A Warm Winter

In a remote, impoverished mountain village, a single mother washed clothes for others every day to support her son's university education. Before each semester, the mother would always hand her son an old cloth bag containing crumpled but neatly counted tuition fees. During the winter break of his third year, the son returned home early. As he approached the door, he saw his mother sitting on a low stool through the worn-out window. It was the dead of winter, and the mother's hands were red and swollen from the cold, her skin cracked and bleeding. She was struggling to scrub a large basin of clothes frozen with ice shards, her body trembling with each rub. At that moment, the son felt a heavy blow to his heart. He didn't go inside immediately but stood in the snow, silently shedding tears. He suddenly understood that the clean textbooks on his desk and his carefree university life were all created by his mother's frostbitten hands, scrubbing away in the bone-chilling icy water, one wash at a time. From that day on, the son studied even harder and worked part-time jobs relentlessly in his spare time. Years later, the son found success in the big city. On the first day after buying a new house, he brought his mother to live with him. Instead of showing her the lavishly decorated living room, he took his mother's still rough hands and led her to the bathroom. The mother was stunned. Before her was a custom-made sink with a built-in heating function, and next to it, a whole row of the best hand creams. The son hugged his mother, his voice choked with emotion, and said, "Mom, you'll never have to touch cold water again." The mother hugged her son, tears mingling with a smile. It was the warmest winter of her life.