Chapter 1 The "Boring" Family Life
The dining room’s soft light fell on the old wooden table, where three bowls of tomato and egg noodles steamed gently. Thin white smoke curled upward, mixing with the warm, familiar aroma of tomatoes and eggs—this was the same simple dinner Lin Xia had eaten countless times growing up. The room was quiet, with only the fridge’s low buzz and the faint clink of chopsticks against bowls breaking the silence. Lin Xia poked at her noodles slowly, her appetite gone, as her eyes kept drifting back to the crumpled white envelope next to her bowl. It was her birthday gift from her dad, Lin Jianguo, who had handed it to her that morning before hurrying off to his factory shift.
She hadn’t opened it at breakfast, clinging to a glimmer of hope. Her fingers brushed the rough paper now and then, daydreaming about the special colored pencils she’d been wanting. She’d mentioned them to her dad once—24 bright, thick colors that didn’t break easily. Her best friend had a set, and Lin Xia had gushed about how amazing they were, even showing him a picture on her phone while he ate dinner. He’d nodded and mumbled “that’s good,” but she’d doubted he’d really remembered. Lin Xia often felt her dad didn’t care about the little things she loved. He was always quiet and tired, coming home from the factory, eating in silence, watching a bit of TV, then going to bed. He never told funny stories, gave surprise gifts, or posted about her online—nothing like her classmates’ dads, who took their kids to amusement parks, bought trendy gadgets, and filled their phones with photos of their children.
When she could stand the anticipation no longer, Lin Xia slipped a finger into the envelope and peeked inside. But her heart sank immediately. It was just a plain stationery set—several black-and-white notebooks and a handful of basic pens. No colorful pencils, no cool accessories, nothing fun. Disappointment weighed heavy on her chest, like a wet towel dragging her down. She didn’t want boring notebooks; she wanted something special, something that made her feel like her dad had actually thought about what she liked.
“It’s just a stationery set,” she said softly, but loud enough for him to hear. Her voice was sharp with frustration. She set her chopsticks down with a small “bang” and folded her arms tightly. “Everyone in my class got cool birthday gifts. Lina has a backpack with Pikachu—her favorite cartoon—on it. Zhang Hao got wireless earbuds for his games! Why do I only get this?” She nodded angrily at the envelope, her face flushed, tears pricking her eyes.
Lin Jianguo stopped eating, his chopsticks hovering mid-air. His hands were rough and calloused, worn from over 20 years of factory work—fixing machines, tightening bolts, handling heavy tools. Small lines creased his eyes and forehead from squinting at bright machine lights. He stared at his hands for a moment, then spoke in a soft, nervous voice. “The paper’s thick. Markers won’t bleed through. I remembered you like drawing little cats—this paper won’t tear like your old one did.”
“It’s not the same!” Lin Xia snapped, pushing her bowl so hard that noodles spilled onto the blue tablecloth. “Mom baked me a matcha cake even after working late! But you? You give boring gifts. It feels like you didn’t think about me. You’re never fun, never do anything special. You don’t take me anywhere, don’t buy cool things, don’t even say ‘happy birthday’ with a smile.” She glanced at his gray-streaked hair, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. Why couldn’t her dad be like everyone else’s? Those dads posted birthday photos with sweet captions, took kids to karaoke, spoiled them with toys. Her dad was just… there—working, eating, sleeping, like a machine.
Her mom patted her hand gently. Her palm was warm but rough from years of folding clothes, washing dishes, wiping tables. “Xiaxia, don’t talk to him like that. He saved for weeks, walked three stores after a midnight shift. He thinks about you more than you realize.”
“I’m going to my room,” Lin Xia cut her off, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and storming down the hallway. She slammed her bedroom door with a loud “bang,” not seeing her dad’s shoulders slump, or how he stared at her empty seat, eyes sad. She didn’t notice him wiping the spilled noodles with a paper towel, sighing tiredly.
Lin Xia threw her backpack on the bed and flopped down, staring at the ceiling. She thought about Lina’s backpack and Zhang Hao’s earbuds, her anger turning to disappointment. Why was her dad so boring? Why couldn’t he understand she wanted something special? She lay there for hours until the sky turned dark, her stomach growling. Thirsty, she reluctantly got up to get water.
She slipped on her slippers and walked barefoot down the hallway, the cool floor making her toes curl. Passing the living room, she stopped suddenly. Lin Jianguo was sitting on their old gray sofa—the one with the worn armrest he refused to replace, saying “It still works.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring intently at a faded basketball poster above the TV. The poster was old, colors dulled, showing young boys playing basketball. Lin Xia had seen it a hundred times but never paid it much attention—just another boring thing in their boring house.
When he saw her, his eyes lit up—bright and happy, like a kid who’d found a lost toy. The factory tiredness was gone, replaced by a spark she’d never seen. He looked younger, lighter, like adult worries had vanished.
“Xiaxia!” he called, his voice light and excited. He patted the sofa next to him. “The school basketball tryouts are tomorrow! I practiced layups all afternoon—Old Wang yelled about noise, but I didn’t stop. My layup’s really good now—do you think I’ll make the team?”
Lin Xia blinked hard, confused. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she was half-asleep. “Dad, what are you saying? You’re 45, not 17. You don’t go to school anymore. You haven’t played basketball in years—I don’t even think you own one!” She stared at him, trying to tell if he was joking, but his face was serious, full of hope.
Lin Jianguo frowned, genuinely confused. “17? That’s how old I am! Don’t you remember? We walked to school last week—you forgot your math homework, I ran back for it, almost missed class!” He glanced at the poster. “Did you hit your head? Should I wear my lucky red sneakers? I scored three baskets in them against No. 2 Middle School!”
Lin Xia stepped back, her heart racing with worry. His eyes were wide and bright, no trace of workday redness. His hands rested softly on his knees, not clenched with stress. This wasn’t her quiet, tired dad. This was someone else—young, carefree, full of teenage enthusiasm. He talked about school and basketball like he was still a kid, not a man who’d spent two decades in a factory. A cold, uneasy feeling ran down her back. She realized: something was really wrong with her dad.
She stood frozen. For a minute, she forgot the boring stationery and her anger. All she felt was fear—fear for the dad she’d complained about so much. The living room fell quiet again, except for the fridge’s buzz. Lin Xia looked into his bright, confused eyes, and for the first time, she didn’t see a boring man. She saw someone who was lost. And she had no idea how to help him.
Chapter 2 The Strange "Teenage" Dad
The next morning, Lin Xia stumbled into the kitchen at 7 a.m., rubbing her eyes. Usually, the air here was thick with the warm smell of soy milk and fried dough sticks—her dad Lin Jianguo always got up at 5:30 a.m. to make breakfast before heading to his factory shift. But today, the stove was cold, and the table was completely empty.
“Mom, where’s Dad?” she asked, glancing around the quiet kitchen. Her mom stood by the sink, wiping her hands on a floral apron, a look of helplessness on her face.
Her mom sighed and shook her head. “He got up really early today, rummaged through the attic, and found his old basketball. I reminded him he had to go to work at the factory, but he just said he needed to ‘practice hoops’ before ‘school’ and ran out the door. I couldn’t stop him at all.”
Lin Xia frowned. Since yesterday’s birthday argument and his weird talk about basketball tryouts, her dad had been acting stranger and stranger. She couldn’t understand why a responsible man in his forties was suddenly acting like a teenager.
By evening, Lin Jianguo still hadn’t come home. Lin Xia’s mom had spent hours cooking braised pork—Lin Jianguo’s favorite dish—and now it sat on the table, slowly turning cold. She’d called his phone five times, but every call went straight to voicemail. Lin Xia sat at the table, picking at her rice with chopsticks, a mix of anger and worry bubbling in her chest. Where could he be? Didn’t he care about his job or his family anymore?
At 8 p.m., the front door finally creaked open. Lin Jianguo walked in, his gray T-shirt soaked through with sweat, a small scrape on his left cheek, and a big grin on his face. He held the old basketball tightly under his arm. “Sorry, sorry!” he panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Practice ran late. The coach said I’ve got a real shot at being point guard—he even asked me to stay after to practice passes!”
Lin Xia stood up abruptly, her anger flaring. “Practice? You skipped work just to play basketball? Mom spent hours making your favorite dinner, and now it’s all cold!” She pointed at the braised pork on the table. “Do you even care about this family?”
Lin Jianguo’s smile faded, and he looked confused, like he didn’t understand her words at all. “Work? What work? I’m a student, remember? I don’t have a job. Why is everyone saying such weird things to me?” He set the basketball down on the floor and walked toward the fridge. “Is there any soda? I’m so thirsty after practice.”
Lin Xia’s mom stepped forward, her voice soft but tired. “Jianguo, you’re not a student anymore. You have a family to support and a job at the factory. Please snap out of it.” But Lin Jianguo just shrugged, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and wandered back to the living room to dribble his basketball, ignoring her words.
The fight got even worse two days later. Lin Xia was carrying her laptop to the living room to finish her homework when she tripped over a pillow that Lin Jianguo had left on the floor. The laptop slipped from her hands and crashed onto the wooden floor—its screen cracked into a spiderweb of lines.
Tears welled up in Lin Xia’s eyes. That laptop was important for her schoolwork, and fixing it would cost a lot of money. But then she remembered her dad—he’d always fixed her broken gadgets. He’d even taught himself to repair phones in his free time so the family wouldn’t have to pay for expensive repair shops. He’d never said no when she needed help.
She picked up the broken laptop, her hands shaking, and ran to find Lin Jianguo. He was sitting on the living room floor, dribbling the basketball back and forth, completely focused on the ball. “Dad, can you fix this? Please?” she said, her voice trembling. “I need it for my homework.”
Lin Jianguo looked up at the laptop like he’d never seen one before. He reached out and touched the cracked screen gently, then quickly pulled his hand back. “I don’t know how to fix that,” he said, turning his attention back to the basketball. He bounced it once, twice. “Ask the tech guy at school—he fixes all the computers there, right?”
Lin Xia felt hot tears sting her eyes. This wasn’t her dad. Her real dad would have taken the laptop, examined it carefully, and stayed up all night if necessary, trying every trick he knew to fix it. This stranger only cared about basketball—he didn’t care about her or her homework.
She ran to her room, slamming the door so hard that the walls shook. She threw herself onto her bed and cried into her pillow. Why had her dad changed so much? When would the real Lin Jianguo come back? She missed the quiet, responsible dad who made her breakfast every morning, who fixed her broken things, and who, even if he wasn’t romantic, always showed he cared in his own way. Now, all she had was a teenage version of him who ignored his family and only thought about basketball, and it made her heart ache more than she could say.
Chapter 3 The Old Diary
On Saturday morning, Lin Xia’s mom knocked gently on her bedroom door. “Xiaxia, can you help me clean your dad’s study?” her mom asked, her voice sounding tired and worn out. “He’s been so messy lately—papers are scattered everywhere, and I don’t have time to tidy it up today. Could you just straighten his desk a bit for me? That would be a big help.”
Lin Xia sighed and dragged her feet to the study. She wasn’t in the mood for cleaning, especially not after dealing with her dad’s strange “teenage” behavior for the past few days. The study was a small, cozy room with bookshelves lining the walls, filled with stacks of old factory manuals, tattered newspapers, and a few dusty photo albums. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the dust particles floating in the air.
She walked over to the wooden desk, which was covered in crumpled papers, a half-empty cup of cold tea, and a few loose pens. “Ugh, ‘teenage’ Dad can’t even clean up after himself,” she muttered to herself, picking up the empty cup. “Why do I have to do all the work around here?” She set the cup aside and started sorting through the papers, stacking them neatly into piles. Most of them were old work reports from the factory and handwritten notes that looked like grocery lists.
As she was putting away a pen, she pulled open the bottom desk drawer. Something hard hit her hand, making her jump. She looked down and saw a brown leather notebook tucked away in the corner. Its cover was worn smooth from years of being touched, the edges a little frayed, and there was a small scratch on the front. Lin Xia had never seen her dad write in a diary before—he was always the quiet type, keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. He never talked about his past or his dreams, which was one of the reasons she’d always thought he was boring.
Curiosity got the better of her. She closed the drawer softly, sat down on the wooden chair in front of the desk, and opened the notebook carefully. The pages were yellowed with age, and the paper felt thin and fragile under her fingers.
The first page had a date written in blue ink: June 15, 1998. It was her dad’s handwriting, but it was younger and neater than the shaky, tired handwriting she was used to—no doubt from the long days of hard work at the factory. She read the words out loud in a soft voice:
“Coach said I’m the best point guard he’s ever seen. He pulled me aside after practice today and said I should apply for the sports scholarship at Beijing University. Can you believe it? Beijing University! Mom would be so proud of me—she’s always said I could do something big with basketball. I can almost see the campus already—big green lawns, tall buildings, and the basketball court with new nets. I’m going to work harder than ever. This is my chance to make something of myself.”
Lin Xia’s eyes widened. She’d never imagined her dad had once dreamed of going to such a famous university, let alone being a talented basketball player. All she’d ever known was the quiet factory worker who came home tired every night, never talked about sports, and gave her simple birthday gifts.
She turned the pages slowly, her breath catching in her throat with each entry. There were stories about basketball games—how he’d scored the winning shot in a crucial tournament, how his best friend Xiao Ming had lifted him up in celebration, and how the whole team had gone out for noodles afterward. There were entries about late-night practice sessions, sore muscles, and the thrill of running on the court.
Then there were entries about a girl named Li Mei. “Li Mei smiled at me today when I passed her in the hallway,” one entry read. “Her smile is like the sun—bright and warm, and it makes my heart beat fast. I want to ask her to watch my game this weekend, but I’m too nervous.” Lin Xia smiled through her surprise—she knew that Li Mei was her mom. She’d never heard her parents talk about their teenage romance, and it was sweet to picture her dad as a shy, nervous boy with a crush.
But halfway through the notebook, the entries changed. The handwriting became shakier, and the words were sadder, heavier. The dates jumped to September 2001—around the time Lin Xia was born.
September 3, 2001: “The doctor called today. He said Xiaxia has a small hole in her heart. She needs surgery right away, or it could get worse as she grows. The hospital bill is more than all the money we’ve saved. Mom is sitting on the couch, crying, and I don’t know how to comfort her. I held Xiaxia this morning—she’s so small, so fragile, with tiny hands and feet. I promised her I’d keep her safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her better. Even if it means giving up everything.”
Lin Xia’s heart tightened. She remembered her mom mentioning once that she’d had surgery as a baby, but she’d never known the details—never realized how serious it had been. She kept reading, her eyes starting to water.
September 5, 2001: “I called Coach today. I told him I can’t take the scholarship to Beijing University. He yelled at me—said I was crazy, that I was throwing away my future for a ‘stupid choice.’ But it’s not stupid. Xiaxia is my daughter. I have to work to pay for her surgery. The factory down the street is hiring—they pay 800 yuan a month, which is enough if I work extra shifts. Coach said I’ll regret this for the rest of my life. Maybe I will. But I’ll never regret saving my little girl. She’s more important than any scholarship, any dream, any future I could have had.”
September 7, 2001: “I burned my basketball shoes today. I took them to the backyard, lit a match, and watched them turn to ash. I don’t want to look at them and remember what I gave up. It hurts too much. But Xiaxia is worth it. Always. From now on, my only dream is to work hard, save money, and make sure she grows up healthy and happy. I’ll be the best dad I can be—even if it means working long hours at the factory, even if I never get to step on a basketball court again. My baby girl needs me, and that’s all that matters.”
Lin Xia’s hands shook so hard that the notebook almost fell out of her lap. Tears streamed down her face, dropping onto the yellowed pages and smudging the ink a little. She’d spent years complaining about her dad—complaining that he was boring, that he never did anything romantic, that he didn’t understand her. But all along, he’d given up his biggest dream, his chance at college, his love for basketball—all to save her life.
She thought about the simple birthday gifts he’d given her over the years—handmade cards, her favorite snacks, a warm sweater he’d picked out himself. She thought about how he’d wake up at 5:30 every morning to make her breakfast before going to work. She thought about how he’d taught himself to fix phones and laptops so the family wouldn’t have to spend money on repairs. She thought about how he never complained, never talked about his own sadness or regrets—he just worked hard and loved her quietly.
And then she thought about the past few days—about her “teenage” dad, who only cared about basketball, who missed dinner to practice, who couldn’t fix her laptop. She’d been so angry, so frustrated. But now she understood. That 17-year-old version of her dad was living the life he’d never gotten to have—the life he’d given up for her. He wasn’t being selfish; he was just finally getting to chase the dream he’d had to abandon.
Lin Xia closed the notebook gently, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her heart felt heavy with guilt and sadness, but also warm with love and gratitude. She’d never really known her dad—not until now. All his quietness, his lack of romance, his focus on work—they were all because of her. He’d built his life around being the dad she needed, even if it meant losing the person he’d wanted to be.
She stood up, holding the notebook close to her chest. She wanted to hug her dad, to tell him she was sorry for all the complaints, all the arguments, all the times she’d pushed him away. She wanted to thank him for saving her life, for giving up his dreams, for loving her so deeply.
As she walked out of the study, she saw her dad sitting on the living room floor, dribbling his old basketball. He looked up at her, grinning like a kid. “Xiaxia! Wanna play? I’ve been practicing my passes—Coach says I’m getting better!”
Lin Xia smiled through her tears, walking over to him. For the first time in years, she didn’t see a boring, unromantic dad. She saw a man who’d sacrificed everything for her. A man who deserved to be seen, to be understood, to be loved for who he was—not just the dad who fixed things and made breakfast, but the boy who’d loved basketball, the young man who’d dreamed of college, the father who’d chosen his daughter over everything else.
She sat down next to him, placing the notebook gently on the floor. “Dad,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “can we talk?” She wanted to hear more—to ask him about his teenage years, about his dreams, about the day he’d made the hardest choice of his life. But most of all, she wanted him to know that she finally understood. That she loved him—not in spite of his “boring” life, but because of everything he’d given up to give her a good one.
Chapter 4 The Sacrifice Behind
Lin Xia kept reading the diary, her eyes blurred with nonstop tears. The next entries told of her dad’s life after giving up his dream—endless days and nights of double shifts at the factory. He wrote about his hands aching so badly at night that he couldn’t hold a spoon to eat. There was an entry about falling asleep standing up on the bus home after a 14-hour shift, too tired to keep his eyes open. Another entry described skipping lunch for a week to save money for her baby formula. And there was a page where he talked about staying up late watching repair videos online, teaching himself to fix her broken toys instead of buying new ones. Every word was a painful reminder of how much he’d given up—burying his college and basketball dreams so she could grow up healthy and happy.
She flipped through the remaining pages, her hands still shaking. There were short, sweet entries about her childhood: “Xiaxia took her first steps today—she walked straight to me, laughing. Best day of my life.” “She drew me a sun today. I’m keeping it in my wallet forever.” “Xiaxia got an A in math. I’m so proud, even if I didn’t say it.” He never wrote about his own sadness or regrets, only her joys. It was like his whole life revolved around her, and he didn’t mind at all.
Lin Xia’s chest felt tight, as if someone was squeezing her heart. For years, she’d complained about her dad being “boring”—his simple birthday gifts, quiet nature, and lack of grand gestures. She’d argued with him for not taking the family on fancy trips or saying “I love you” dramatically. But now she saw the truth: his love wasn’t in big moments. It was in the long factory hours, skipped meals, late nights fixing toys, and the dreams he’d sacrificed. He’d loved her silently, steadily, and fiercely—enough to give up everything he’d ever wanted.
Soft footsteps behind her made her wipe her eyes quickly, but it was too late. Her mom stood in the study doorway, holding a pile of clean laundry. “You found his diary,” she said gently, walking over to sit beside Lin Xia and placing the laundry on the floor. She put a warm hand on Lin Xia’s shoulder, squeezing softly.
Lin Xia nodded, her voice breaking. “He… he gave up basketball and college… just for me?” She held up the diary, pages fluttering. “All this time, I thought he was a boring dad who didn’t care. But he gave up everything. How could I be so stupid?” Tears streamed down her face faster.
Her mom sighed, brushing hair from Lin Xia’s face. “He never wanted you to know, honey. He didn’t want you to feel guilty—he wanted you to grow up thinking you could have anything, without worrying about what he lost. When you were little, you asked why he didn’t go to college, and he’d laugh and say he ‘didn’t like school.’ But that Beijing University sports scholarship? It was his whole world. He talked about it every day before you were born, drawing pictures of the basketball court and imagining playing in front of crowds.”
Lin Xia blinked through tears. “Why didn’t he tell me? I would have understood. I would have said it was okay to chase his dream.”
“Because he’s your dad,” her mom said, smiling sadly. She wiped Lin Xia’s tears. “Dads don’t always say ‘I love you’ with words. Some show it through working hard, fixing things, and saving for the little things that make their kids happy. Your dad would rather you thought he was ‘boring’ than make you feel you owed him anything. He wanted you to live freely, without his sacrifices weighing on you.”
Lin Xia closed the diary and hugged it tightly, like a precious treasure. She thought about all the times she’d rolled her eyes at his simple gifts—handmade cards, her favorite fruit, a warm sweater he’d picked because she got cold easily. She remembered him waking at 5:30 a.m. to make breakfast before work, even on weekends. She thought about him sitting with her for hours when she was sick, holding her hand and making soup, even when he was exhausted. He’d never complained or asked for anything in return—he just loved her quietly, in his own way.
“I was so mean to him,” Lin Xia whispered, filled with guilt. “I argued with him about his birthday gift last week. I yelled when he missed dinner to practice basketball. I got angry when he couldn’t fix my laptop. I had no idea what he’d done for me.”
Her mom pulled her into a hug, patting her back. “He never blamed you, Xiaxia. He knew you were a kid who didn’t understand. He always said you’d grow up and realize how much he loved you. And now you have.”
Lin Xia nodded, pulling away. She wiped her eyes, determined to make things right. “I need to find him. I need to say sorry and tell him I love him—how grateful I am for everything.”
Her mom smiled, eyes teary. “He’s at the park practicing basketball. He goes there every afternoon since finding his old ball. Go—he’ll be happy to see you.”
Lin Xia stood up, clutching the diary. She walked to the front door, steps light but heart heavy. On the way to the park, she thought about what to say—apologies for years of complaining, thanks for saving her life and giving up his dreams, and how proud she was to be his daughter.
At the park, she spotted him immediately on the basketball court, dribbling back and forth, gray T-shirt soaked in sweat. He looked alive and happy, like he was finally being the person he’d wanted to be. Lin Xia watched him—his smile when he made a shot, his laugh when he missed. She saw the teenage boy he’d never gotten to be, the one who loved basketball more than anything.
But she also saw the man he’d become—the one who’d given up everything for his daughter, worked hard for his family, and loved her more than his own dreams.
Lin Xia took a deep breath and walked toward the court. When Lin Jianguo saw her, he stopped dribbling and grinned. “Xiaxia! You came to watch! I’ve been practicing three-pointers—want to see?”
Lin Xia walked up, eyes filling with tears of love and gratitude. She held out the diary. “Dad, I read your diary. I know everything—the scholarship, basketball, my surgery. I know what you sacrificed for me.”
Lin Jianguo’s smile faded. He looked at the diary, then at her, confused. “You… read my diary?”
Lin Xia nodded, voice trembling but steady. “I’m so sorry, Dad. For complaining you were boring, for yelling at you, for being angry. I didn’t know how much you loved me, how much you gave up.”
She stepped closer, taking his hand. “Thank you for giving up your dreams to save my life. Thank you for working so hard for our family. Thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t deserve it.
You’re not boring—you’re the bravest, most loving person I know. I’m so proud to be your daughter.”
Lin Jianguo stared at her, eyes filling with tears. He dropped the basketball and pulled her into a tight hug, like he was afraid she’d disappear. “I love you, Xiaxia,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “More than anything. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”
Lin Xia hugged him back, pressing her face to his chest. “I love you too, Dad. So much.”
They stood hugging on the court as the sun set. For the first time in years, there was no distance—no misunderstandings, anger, or hurt. Only love, gratitude, and the quiet understanding that family mattered more than any dream, scholarship, or basketball game.
When they pulled apart, Lin Jianguo wiped his tears and smiled. “Want to play? I’ll teach you to shoot a three-pointer.”
Lin Xia smiled and nodded. “I’d like that, Dad.”
As they played, Lin Xia knew things would never be the same. She’d finally understood her dad’s love, and he’d heard her say how much she cared. The diary had opened her eyes to his sacrifices, and now she was determined to cherish every moment with him, showing him how much he meant to her every single day.
Chapter 5 Small Acts of Care
After reading the diary, Lin Xia started noticing little things about “teenage” Lin Jianguo that she’d missed before. The weight of his sacrifices lingered in her heart, softening the anger she’d felt about his regression. That evening, she walked home from school with a lighter step, and as she approached the front door, a faint smell of cooking drifted through the air—burnt, but warm and inviting.
She pushed open the door and headed to the kitchen, where she found Lin Jianguo standing by the stove. He was wearing her mom’s small floral apron, which strained around his shoulders, and he stirred a pan of scrambled eggs with a focused look. The eggs were a little burnt around the edges, and there was a smudge of oil on his cheek, but he was grinning like he’d accomplished something big.
“I saw Mom was tired when she got home from work,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked a little nervous, like he was waiting for her to laugh or complain. “She always cooks for us, so I thought I’d help. You like eggs, right? I added a little salt—though I might have put too much. And I burned the edges a bit… sorry.”
Lin Xia stared at him for a second, her chest feeling warm. This was the first time he’d cooked since he’d “regressed” to 17. Before, he’d only cared about basketball practice, leaving dishes unwashed and meals skipped. But now, here he was, trying to help Mom even if he wasn’t very good at it. The eggs were overcooked, and she could see a few blackened bits at the bottom of the pan, but it didn’t matter. “They look great,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. “Can I try one now?”
His face lit up, and he quickly spooned a pile of eggs onto a small plate, handing it to her eagerly. “Hurry, before they get cold!” Lin Xia took a bite—they were definitely too salty, and the burnt parts crunched a little—but she smiled anyway. It tasted like effort, like care, like the love her real dad always showed in small ways. “They’re good,” she said sincerely. “Really good. Way better than I could do.” He sat down next to her, and they ate the eggs together, chatting about trivial things—her school day, his basketball practice, how Old Wang from next door had yelled at him for dribbling too loud. For a minute, it felt like old times, like the distance between them had melted away.
The next day, Lin Xia came home from school to the sound of clinking metal and soft muttering. She followed the noise to the living room and stopped in the doorway, smiling. Lin Jianguo was standing on a wobbly wooden chair, squinting at the broken living room lamp. The lamp had stopped working a week ago, and her real dad had been meaning to fix it before he regressed. Now, “teenage” Dad had taken it on—he held a screwdriver in one hand and a tangled pile of wires in the other, his tongue sticking out in concentration, just like her real dad used to do when he was fixing things around the house.
“Saw Mom tripping over the flashlight last night,” he said, not looking down from the lamp. “She was trying to get a book from the top shelf, and she almost fell. Figured I should fix this lamp so she doesn’t get hurt. It’s harder than it looks, though—these wires are confusing.” He paused, then held out his hand. “Can you pass me that small screwdriver? It’s on the coffee table. And maybe hold the chair steady? It’s wobbling a lot.”
Lin Xia walked over, picked up the screwdriver, and handed it to him. She pulled up a stool next to the chair and put a hand on its seat to steady it. “Let me help,” she said. “I can hold the lamp while you tighten the wires.” He nodded gratefully, and she carefully held the lamp base still as he twisted the screwdriver. His fingers were rough—still the hands of a man who’d worked in a factory for years—and he fumbled a little with the tiny screws, but he didn’t give up. When he finally secured a wire in place, he looked at her and smiled, and for a second, his eyes had the same warm, tired glow as her real dad—the one who’d taught her to ride a bike when she was 6, the one who’d stayed up with her all night when she had the flu, the one who’d sacrificed everything for her.
“Thanks, Xiaxia,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “This is way easier with two people. I would’ve fallen off the chair by now without you.”
That evening, Mom came home from work and gasped when she saw the lit lamp in the living room. “You fixed it?” she asked, looking at Lin Jianguo in surprise. He scratched his head and grinned. “Yeah, with Xiaxia’s help. Didn’t want you tripping again.” Mom smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at him, then at Lin Xia. “You two make a good team,” she said, going to the kitchen to start dinner.
That night, Lin Xia lay in bed, thinking about the diary and the past two days. This 17-year-old version of her dad was getting a second chance at the basketball dream he’d lost decades ago—a dream he’d given up to save her life. But even now, when he could be out practicing hoops all day, when he could be selfish and chase his own happiness, he was still choosing to take care of their family. He was still cooking for them, fixing things, looking out for Mom.
She thought about how her real dad had done the same for years—waking up early to make breakfast, working double shifts to pay the bills, fixing her broken toys and laptops without complaint. She realized that some things never change, no matter how old he is or how he acts. A dad’s love isn’t about grand gestures or perfect moments. It’s about showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s about cooking burnt eggs because he wants to help, fixing a wobbly lamp because he doesn’t want Mom to get hurt, choosing his family over his own dreams—again and again.
Lin Xia rolled over and looked at the picture on her nightstand: a photo of her and Dad at the park when she was little, him lifting her up to reach a basketball hoop. She smiled, feeling tears prick at her eyes—not sad tears, but happy ones. She’d been so busy complaining about him being “boring” that she’d missed all the small, loving things he did every day. Now, thanks to the diary and this strange, teenage version of him, she finally saw the truth.
As she drifted off to sleep, she heard a soft knock on her door. It was Lin Jianguo, holding a glass of warm milk. “Mom said you should drink this before bed,” he said, handing it to her. “Helps you sleep. I didn’t burn it, I promise.” She took the glass, smiling. “Thanks, Dad.” He nodded, lingering in the doorway for a second before leaving.
Lin Xia took a sip of the milk, warm and sweet. In that moment, it didn’t matter if he was 17 or 45. He was still her dad, and he loved her more than anything. And now, she loved him back—for all the burnt eggs, all the fixed lamps, all the sacrifices, and all the quiet, beautiful moments she’d almost missed.
Chapter 6 Basketball and Family
The day of the basketball tryouts finally arrived, and Lin Xia woke up to the sound of her dad singing loudly in the bathroom. It was a cheerful, off-key tune that made her smile, even as mixed feelings swirled in her chest. She dragged herself out of bed and walked into the living room, where Lin Jianguo was buzzing with excitement.
He was wearing an old red jersey with the number 7 on the front—dug out from the attic the night before, dusted off like a prized possession. He bounced his basketball on the floor, the thumping echoing through the house. “Wish me luck, Xiaxia!” he grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “I’m gonna show that coach what I’ve got. Maybe I’ll even be captain someday!”
Lin Xia nodded, forcing a bright smile. She truly wanted him to be happy—after reading his diary, she knew how much this dream meant. But a quiet fear lingered. What if he made the team? What if basketball made him forget about her and Mom? What if this 17-year-old version never went back to her real dad? She watched him grab his ball and dash out the door, yelling a quick goodbye, and her heart felt heavy.
She spent the morning restless, unable to focus on homework. Her mind kept drifting to the tryouts—was he playing well? Would he choose basketball over family? By noon, a throbbing headache hit, and her body felt scorching hot. She stumbled into the kitchen, where her mom was washing dishes.
“Mom, I don’t feel good,” she mumbled, her voice weak. Her mom rushed over, touching her forehead and frowning deeply. “Oh no, you’re burning up!” She grabbed a thermometer, and it beeped—39 degrees. “High fever! Sit on the couch, I’ll call the doctor right away.”
Lin Xia curled up under a blanket, shivering despite her fever. Just as her mom picked up the phone, it rang. Her mom’s face shifted as she listened: “Hello? Yes, this is Lin Jianguo’s family… He ran off? But he was doing so well…” She looked at Lin Xia. “It’s the coach. Your dad left mid-tryout—said his daughter was sick.”
Lin Xia’s heart skipped. She couldn’t believe it—this was his big chance. Before her mom could say more, the front door slammed open. Lin Jianguo stood there, jersey askew, hair matted with sweat, breathing hard like he’d run nonstop. “Xiaxia!” he called, rushing over. He knelt down, touching her forehead with a worried face. “Are you okay? The coach said you had a fever—I didn’t finish the tryouts, just ran here.”
“You left?” Lin Xia gasped, tears pricking her eyes. “The coach said you were great—you could’ve made the team. This was your dream!”
He nodded, sitting beside her and pulling her into a hug. His jersey was sweaty, but she didn’t mind. “The coach said I was the best there—offered me a spot right away. But when he handed me the phone and I heard Mom say you were sick… basketball didn’t matter anymore. I had to come home.”
“Why?” Lin Xia whispered, tears sliding down. “You waited so long for this. Basketball was your dream.”
He pulled back, looking at her like it was obvious. “Because you’re my kid. Basketball can wait—there’ll be other tryouts, other chances. But you? I can’t wait to take care of you. You’re more important than any dream, team, or scholarship. Always.”
Lin Xia closed her eyes, tears flowing. Even as a 17-year-old, even with his dream in reach, he was still her dad—he chose her. All her fears melted away.
Her mom brought warm porridge and a towel. Lin Jianguo wiped his sweat, then gently fed Lin Xia, blowing on each spoonful to cool it. “Eat a little—you need strength,” he said softly.
Looking at his messy hair and concerned eyes, Lin Xia felt a surge of love. “Dad, thank you,” she said quietly. “For choosing me.”
He smiled, brushing her hair back. “I’ll never not choose you, Xiaxia. Family matters most.”
That evening, when her fever broke, Lin Jianguo sat by her bed, telling stories of the tryouts—the shots he made, the coach’s praise. He spoke with excitement, no regret in his voice. “Maybe next time,” he grinned, “but today? I’m glad I came home.”
Lin Xia squeezed his hand. “Me too, Dad.”
In that moment, she knew their emotional gap was closing. She’d once thought him boring, but now she saw the truth—no matter if he was 17 or 40, his love for his family never wavered. Basketball might have been his teenage dream, but she was his forever priority.
Chapter 7 Waking Up
Lin Xia slept for most of the next day, her body still recovering from the high fever. By afternoon, her temperature had finally gone down, but a heavy tiredness lingered, keeping her eyes closed. When she finally blinked awake, the room was dim—her mom had pulled the curtains shut to help her rest. The first thing she saw was Lin Jianguo sitting beside her bed, watching her quietly. He was wearing his usual gray T-shirt and work pants, his hair messy in the way it always was after long days at the factory, no trace of the red basketball jersey.
“Hey,” he said, his voice back to its usual deep, calm tone—no more teenage excitement, just the quiet warmth she’d known her whole life. He reached out gently and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch soft. “How are you feeling? Your mom said your fever broke a few hours ago.”
Lin Xia blinked hard, wondering if she was still dreaming. His eyes didn’t have that bright, restless spark of the 17-year-old version—they were warm, tired, and full of the familiar concern she’d grown up with. “Dad?” she whispered, her voice weak with exhaustion and surprise. “You’re back? You’re not… 17 anymore?”
Lin Jianguo frowned, looking confused. “Back? Where did I go?” He glanced around the room like he didn’t quite recognize his surroundings, then turned to her mom, who was standing in the doorway. “Did I do something weird? I feel like I slept for a whole week. The last thing I remember is leaving for work at the factory—then I woke up here, and you were sick.”
Her mom laughed softly, wiping away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “You just had a little… rest. You’ve been working so many extra shifts lately, you were really worn out.” She walked over and patted his shoulder gently. “Xixia had a fever yesterday, remember? You stayed home to take care of her. It’s good to have you back.”
Lin Jianguo’s eyes widened with worry when he heard she’d been sick. “You were sick? Why didn’t anyone wake me? I would have stayed home with you right away.” He leaned forward, his voice softening even more. “Are you better now? Do you need anything—water? Soup? I can go make you some chicken soup right away if you want. It’ll help you feel stronger.”
Lin Xia nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. He didn’t remember a thing—the regression, the basketball tryouts, the burnt eggs he’d cooked, the broken lamp he’d fixed, or the diary she’d found. He didn’t recall leaving the tryouts to rush home and take care of her, or the words he’d said about choosing her over his dream. But none of that mattered in that moment.
When he looked at her, she felt the same deep warmth she’d always felt—the quiet, steady love that had made him give up his college scholarship and basketball dreams to pay for her surgery when she was a baby. The love that had him waking up at 5:30 every morning to make her breakfast, that had him teaching himself to fix phones and toys to save money for the family, that had him working endless shifts at the factory without a single complaint.
She reached out and took his hand, his palm rough from years of hard work but warm and reassuring. “I’m better now,” she said, her voice steady. “Thanks for staying with me.”
Lin Jianguo squeezed her hand gently, a soft smile on his face. “Of course, kiddo. That’s what dads do.” He glanced at her mom, who was smiling at them from the doorway, then back at Lin Xia. “I feel a little fuzzy, like I missed something, but… being here with you feels right. Like I was supposed to be here.”
Her mom walked over and set a glass of warm water on the nightstand. “Why don’t you two rest for a bit? I’ll go make that chicken soup. Xiaxia, you need to eat something light, and Jianguo, you should probably lie down too—you look exhausted.”
Lin Jianguo shook his head, his eyes never leaving Lin Xia. “I’ll stay here until she falls asleep again. Just in case she needs something.”
Lin Xia leaned back against the pillow, feeling safe and warm with her dad beside her. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened—the arguments, the diary, the basketball tryouts, the moment he’d chosen her over his dream. Even though he didn’t remember any of it, their bond felt stronger than ever.
When she opened her eyes again, Lin Jianguo was still sitting there, watching her with that familiar, loving gaze. “Dad,” she said softly.
“Hm?” he replied, tilting his head.
“I love you,” she said, the words feeling natural and warm on her tongue—words she hadn’t said enough over the years.
Lin Jianguo’s smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I love you too, Xiaxia. More than you’ll ever know.” He brushed his thumb gently over her knuckles. “Now get some more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Lin Xia nodded, closing her eyes again. This time, she slept peacefully, knowing her dad was back—her real dad, the quiet, responsible, loving man who’d given up everything for her. He might not remember the teenage version of himself, but Lin Xia would never forget. That strange, basketball-crazy 17-year-old had helped her see the truth about her dad’s love—the love that was never in big gestures or fancy words, but in the small, steady choices he’d made every day to put his family first.
As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a deep sense of gratitude. The emotional gap that had stood between them for so long was slowly closing, one quiet moment at a time. And even though her dad didn’t remember the weeks he’d spent as a teenager, Lin Xia knew that something had changed forever—she finally understood just how much he loved her, and she was ready to show him just how much she loved him back.
Chapter 8 No Regrets
That evening, after dinner, Lin Xia lingered in the living room instead of retreating to her bedroom like she usually did. She sat down next to Lin Jianguo on the old gray sofa, the cushions sinking slightly under their weight. The TV hummed softly in the background—an old war movie her dad loved, one he’d watched a dozen times—but neither of them paid much attention to the screen.
On the wall above the TV, the faded basketball poster still hung, its colors dulled by time but still holding a quiet significance. Leaning against the coffee table was his old basketball, scuffed and worn, the leather soft from years of use. He’d left it there during his “teenage” days, and her mom hadn’t moved it—like a silent reminder of the strange, tender weeks they’d been through. Lin Xia’s fingers brushed the edge of the coffee table, her heart fluttering with nervousness. She’d been wanting to talk to him about what had happened, but she didn’t want to confuse him or make him worry. He looked so tired lately, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual from long shifts at the factory.
“You know,” Lin Xia said, picking at the skin around her nails—a nervous habit she’d had since she was little. “A few days ago, you were totally obsessed with basketball. You talked about it nonstop, practiced every afternoon, and even went to tryouts for the school team. You were so excited—like it was the most important thing in the world.”
Lin Jianguo raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise crossing his face. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Tryouts? Xiaxia, I haven’t played basketball seriously since I was 17. My knees are too creaky now—they ache just walking up the stairs, let alone running around a court for hours. And school team tryouts? That sounds like a weird dream you had.” He glanced at the basketball poster, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I used to love the game, though. More than anything.”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Lin Xia said, smiling gently. She didn’t want to push him to remember—some things were better left unsaid. “But… even though you were so focused on the tryouts, you left early. Because I was sick. You got a call about my fever, and you just dropped everything to come home. You said… you said family was more important than any chance.”
Lin Jianguo fell quiet, looking at her for a long moment. His eyes were warm, the same soft brown eyes that had watched over her since she was a baby. Then he smiled—a slow, gentle smile, the kind he gave when he was proud of her or wanted to comfort her. “Well, that makes perfect sense. Family is more important than any chance—always has been, always will be. What’s the point of chasing dreams if you don’t have people to share the happiness with? Dreams fade, but family stays.” He leaned back against the sofa, his gaze drifting to the basketball poster again, as if he was seeing something far beyond the worn paper. “I used to dream about basketball, you know. Big dreams. I was good—really good. The coach said I had a gift. I got a sports scholarship to Beijing University, the one I’d always wanted. I even had my bags half-packed, ready to leave for college.”
Lin Xia’s breath caught in her throat. He was telling her about the diary—about the sacrifice he’d made—without even realizing it. She listened quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, not wanting to interrupt.
“But then you were born,” he said, his voice softening. “You were so small, so fragile. The doctors said you had a hole in your heart, and you needed surgery right away. The medical bills were more than we could ever save. Your mom and I sat up all night, worrying, trying to figure out how to pay for it. That’s when I called the coach and told him I couldn’t take the scholarship. I got a job at the factory down the street—double shifts, overtime whenever they’d let me. It was hard work, but it paid the bills for your surgery.” He looked at her, his eyes shining with a mix of sadness and love. “I never told you about any of this because I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I didn’t want you to grow up thinking you owed me something, or that you’d ruined my life. You didn’t—far from it.”
Lin Xia’s throat tightened, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She’d read about it in his diary, but hearing him say it out loud—calm, matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world—hit her harder than she expected. All those years of complaining about him being “boring,” about his simple gifts and quiet ways, and he’d given up his biggest dream just to save her life.
“What about your dream?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you ever regret giving it up? Do you ever sit here, looking at that poster, and wish you’d gone to college? Wish you’d played basketball professionally? Wish things had been different?”
Lin Jianguo shook his head firmly, reaching out and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close, the way he used to do when she was little and scared of thunderstorms or bad dreams. His arm was warm and strong, a familiar comfort she’d taken for granted for so long. “Regret? Never, Xiaxia. Not even for a second. That dream was important to me once, and it taught me to work hard and never give up. But it was just a dream. You—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re my pride, my joy, my whole world.” He squeezed her gently, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d give up a hundred scholarships, a hundred basketball teams, a hundred different lives—if it meant having you in mine. You’re my real dream. Always have been, always will be.”
Lin Xia leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the tears fall. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t need to. Words felt inadequate in that moment. She knew now that her dad’s love wasn’t in fancy birthday gifts or grand gestures. It was in the things he didn’t say, the sacrifices he made silently, the way he always chose her, even when it cost him everything. It was in the early mornings making breakfast before work, the late nights fixing her broken toys, the years of hard work at a factory he didn’t love, all so she could have a better life.
“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his arm around her, the familiar smell of his laundry detergent mixed with the faint scent of machine oil from the factory. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly close to him—no misunderstandings, no anger, no distance. Just the quiet, steady love of a father who’d given up everything for his daughter.
Lin Jianguo pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, like he used to do when she was little. “I love you, kiddo. More than words can say.”
“I love you too, Dad,” she replied, squeezing his hand tightly.
They sat there for a long time, watching the movie but not seeing it, just enjoying each other’s company. The basketball poster on the wall seemed less like a reminder of a lost dream and more like a symbol of all he’d done for her. The old basketball by the coffee table was no longer a sign of his strange regression, but a token of the love that had always been there, even when she couldn’t see it.
Lin Xia knew that some things would never change—her dad would still be quiet, he’d still give simple gifts, he’d still work hard to provide for their family. But now, she saw those things for what they really were: expressions of a love so deep, so selfless, that it didn’t need to be spoken. And she vowed to never take it for granted again.
Chapter 9 The Hug
The next morning, Lin Xia woke up with the first ray of sunlight filtering through her bedroom curtains. She’d stayed up late the night before, hunched over her desk with the lamp on, working on something special. It wasn’t an expensive gift or a fancy gadget—just something she’d made with her own hands, something to show her dad how much she loved him, how grateful she was for everything he’d sacrificed. She’d wrapped it carefully in colorful drawing paper—the same thick, quality paper from the stationery set he’d given her for her birthday—and tied it with a bright red ribbon she’d found in her craft box.
Downstairs, the smell of soy milk and steamed buns wafted up from the kitchen—her dad’s usual morning routine, waking up early to make breakfast before heading to the factory. Lin Xia took a deep breath, clutching the wrapped present to her chest, and walked down the stairs. Her mom was setting bowls on the table, and Lin Jianguo was sitting on the stool by the door, putting on his work shoes—scuffed black sneakers, worn but well-kept, the same pair he’d had for years.
After breakfast, as her dad was finishing tying his shoelaces, Lin Xia stepped forward. “Dad, wait,” she said, her voice a little shaky with nervousness. She held out the wrapped present, her hands trembling slightly. “I made you something. It’s not much, just… I wanted to say thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”
Lin Jianguo paused, surprise crossing his face. He set down his other shoe and took the present gently, like it was something fragile and precious. A soft smile spread across his face—warm, genuine, the kind of smile he didn’t show often but that always made Lin Xia’s heart feel full. “You made me something? Let me open it carefully, so I don’t tear the paper.” He sat down on the stool, his calloused fingers brushing the red ribbon gently. He pulled it off slowly, then unfolded the colorful paper one layer at a time, his eyes never leaving the gift.
Inside was a drawing—done with the black and white pens from the stationery set he’d given her, but she’d added pops of color with the markers she’d had for years. The drawing was of him and her playing basketball on a sunny day. He was wearing his old red jersey with the number 7 on it, the one he’d dug out during his “teenage” days, and he had a big grin on his face as he passed her the ball. Lin Xia had drawn herself laughing, her hair flying in the wind, reaching out to catch the ball. The sun was a bright yellow circle in the sky, and she’d drawn a few birds flying above them. At the bottom of the paper, in neat blue ink, she’d written four words: “Best Dad Ever.”
Lin Jianguo stared at the drawing for a long time. The room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the rustle of the morning breeze through the window. His hands shook a little as he held the paper, and his eyes glistened with tears—happy tears, the kind that come from deep in the heart. He traced the outline of the drawing with his finger, his touch gentle, like he was afraid it might vanish. “I love it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. He looked up at Lin Xia, his smile wobbly but bright. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I’m going to put it on my desk at work, right where everyone can see it. I’ll tell them my daughter drew it—how talented she is, how much I love her.”
Lin Xia felt tears prick at her own eyes as she stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly—a real hug, not the quick, awkward squeeze they usually shared before he left for work, but a long, warm hug that made her feel safe and loved. She buried her face in his shoulder, the fabric of his gray work shirt soft against her cheek, and breathed in the familiar smell of his laundry detergent mixed with the faint scent of machine oil from the factory. “Thank you for everything, Dad,” she whispered, her voice muffled. “Thank you for the stationery set, for waking up early to make me breakfast, for fixing my laptop when it breaks, for staying up with me when I’m sick. Thank you for… for being my dad. I’m so sorry I thought you were boring. I was stupid. I know now that you’re the best dad ever—brave, kind, and so loving, even when you don’t say it with words.”
He hugged her back, his arms strong and steady around her waist, holding her close like he was scared to let go. He pressed his face into her hair, and she could feel his shoulders shake a little as he held back tears. “I love you, Xiaxia,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “More than anything in the world. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at showing it—at saying the right things, at giving you fancy gifts. But I’ve always loved you, so much.”
Lin Xia’s mom stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, smiling through her own tears. She’d watched the distance between her daughter and husband grow over the years, the misunderstandings piling up, and she’d worried about them. But now, seeing them hug like this—close, loving, no walls between them—her heart felt light. The emotional gap that had stood between Lin Xia and her dad for so long was gone, melted away by understanding, by gratitude, by the quiet certainty that family was always worth fighting for.
They stayed like that for a long time, hugging in the quiet hallway, the drawing still clutched in Lin Jianguo’s hand. When they finally pulled apart, Lin Xia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smiling. Her dad did the same, his cheeks still wet, but his smile brighter than ever. He folded the drawing carefully and tucked it into his work bag, patting the bag gently as if to make sure it was safe.
“I should go to work,” he said, but he didn’t move right away. He looked at Lin Xia, his eyes soft with love. “I’ll show this to everyone at the factory today. They’ll be jealous of my amazing daughter.”
Lin Xia laughed, nodding. “Go on. I’ll see you tonight.”
He squeezed her hand one last time, then picked up his work bag and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned around and waved, holding up the bag. “Best gift ever!” he called, grinning.
After he left, Lin Xia walked over to her mom, who pulled her into a hug. “I’m so happy for you two,” her mom said, wiping her tears. “He’s always loved you so much, Xiaxia. He just didn’t know how to say it.”
Lin Xia nodded, looking at the door where her dad had stood. “I know now,” she said. “And I love him too—more than I ever realized.”
Outside, the sun shone brightly through the window, warming the room. Some dreams fade over time—dreams of basketball, dreams of college, dreams of what could have been. But the ones that matter—the ones about love, about sacrifice, about family—they never do. They stay with you, warm and steady, like a dad’s hug, like a drawing of two people playing basketball on a sunny day, like the quiet, unspoken love that binds a family together forever. Lin Xia knew that things would only get better from here—she’d finally bridged the gap with her dad, and nothing could ever break that bond again.
