Several years ago, Mum met Aunt Jenny through an online cooking forum, and it all started with a heated debate over a recipe post.

Mum was adamant that onions and carrots should be sautéed together from the very start, while Aunt Jenny insisted that the carrots should go in first, followed by the onions after a few minutes. This marked the first quarrel for Mum in the vast expanse of the internet. I can’t quite fathom how they managed to reconcile such differing opinions on frying techniques, but their correspondence commenced and lasted quite a while.

Aunt Jenny became almost an online staple in our family, always updated on our lives and offering advice. She even sent gifts for special occasions—a warm blanket, cranberry jam, a set of screwdrivers (Mum had mentioned a lack of proper tools in the house). There were reciprocated gifts too: woolen socks, a dog-hair belt, and jars of pickled mushrooms.

At the beginning of December, Aunt Jenny celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Mum received an invitation along with funds for her travel.

“I’m not going! What would I do, an old wreck, embarrassing myself?” Mum paced the living room, torn between the desire to go and the impulse to stay home.

Taking matters into my own hands, I bought her a new winter coat, and my university friend, who had traded her surgeon’s scalpels for a hairstyling career, tidied up Mum’s hair. We even selected a gift: sparkling earrings adorned with large gems.

To eliminate any temptation for Mum to back out, I personally drove her to the station and put her on the train. After seeing the train depart, I let out a relieved sigh; it was about time she had a break. In the last decade since Dad passed away, Mum had been fading away, and when I married and moved in with my husband, she seemed to wilt even more.

A phone call from Mum upon her arrival rang through:
“A man met me, presumably Aunt Jenny’s husband. Odd, she never mentioned being married. I’ll sort it out. Don’t miss me too much! I’ll be back soon!”

But Mum didn’t return. It turned out Aunt Jenny was actually a 60-year-old gentleman named Eugene. The unfamiliarity of his name left the question of his gender in the air. Uncle Eugene, intrigued by Mum’s photo, hesitated to reveal his true identity. His messages continued, always inquiring about Mum’s life and sending those familiar gifts.

In January, they arrived in our town to sort out Mum’s apartment lease. Those very earrings we bought as a gift for “Aunt Jenny” sparkled in Mum’s ears.

“Will you come to the wedding?” Mum asked, blushing.
“We will,” I promised, hardly believing my eyes: she was smiling consistently and appeared to have shed nearly fifteen years off her age.

Uncle Eugene charmed both my husband and me. Our daughter was elated to have a newly minted grandfather. But most importantly, Mum bloomed when he was around.

They got married—simply and quietly. Uncle Eugene had no family of his own; he had lost his wife back in 2006, and they never had children. He had lived alone ever since.

I feel overjoyed that two lonely souls found each other. They deserve this happiness, and I hope they cherish every moment of it.