Xiaogang’s father had worked as a crewman at sea. Years of physical strain wore down his health, and later he often numbed himself with alcohol. One day, after a fight spiraled out of control, blood streamed from his mother’s forehead. While his father was asleep, his mother called the police and took Xiaogang and left. “When I later learned we were going to a shelter, I really resisted the idea,” Xiaogang recalls. “I imagined it as a place divided into tiny rooms, where someone would deliver three meals a day and we’d just sit there spacing out.”

When they arrived, they discovered it was nothing like that. The aunties (other residents), the resident life counselors, and the social workers all kept daily life running smoothly, and it felt easy to settle in. “The shelter is like one big family,” Xiaogang says. “People get to know each other naturally, and you can live comfortably.” Speaking about what it felt like to stay there, Xiaogang says: “Mom was hurt, and the aunties here were all hurt, too…”

In Xiaogang’s memory, his mother left early and came home late to make ends meet, with hardly any right to rest. After arriving at the shelter, there were times when Xiaogang would be chatting loudly with friends, then turn around to find his mother sleeping peacefully. Realizing that something so ordinary could be so precious, he felt relieved, and his heart settled.

“There were times when you’d wake up and it felt like you suddenly had a whole new family,” is how Xiaogang described the changes at the shelter. Once, a woman arrived with four children, some mischievous, some shy, and when they started to play, the living room filled with cheerful chaos. There was also an auntie (another resident) who cried all day after moving in, stayed in her room, and refused to interact. With the calming support of social workers and resident life counselors, she gradually began to eat and her days found a steady rhythm.

Seeing so many “surprises” unfold at the shelter, Xiaogang admitted, “I kept thinking: how can there be so many sad things?” So he began learning to let his heart grow still and to look for the good in things.

When it came time to leave, Xiaogang was reluctant. He had grown used to helping the familiar aunties mind their children, and his mother often chatted with them; they shared many beautiful memories. Here, everyone had room to breathe and regained a sense of inner safety. Watching confidence slowly take root in his mother, and seeing smiles appear on her face more often, Xiaogang knew it was the warmth of the kind of family they both remembered best.