: Mao Comes Home — The Last Goodbye
Setting:
A small apartment in Shanghai, dim with late afternoon sun. The curtains hang loosely, shifting with the breeze from a cracked-open window. Outside, faint laughter of children echoes distantly—like a world continuing unaware.
---
[Door opens.]
Mao steps in, breathless, her school bag half falling off her shoulder. The moment she closes the door, she sees him—her father, standing in the hallway with his back toward her. His hands are clenched into fists. The light from the kitchen falls gently on his figure, making him look smaller than she remembers.
Mao (nervous, rushing forward):
"Papa? What happened—? Where's Mama?"
Her father turns slowly. His eyes are red-rimmed, but dry—too dry, like someone who has already cried too much and doesn't have anything left.
Father (softly):
"She's… in the bedroom."
(His voice catches.)
"Her breathing's shallow. I called the doctor, but they said…"
Mao (heart racing):
"They said what?"
He looks at her fully now. The lines on his face, usually hidden by pride, are etched deep with fear.
Father (quietly):
"They said it's time."
---
[Cut to the bedroom.]
The room smells of herbal medicine and warm cloth. A futon is laid out near the window. Mao's mother lies there, her skin pale, lips cracked, a cool towel resting across her forehead. Beside her, Minho is curled into a ball, his small hand resting near their mother's. His cheeks are stained with dried tears, his eyes half-lidded with sleep.
Mao's breath catches as she drops to her knees by the futon.
Mao (softly, panicking):
"Mama…?! I'm here—what happened? You were supposed to be resting…"
Mother (slow smile):
"…You came. Good. You look… so much like me… when I was your age."
Mao gently picks up her mother's hand—still warm, but faintly trembling.
Mao:
"You just came back from the hospital… You said we had two more weeks. Why didn't you tell me it got worse?"
Mother (eyes fluttering closed):
"It happened so fast. I didn't want to worry you. I thought I had more time."
Father (from behind them):
"The doctor said there was nothing more they could do. So I… I brought her home."
(His voice breaks.)
"I just wanted her to be here… with us. But even two weeks—was too much to ask."
Mao presses her forehead to her mother's hand, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Mother (faintly, squeezing her hand):
"I don't want to go back to that place. I want to stay here… with you. In our home."
---
Minho stirs beside her, blinking awake. He sees Mao and instantly climbs into her arms.
Minho (whimpering):
"Mao… Is Mama going to be okay?"
His voice is that of a child trying to be brave. Mao hugs him close, kissing his temple.
Mother (gently):
"My little spring bird… You're so strong. Just like your sister. Be good, okay? Eat well. Help Mao when she's tired."
Minho (sniffling):
"I promise! I'll do everything! I'll even brush my teeth!"
He hides his face in Mao's shirt. Mao strokes his hair, blinking through her tears.
---
Mother (to Mao):
"Mao… my quiet girl. You've always watched the world with such gentle eyes. I used to worry you were too silent… but now I know. That silence is your strength."
Mao (whispers):
"But I don't want to be strong… I want you to stay. Just stay."
Mother:
"I wish I could. I wanted to see you graduate, see Minho grow tall. But my time… it's leaving."
A pause. A weak breath. She turns slightly, looking at both her children.
Mother:
"I have two wishes to ask, my little rabbit."
Mao:
"Anything."
Mother:
"First… take care of Minho. Be his compass when he's lost. Be the arms he runs to. He needs you more than you know." also you have become his macha, ok sweet heart.
Mao (nodding through tears):
"I promise. I'll never leave him. I'll mom"
Mother:
"Second… Don't let grief become your shadow. You will smile again, Mao. You'll feel the wind on your face and think of something other than pain. Let yourself heal. Let yourself live."
Mao:
"Even if it hurts?"
Mother:
"Especially then."
She coughs weakly, her voice fading.
Mother (softly):
"You don't need to be loud to matter. Even the softest hearts… leave the loudest echoes."
---
Her eyes gently close. Her chest lifts… and stills. One final breath — gone.
---
Minho (blinking):
"Mao…? Why isn't Mama moving?"
Mao doesn't answer. Her hand covers their mother's now still fingers. She holds Minho close, her chin resting on his hair as she tries to keep her voice from breaking.
Mao (whispering):
"She's sleeping now… but she'll always be with us."
A bird sings gently from the tree outside the window.
Mao (inner voice):
And maybe one day…
when the wind carries her voice again,
I'll remember what she said.
That love never leaves. It just takes new shapes.