Two Daughters and Half a Candy

Half a candy is the unspoken pain; the two daughters are the light hidden in time. Lin Wei thought that after nine years, the star candy lost on the rainy night had already been weathered by time. Until one day, the 6-year-old daughter Su wanted to knock over the candy jar and rolled out half an orange candy - the candy wrapper turned yellow and had "2016.3.31, Waiting for you to come home" crookedly written on it. For nine years, she and her husband Chen Mo, together with Su Nian and Su Xiang, carefully guarded this secret: their unborn son Xingchen, who passed away unexpectedly at 33 weeks of pregnancy, became an unhealable rift between the two. Until when Su Nian was drawing a family portrait in kindergarten, he drew a five-pointed star in the upper left corner and said in a sweet voice: "This is brother's star, he is looking at us in the sky." Su Xiang folded all the star candies into paper cranes and stuffed them into Lin Wei's bag: "Mom, brother's candies, we are going to share them with all the children, so that he can become more stars!" When Chen Mo found the old gift box covered with star candy wrappers in the donation box of the welfare home, when Lin Wei reread "33 Weeks' Lullaby" in her diary, and when the two daughters healed each other again and again with their innocence, she finally understood: The most painful thing is not loss, but someone turning your wounds into a light that illuminates others. (This is a story about love and reconciliation: two daughters made an agreement with half a candy to let the lost stars live in every corner of the home again - it turns out that the real farewell is never forgetting, but continuing to live a good life with longing.)