Worth It: Finding Home in a Second Marriage

My name is Zhao Dezhu, and I’m 31 years old. I say 31, but I actually just got married around this time last year. In my village, if you aren't married by this age, you’re already considered an "old bachelor"—a leftover.

I’m not ashamed to say it, but our family was poor. My father has trouble with his legs and can’t do heavy labor. My mother passed away a few years back. All we had were three dilapidated tile-roofed houses built back in my grandfather's day. I didn’t even finish middle school before I headed out to find work. I’ve done all the hard, dirty jobs—carrying bricks on construction sites, tightening screws in factories. I saved up for years to renovate the house, but as soon as the local girls saw my situation, they’d turn around and walk away.

In our village, there’s a heavy emphasis on "carrying on the family line." My father is a real traditionalist, always nagging me: "Dezhu, the Zhao family has had only one son for three generations. You can’t let the root be severed." Every time he had a bit to drink, he’d sit in the yard and sigh, saying he had failed our ancestors.

I was anxious too, but what could I do? Finding a wife isn't like buying vegetables. With no money in my pocket and no sweet talk in my mouth, what girl would want me?

Last spring, my aunt introduced me to someone. She said there was a woman in the neighboring town named Li Xiuying. She was 32, divorced, and had a six-year-old daughter.

After my aunt told me, she stared at me, worried I’d be unhappy about it. I put my head down, smoked a cigarette, and said, "Let’s meet."

To be honest, I was uncertain. It wasn't that I looked down on her for being divorced—I knew my own standing, and I had no right to be picky. I was just afraid she wouldn’t like me, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get past my own mental hurdles.

We met at a small restaurant in town. Xiuying was more punctual than I was. She wore a washed-out blue cotton coat, her hair was in a ponytail, and her face was clean. Her daughter, Yaya, had her hair in two little tufts and hid behind her mother, peeking at me.

Xiuying didn’t talk much; she only answered what I asked. I asked her, "Why did you get divorced?"

She was silent for a moment and then said, "He drank and hit me."

Just those few words, nothing more. I glanced at her; she had her head down, twisting the corner of her shirt. At that moment, I felt a sudden pang in my heart. I couldn't quite describe the feeling, but I just felt that this woman had lived a hard life.

After the meal, I walked them back. On the way, Yaya suddenly ran over, grabbed my hand, and asked, "Uncle, do you have any candy at your house?"

I froze for a second and said, "I do. I'll bring some for you next time."

Yaya smiled, showing two missing front teeth. Xiuying quickly pulled her daughter back, her face flushing. "She's just a child and doesn't know better, don't take it to heart."

I said, "It’s fine. She’s a kid; it’s good to be innocent."

When I got back, my aunt asked how it went. I said it was okay. My aunt said, "If you don't have any objections, settle it quickly. Her situation is modest, but she’s a good person, the kind who knows how to live a proper life."

I went home and told my father. He was silent for a long time before asking, "Can she still have children?"

I lost my temper instantly. "Dad, what are you saying? She’s not livestock!"

My father went quiet. After a long while, he muttered, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking about the Zhao family line..."

I walked out before he could finish. I knew his thoughts; he just wanted a grandson. But I was thinking about something else—Xiuying was bringing a daughter with her. If she married me, could I treat them well? Did I have what it takes?

I met Xiuying a few more times after that. Every time I went, I brought snacks for Yaya. Yaya grew closer to me; she’d see me from a distance and run over shouting, "Uncle! Uncle!" Xiuying said her daughter wasn't close to her biological father because the man never cared for her. She didn't expect the girl to have such a "fated connection" with me.

Once, Xiuying suddenly asked, "Dezhu, are you only seeing me because your family is pressuring you?"

I was stumped. After thinking for a while, I said honestly, "Not entirely. I want to start a family of my own, too."

She asked again, "You don't mind that I have a child?"

I said, "Look at my own situation. What right do I have to mind anyone else's?"

Xiuying’s eyes reddened, and she quickly turned her head away. After a long pause, she said, "Dezhu, I'll tell you the truth. I don't know how to say pretty words, but if I follow you, I’ll be single-minded about building our life together. If you think it’s not right, it’s not too late to say so."

I looked at her, and my heart suddenly felt settled. I said, "It’s right."

So, we registered our marriage. We didn't have a proper wedding; we just invited a few tables of relatives and set off a string of firecrackers. Plenty of villagers came. To my face, they all said, "Congratulations," but I caught an earful of what they said behind my back.

"Tsk, tsk. Dezhu is a bachelor after all, why did he marry a second-hand woman?"

"She even brought a 'burden' with her. He’s just raising someone else’s kid."

"The Zhao family's 'incense'—their bloodline—is looking pretty shaky now."

No one said these things to my face, but a village is only so big. Whatever the wind blows, it eventually reaches your ears. It didn't feel good to hear, but I didn't say anything to anyone. I just put my head down and went to work.

Only after Xiuying moved in did I realize what it truly meant to "live a life."

She was a hard worker. She’d be up before dawn, cooking, feeding the chickens, and tidying the house. When that was done, she’d head to the fields. Yaya was good, too—never fussy, just following her mom to help out.

When I lived alone, the house was a mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and the stove was greasy. Within a few days of Xiuying’s arrival, it was as if the house had been transformed. The windows were bright, the floors were clean, and even my father’s desk, which hadn't been wiped in years, was polished to a shine.

My father didn't say it out loud, but I could tell he felt much more at peace. He used to be lonely and quiet, but now that there was the sound of a child in the house, a smile appeared on his face more often.

But some things don't change just like that.

Xiuying heard the village gossip too. One time when I came home, I saw her sitting by the stove wiping away tears. I asked her what was wrong, but she just shook her head and said it was nothing. Looking at her, I understood.

I said, "Don't listen to those gossips. They can say whatever they want; we’ll just live our own life."

Xiuying wiped her eyes and said, "Dezhu, how about I have a child for you?"

I was taken aback. "What’s the rush? We'll let nature take its course."

Xiuying didn't speak, but I could see the weight on her heart. She always felt that because she was divorced and had a daughter, she was somehow "lesser" and that marrying me was a disservice to me. The more she felt that way, the more my heart ached for her.

Actually, I had made peace with it by then. As for children, whatever happens, happens. Yaya was close to me, and over time, I had started to see her as my own daughter. Once, she came home from school with a broken backpack strap. I sewed it for her, and she hugged my neck and said, "Uncle, you're so good." At that moment, my heart turned to mush.

But I didn't expect that just as life was getting better, trouble would strike.

Last autumn, my father took a fall in the yard and cracked his hip bone. At the hospital, the doctor said he needed surgery, and it would cost tens of thousands of yuan. The little savings I had were mostly gone from the house renovations. Where was I going to get that kind of money?

I was so stressed I broke out in mouth sores. Xiuying, without a second word, took out her entire "private stash"—20,000 yuan she had saved up. I knew that money was from her years of working, her "emergency exit" if things ever went south.

I said, "Keep that money. I'll find another way."

Xiuying got frantic. "Dezhu, we’re a couple. Your father is my father. This money must be spent."

Holding that money, my heart was in a turmoil. To be honest, I haven’t cried much in my life, but that day, I hid in the hospital bathroom and sobbed.

After my father was discharged, Xiuying took care of him with all her heart. She handled everything—cleaning him, feeding him—without ever wrinkling her nose. My father felt guilty and said, "Xiuying, I've put such a burden on you." Xiuying replied, "Dad, don't say that. This is what I should do."

After that, my father never mentioned "carrying on the family line" again. Once, he told me, "Dezhu, having Xiuying as a daughter-in-law is the blessing of our family."

The days passed one by one. Between Xiuying and me, there’s nothing grand or dramatic—just the mundane reality of firewood, rice, oil, and salt. She cooks, I tend the fire; she washes the clothes, I hang them; she scolds me, and I just grin.

This spring, Xiuying told me she was pregnant.

I froze for a long time. Once it sank in, I was so happy I jumped for joy three times in the field. Seeing me like that, Xiuying laughed and scolded, "Look at you, acting like a fool."

Once the news got out, the village tongues started wagging again. Some said, "That kid Dezhu really is lucky." Others said, "They're husband and wife; what's so strange about having a baby?"

But most people stopped saying anything at all. Because everyone could see that our lives were flourishing. We fixed up the house again, planted vegetables in the yard, and raised chickens. Yaya’s grades at school were great, and the wall was covered in her award certificates.

Sometimes I can’t sleep at night. I look at Xiuying sleeping beside me and feel a deep sense of emotion. When I first married her, people mocked me, saying I was "hopeless" for marrying a "second-hand woman." But I know in my heart that marrying Xiuying was the best thing I’ve ever done.

She isn't beautiful, she isn't young, and she doesn't use sweet words. But she is real, and she holds me, my father, and this home in her heart. She used her meager savings to save us in a crisis, used her rough hands to prop up this family, and used her endurance and resilience to turn me from a muddled bachelor into a man with a family and something to look forward to.

Those who laughed at me will probably never understand that marriage isn't a show for others. You live your own life; only the feet know if the shoes fit.

Some say I married her just to carry on the family name. Yes, but also no. I did want a child to ensure the Zhao family line didn't end. But more importantly, I wanted a home. A home where someone waits for you to return, where someone keeps a bowl of hot food for you, and where someone stands by your side when things are at their hardest.

Xiuying gave me that home.

Yaya has started calling me "Dad" now. The first time she said it, I was stunned for a good while, my heart feeling both sharp and sweet. I thought then: to hell with the family line—having the three of them in this life makes it all worth it.

In a few months, the baby will be born. Whether it's a boy or a girl, I’ll be happy. If it’s a boy, he can join me for a drink someday; if it’s a girl, she’ll be another "warm little cotton jacket" to keep my heart cozy.

As for the villagers, let them say what they want. As for me, Zhao Dezhu, this life has been worth it.