The train ride home felt like a blur. Chen Xiang stared out the window, watching the scenery rush past without truly seeing it. His father's condition weighed heavily on his mind, a mix of dread and urgency twisting in his chest. He had informed his commanding officer, who reluctantly granted him a brief leave. Now, as the city skyline came into view, the reality of what awaited him began to sink in.
When he arrived at the small apartment he once called home, the door creaked open, and the familiar smell of cooking oil and faint cigarette smoke hit him. His mother, Xin Di, appeared from the kitchen, her face lighting up with relief when she saw him.
"Chen Xiang, you're here," she said, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling him into a tight hug. Her embrace was warm but trembling, a sign of how much she had been holding back.
"How is he?" Chen Xiang asked, his voice low.
Her expression faltered, and she let out a shaky breath. "He's resting. The doctors… they said he doesn't have much time left."
Chen Xiang nodded, his throat tightening as he set his bag down. He could hear the faint sound of the TV from the bedroom, a reminder that his father was still there, still clinging to the routines that had once defined their lives.
"I'll go see him," he said, his steps heavy as he made his way down the narrow hallway.
The sight of his father, Chen He, hit him harder than he expected. The once robust and fiery man now looked frail, his skin sallow and his frame thinner than Chen Xiang remembered. He lay propped up against a few pillows, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows on his face. His eyes fluttered open when Chen Xiang entered the room.
"You're back," Chen He said, his voice raspy but steady. There was no anger, no bitterness, just a quiet acknowledgment.
"I am," Chen Xiang replied, pulling a chair closer to the bedside. He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to start. The words he had rehearsed during the journey suddenly felt inadequate.
"Your mother told you, didn't she?" Chen He said, breaking the silence.
Chen Xiang nodded. "Yeah. She told me."
Chen He let out a dry chuckle, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Funny how life works. You spend so much time chasing things, and when it all comes to an end, none of it really matters."
"You're wrong," Chen Xiang said, his voice firm. "You built a family. You gave us everything, even when it wasn't easy. That matters."
Chen He turned his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I made a lot of mistakes, Chen Xiang. Too many. I failed you, your siblings, your mother. Don't try to make me a hero now."
"You weren't perfect," Chen Xiang admitted, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. "But you were still my father. And I still…" He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. "I still care."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the TV filled the silence, but the unspoken tension between them began to ease. Chen He's expression softened, and he nodded slowly.
"That means more than you know," he said quietly.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze of quiet conversation. They spoke of the past, of small memories that had been buried under years of resentment and misunderstanding. It wasn't a complete reconciliation, but it was a start—a fragile truce built on the shared understanding that time was running out.
When Chen Xiang left the room, the weight on his chest felt lighter, though the ache of impending loss remained. His mother was waiting for him in the kitchen, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what had passed between him and his father.
"He's tired," Chen Xiang said, pouring himself a glass of water. "But we talked. I think… I think it helped."
Xin Di nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm glad. He's been waiting for that."
That night, as Chen Xiang lay on the worn sofa in the living room, his thoughts drifted to the moments he had shared with his father. The words they had exchanged, the silences that had filled the spaces in between. It wasn't perfect, but it was real. And for now, that was enough.