Dad's portrait hangs on the wall, with his military uniform straight and his eyes firm. That year, he was patrolling the border and was swallowed by a glacier while trying to save others. He was posthumously awarded the title of "Border Defense Hero". The day after the pension was granted, my grandma grabbed all the money and said, "My daughter belongs to someone else after all. This money should be left to my nephew," and then kicked us out of the old house.
My mother didn't cry. She worked in a textile factory during the day, delivered food in the afternoon, and mended clothes for others at night. I often see her murmuring to her father's photo: "Don't worry, I will make sure my daughter has a good life." Three years later, she used the money she saved to open a small shop and sell handmade dumplings. Three years later, the first branch was opened. Ten years later, "Mama's Dumplings" has become a chain brand, and our signboards can be seen everywhere in the city. Even Mom is constantly expanding its business territory, and the money in the passbook has grown from zero to countless zeros.
Yesterday, grandma came unexpectedly and sat in the luxurious reception room wiping tears: "Daughter-in-law, mom is old now, and my son is gone, so you have to support me until I grow old." After listening quietly, mom took out the envelope that had been prepared for a long time from the drawer: "The money in it is enough for your retirement. But from now on, we don't owe each other, and you can't come to us again in the future..." Grandma squeezed the thickness and signed the agreement without saying a word.
After grandma left, my mother pulled me and stood in front of my father's portrait. "Your father protected it with his life, and we want to live a better life." There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but her back was straight, "Now, we can tell your father openly that we are doing well."
The sunshine outside the window was just right, shining on my father's young smiling face. I knew he must have heard it.
