Seven years ago, because of his imprisonment, his wife divorced him while she was pregnant. She sold everything she could to pay off part of his debts, which led to a lighter sentence of seven years for him. He was full of guilt, feeling that he had wronged her and their unborn child.
The last time she saw him, she was resolute. She said, “I don’t hate you, but if you still have a conscience, please grant me one request.” He wept uncontrollably and replied, “Anything, a thousand of them, I’ll agree to.” She said, “When you are released from prison, don’t ever acknowledge this child as yours. You don’t deserve to be a father. The child should have a father that they can be proud of.” He was stunned and speechless. Was this request too much? No, it was the punishment he deserved. He nodded heavily through the iron bars.
Seven years passed, feeling like an eternity to him. He spent nearly every day in regret and torment. If it weren’t for that small bit of longing, which he held onto as his last hope, he would have probably used a toothbrush to pierce his ear and smash his head against the wall several times.
The day he was released from prison, it was drizzling, and no one came to pick him up, which was exactly what he expected.
During his time in prison, he learned how to drive and quickly found a job as a taxi driver. The city wasn’t large, so it wasn’t difficult to find out where his ex-wife was. She had given birth to a daughter and never remarried. They lived in a rundown old neighborhood.
Every day, at a set time, he would park his taxi in a corner, watching them come downstairs. He would follow them to the kindergarten and watch her daughter enter the office building. His daughter was so beautiful! She looked exactly like her mother. She wore colorful floral dresses, like a beautiful, colorful butterfly. Many times, he almost couldn’t control himself. He wanted to jump out of the car, hug his daughter, and hear her call him “Dad.” For that, he would be willing to pay any price. But he couldn’t. For the promise he made back then, he could only pound his chest on the cold steering wheel, as that was the only way to feel some relief in his heart.
One day, he saw a beautiful butterfly hairpin in the mall. It looked familiar. It was the same gift he had given his ex-wife when they were in love. Without hesitation, he bought it. He wanted to give it to his daughter. But soon he realized how absurd this action was. He had no chance to give it to her.
He held the hairpin for three nights, and finally, he sent it to her, with only the hairpin and no words. After walking out of the post office, he regretted it. Was he still a man? Why was he bothering their peaceful life? She would never forgive him. She would probably angrily throw away the hairpin.
This morning, his car was once again parked in the corner. He saw them come downstairs. He heard his daughter’s bell-like laughter, and then he saw a beautiful butterfly fluttering in the air, dancing in his tearful eyes. This man, a full-grown man, was sobbing on the steering wheel.
At that moment, a passenger got in the car and called him several times in surprise. He woke up, wiping the tears from his face in embarrassment. After the passenger asked him repeatedly, he told the story of the butterfly hairpin.
The passenger was me.