. This was the fate meant to be.
And yet, even staring at it, Shen Weilin’s eyes held confusion.
"Are there no others? No photos of me and your mother?" he asked our daughter softly.
She shook her head. "When Mom passed away, she took them with her."
"Ah." I jumped in quickly, "There was an album, but it must have been lost when we moved. I’ll have Aling look again another day; perhaps it can be found."
Our daughter frowned at me, knowing I deceived.
But Shen accepted it quietly, brushing fingers over Yulan’s face in the photo. "So, we truly were married."
Our daughter whispered later, her tone sharp with love, "Mom, don’t you see? He loves you. You’ve borne all the hardship, but he still treasures you. Why do you keep feeding him this illusion? Aren’t you afraid he’ll die believing his wife was someone else’s ghost?"
But I could not tell her the truth that would burn us all.
The truth that poisoned me every day, even in joy.
And still, Shen Weilin was good to me.
From the very beginning, after bankruptcy, after his parents died, after his life toppled, he never let me drown. He shifted weight from my shoulders, carved me time to rest, treated every sacrifice as shared. He fought to care for his mother so I could sleep, fought to bring laughter into his children’s childhoods, fought for years to keep my spirit alive.
He was always the good man. Always too good for me.
And I, the weed, the driftwood, could never forgive myself for stealing what should have been radiant love.
Epilogue
Two years swept by.
Our daughter obtained her trial medicine at last. She placed it in my trembling hands.
"Mom, give this to Dad. Don’t dismiss it again. If you won’t do it for him, do it for me."
I swallowed my doubts. But when she was gone, I kept doing as I had always done building him a new memory.
"Do you remember?" I said, voice light as I knitted, weaving stories. "You and Yulan studied together once. A single sweet potato, you split in halves. One bite hers, one bite yours."
I laughed, pretending it amused me as if it were real.
But then, his deep voice broke the air:
"Even a scrawny chick can grow into a swan."
I froze. My hands locked tight.
He was looking at me Shen Weilin fully awake. Fully present.
Softness warmed his lips. With measured gravity, he took the knitting from my hands, lifted my trembling fingers into his own.
For the first time in years, he held me.
"Then later, we had Aling. She was thin and plain as a quail. But I said, just wait one day, she’ll grow into a swan." He smiled. "And then we had our son. Heavy, rambunctious. He hurt you in childbirth. I swore, when he was old enough, I’d spank him for it."
His hands brushed the tears streaming down my cheeks tears that wouldn’t stop.
He pulled me into his arms.
"I woke a month ago," he whispered into my neck. "I only wanted to see what stories you’d invent for me. For years I thought my feelings should have been obvious. Haven’t you realized? How could you believe I ever still loved someone else?"
He kissed the crown of my head, voice thick with quiet laughter. "Our daughter was right. Sometimes you’re meticulous to the core. Other times, Lanying, you’re obtuse enough to make a man tear open your head to see what lies inside."
He tilted my face upward.
"There was never anyone else. No Yulan. No ghost. From beginning to end, I chose you."
He held me tighter, guilt unraveling in one word:
"That night, long ago, I asked Yulan to find Yan Ming. To leave me alone with the one I truly wanted. Everything that happened after was my selfishness, not yours."
I broke down against him, sobbing, clutching him as if I’d lose him all over again.
He buried his head against my shoulder with a sigh. "I thought you still liked Yan Ming. I thought for decades I had stolen you. But it turns out I was the thief. A selfish, lucky thief."
His arms wrapped firm and safe around me.
And at long last, I knew.
I had not stolen the moon.
The moon had always come for me.
END
Chapter 09
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