I was born and raised in the city, accustomed to the hurried pace of life, then got married and became busy with work and children. Yet in my heart, I always kept a special affection for my mother-in-law, a simple, gentle woman from the countryside, whose eyes had lost sight many years ago. When I first became her daughter-in-law, many pitied me, thinking it would be difficult to live with a blind mother-in-law. But I never saw it as a burden. On the contrary, I cared for her even more, believing I had to make up for the hardships in her life. Every time I visited, I would bring her small gifts—sometimes a scarf, sometimes some delicious cakes, other times a few bottles of eye medicine just to ease her mind.

One memory I will never forget was her birthday three years ago. I had saved a little money and bought her a delicate gold necklace, simple yet elegant. When I clasped it around her neck with my own hands, she smiled, and her clouded eyes seemed to glisten as if they were shining again. She gently touched her neck and, trembling, said: “You’ve touched me so deeply. I’ve never received such a precious gift in my life.” Hearing that made my nose sting, and I loved her even more than my own mother.

From that day on, the necklace almost never left her neck. Though she couldn’t see it, she often stroked it lightly, like holding onto a source of comfort. Once, I teased: “Mother, if you guard it so carefully, people might think you’re still young.” She chuckled kindly, her laughter filling the poor but warm little kitchen. I understood then that the necklace wasn’t just gold—it was a piece of my heart given to her.

Then one day, tragedy struck. My mother-in-law suddenly suffered a stroke. My husband and I were in the city; though we rushed to catch the earliest bus, we still didn’t make it in time to see her one last time. On the ride home, my mind was in turmoil—grief mixed with regret. So many times I had meant to call her more often, to spend more time with her, but life’s busyness always swept me away. By the time I arrived, the house in the countryside was heavy with mourning cries, and I couldn’t even form words through my sorrow.

As I stood in silence beside her coffin, I remembered the necklace. She still wore it, along with a small pair of gold earrings. I carefully removed them, wiped away the traces of sweat that lingered, and placed them inside the coffin. I thought that if she took them with her, her spirit would rest easy—and so would mine. When the coffin was closed, my throat tightened, as if part of my own flesh had been taken away. My sister-in-law stood beside me, her face pale, her eyes red and swollen, whispering: “Sister, I wasn’t home that day… I regret it so much.”

I turned to her, wanting to comfort her but not knowing what to say. My sister-in-law was kind, but always busy with her small children, so she hadn’t spent much time talking with our mother. I knew she loved her, but she hadn’t shown it through actions the way I did. That guilt, I knew, would haunt her for a long time. I only held her hand gently and whispered: “Mother understood everything. Don’t blame yourself too much.”

Time passed, and though the pain slowly faded, there remained an emptiness inside me. On the first anniversary of her death, the family gathered together. That morning, my sister-in-law and I prepared the offering meal side by side. She bent down to pick vegetables while I washed the rice, and we chatted softly to ease the somber mood. Then suddenly, as I glanced at her, I froze—because gleaming on her neck was that all-too-familiar gold necklace.

I froze for a second, my heart pounding. The shape of the chain, its thickness, the golden gleam—it was exactly like the one I had bought for my mother-in-law. The image of me placing it into her coffin on the day of the funeral flashed vividly before my eyes, sending chills through my body. I couldn’t hold back and blurted out:
“Where… where did you get that necklace?”
My voice trembled, laced with both suspicion and fear.

My sister-in-law looked up, surprised by my tone. She smiled gently, her hand brushing against her neck.
“Oh, this? I just bought it recently. I always liked Mother’s necklace and had thought about finding one like it. By chance, I saw someone selling it, so I bought it to wear. For me, it’s a keepsake—to remind myself to live better and care more for the family.”
Her voice was slow, sincere, and her eyes didn’t waver.

I stood silent for a moment, then slowly exhaled. A warmth spread through my chest, dissolving the heavy suspicion that had just weighed me down. Looking at her, I saw a face full of regret and longing for our mother-in-law. So, she loved her just as much as I did—only in a different way. I smiled faintly, a wave of relief washing over me:
“Yes, I understand now. I’m sure Mother would be happy to see you doing this.”

That meal suddenly became unusually warm and comforting. The distance between us dissolved, replaced by empathy. I realized that grief over losing a loved one doesn’t belong to just one person, and each of us remembers them in our own way. What truly matters is the love that remains in our hearts, and the bond it weaves within the family. My mother-in-law may be gone, but her love continues to connect us quietly.

After the first death anniversary, I often thought back to that moment. If I had let suspicion cloud my reason, our relationship as sisters-in-law might have fractured. But thanks to her honesty, I came to understand that love isn’t only expressed through actions—it also lies in the meaning each person holds in their heart. When we choose to see one another with kindness, the family becomes stronger. And I believe that, from afar, Mother is smiling in contentment.

Since that day, I have not carried the responsibility of rituals and memorials alone. My sister-in-law now takes the initiative to share the duties, sometimes even calling to ask what preparations are needed. I could feel the clear change in her; she was no longer quietly standing apart from everything as before. Perhaps that necklace had become a tangible reminder for her. I cherish that—just as I cherish the sincerity we are now preserving together.

Each time I look at my mother-in-law’s altar, smoke curling upwards from the incense, I remember her trembling arms the day I clasped the necklace around her neck. That memory will forever stay in my heart, irreplaceable. But now, I am no longer alone in remembering her—for my sister-in-law is with me. We are no longer two women isolated in our own sorrow, but sisters bound together in shared love. I realized then that the greatest loss had, in its own way, given birth to an even stronger bond among those left behind.