A Mother's Scale: Love Measured by Need

My name is Li Xiuying. I am fifty-three years old, just an ordinary middle-aged woman. I haven't achieved anything grand in my life; I’ve just run a small business with my husband, living frugally to save up a bit of a nest egg. We have a daughter and a son. The daughter is older, the son younger. By all accounts, having both a son and a daughter—a "perfect pair"—should make for a comfortable, happy life.

But a few days ago, a storm broke out in our family.

It started like this: My husband and I discussed it for a long time and decided to transfer the titles of our three properties to our daughter. One is where we live now, one is an old apartment we bought years ago, and the third is an investment property from a few years back. To be honest, this is all we own. We figured we should make arrangements while our minds are still clear to avoid any "hidden troubles" or family disputes down the line.

I brought this up to my son and my future daughter-in-law last Saturday during dinner. I specifically cooked a few extra dishes, hoping for a pleasant environment to talk.

My son, Xiaowei, is twenty-seven. He works in sales and has a girlfriend named Xiaona. They’ve been together for over two years and plan to marry at the end of this year. I’ve met Xiaona many times; she’s pretty and "has a sweet mouth," always greeting me warmly. I had a good impression of her, thinking she was clever and knew how to handle social situations.

After dinner, I cleared the table, sat on the sofa, and laid it out.

"Xiaowei, Xiaona, your father and I have talked it over. Those three houses—we plan to give them all to your older sister."

The moment the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the living room froze.

Xiaowei was stunned, his chopsticks still in hand, food unswallowed. The smile on Xiaona’s face didn’t just fade; it stiffened, as if someone had hit a pause button on her expression.

Silence lasted for about ten seconds.

Xiaona put down her chopsticks. Her voice wasn’t loud, but she enunciated every word clearly: "Auntie, are you saying that all three houses are going to Sister?"

"Yes," I said. "Not leaving a single one."

Xiaona’s face changed completely. She looked at Xiaowei, who kept his head down and remained silent. She turned back to me, her eyes reddening, her lips trembling slightly.

"Auntie, Xiaowei and I are getting married soon. If you give all the houses to Sister, where will we live? What will we do? This..." she paused, her voice thick with grievance and anger, "Isn't this too biased?"

I didn't speak; I let her finish.

She became more agitated, finally standing up, her voice shaking. "Auntie, to be honest, if the houses all go to Sister, then I’m not getting married. I’m not after your family's money, but doing things this way makes me feel like an outsider in this home."

Only then did Xiaowei look up. He looked at Xiaona, then at me, opened his mouth to speak, but ultimately stayed silent.

I looked at Xiaona, smiled slightly, and said: "That’s fine."

Just two words—"That's fine." (Meaning, "If you don't want to marry, so be it.")

Xiaona clearly didn't expect that reaction. She stood there dazed, tears streaming down her face. she grabbed her bag and stormed out. Xiaowei quickly chased after her.

I was left alone in the living room.

My husband came out of the bedroom and sighed. "Was that really necessary? Couldn't you have phrased it better?"

I replied, "I told the truth. I said what needed to be said. Whether they can accept it is their business."

I know many people will call me "eccentric" or biased. In traditional thinking, once a daughter marries out, she belongs to another family, and the property should stay with the son to carry on the family line. I’ve heard that my whole life.

But I don't see it that way.

My daughter, Xiaomin, is thirty-one. This child has had a hard life—not the kind of dramatic tragedy you see in movies, but a slow, trickling kind of hardship. she was always a bright student and graduated from a top university to work at an accounting firm. Life was going well until she was twenty-five. She was in a car accident that severely injured her left leg. After three surgeries, she was left with a permanent limp—she can’t stand for long or run.

After that accident, her life trajectory changed completely. Her boyfriend broke up with her, and she lost her job because of the constant leave required for rehabilitation. she stayed home for two years, becoming a shadow of her former self, the light leaving her eyes.

Those two years were the hardest of my life. I watched her hide in her room, refusing to see anyone. I would bring her food, and she’d take two bites, or sometimes nothing at all.

My heart bled for her.

She is flesh of my flesh. Seeing her suffer, I wished I could take the pain for her. But in this life, no one can suffer for another.

Eventually, she crawled out of that dark place. She found a clerical job—low pay, but enough to support herself. She began to accept her body, the limp, and the curious glances of strangers.

But she never dated again.

When I asked her about it, she said, "Mom, looking like this, I don't want to be a burden to anyone else."

Hearing that felt like someone had squeezed my heart so hard I couldn't breathe.

So, my husband and I decided to give her the houses. It’s not about playing favorites; it’s because I cannot rest easy knowing her future is uncertain.

Our son, Xiaowei, is healthy and has a stable job. He has his hands and feet; he can build his own life. Even though the houses went to his sister, we still have savings. When he marries, we will cover the traditional costs—the bride price, the banquet, the renovations—without hesitation.

But Xiaona didn't see that. She saw the houses, but she didn't see the years of suffering my daughter endured.

Xiaowei came back alone that night. He sat by my bed in silence for a long time before saying, "Mom, Xiaona says she needs to think about it."

I said, "Fine, let her think."

"Mom," Xiaowei hesitated, "Could you not... just leave one for us? Just one. Xiaona isn't unreasonable; she just feels it’s a matter of 'face' and respect."

I looked at Xiaowei, the son I had pampered since he was small. He is tall, hardworking, and good to his sister. He’s a good kid.

I said, "Xiaowei, let me tell you what’s truly in my heart."

"Your sister's life might be like this forever. She might never marry, never have children, never have a family of her own. If she doesn't even have a place to live, what will she do when your father and I are gone?"

"You have Xiaona. You will have children and a family. What does your sister have? She has nothing. It’s not that I don’t love you; it’s that I can’t leave her with nothing."

Xiaowei’s eyes turned red. He lowered his head and finally said, "Mom, I understand now."

I don't know if he truly understood, but at least he listened.

Three days later, Xiaona called me.

She cried over the phone, apologizing and saying she had been too impulsive. She told me she had discussed it with her own mother, who had scolded her.

She said, "Auntie, my mom said that no mother doesn't care for her children. You gave the houses to Sister because she needs them more. She told me if I couldn't understand that, then I was being immature."

I felt a wave of relief. Xiaona’s mother is a sensible person.

I told her, "Xiaona, I don't blame you. I didn't take your words to heart. You and Xiaowei just focus on your life together. I have a plan for the wedding; you won't be left wanting for anything."

Xiaona cried harder, saying, "Auntie, I'm sorry. I really wasn't just after the property, I just... I just felt like you didn't treat me as family."

I said, "Silly child, if you're marrying Xiaowei, you are family. What can't be talked out between family? I was a bit blunt that day, too. Don't worry about it."

And just like that, the storm passed.

Yesterday, Xiaona came over for dinner with milk and fruit. She was a bit shy at first, but when I greeted her, she smiled and called me "Auntie" as sweetly as before.

During dinner, she put a piece of rib in my bowl and said, "Auntie, your sweet and sour ribs are the best."

I smiled. "Then eat more."

Afterward, she helped me wash the dishes and we chatted. She said she had thought about it for days and realized her mother was right: in a family, things should go to whoever needs them most, regardless of whether they are a son or a daughter.

"Auntie, I used to think you were biased," she said. "Now I realize I was just being narrow-minded."

I patted her hand. "It wasn't narrow-mindedness, you're just young. Once you have your own children, you’ll understand."

Last night, I called Xiaomin over for dinner and told her about the title transfer. At first, she refused, saying it should be for her brother’s wedding. I told her it was my wish, and she had to take it.

She cried again. She’s cried more in the last two years than in the previous twenty combined.

She said, "Mom, the person I've let down most in this life is you."

I told her, "Don't talk nonsense. You are my daughter. I’m good to you because I love you, not because I want repayment. You living a good life is the greatest repayment I could ever ask for."

She nodded, wiped her tears, and said, "Mom, I will live well from now on."

"I know," I said.

The reason I’m telling this story is because every mother has a "scale" in her heart. This scale doesn't weigh things based on "son" versus "daughter." It weighs based on "need." Whichever child has it harder, whichever child needs more—that’s where I tip the scales.

It’s not that I love the other one any less; it’s just that the way I express that love is different.

My son has his own path to walk—he has his health, his partner, and his future. My daughter’s path is a bit narrower and a bit harder, so I’m just paving a bit more of it for her.

That isn't being biased. That is a mother's instinct.

This morning, Xiaowei and Xiaona came over for breakfast. Xiaona told me they’d decided to keep the original wedding date at the end of the year. She smiled sweetly, leaning against Xiaowei’s arm.

I smiled too.

The sunlight streamed through the window, hitting the coffee table and the ivy plant I’ve been growing for three years. The ivy is thriving, its green vines hanging down, full of life.

I think that's just how life is. A few waves, a few arguments, but in the end, it all turns out okay.

The daughter has her security, the son understands, and the future daughter-in-law has come around.

That’s enough for me.