I live alone in a remote, poor countryside, with no husband, children, or family of my own. My life has been hard — long days working the fields, scrimping every penny just to survive.
One stormy night, drenched by rain, I found a newborn baby left abandoned at the temple gate. He was still red, wrapped in a thin, soaked towel.
No one else would take him in, so I did.
I named him Minh, hoping he’d grow up bright and full of light. Raising a child who wasn’t mine by blood was difficult, and poverty made it even harder. I borrowed money from everyone — neighbors, even the policy bank — just to pay for his schooling.
There were times I survived on plain rice porridge so Minh could have a box of milk and a notebook like the other kids.
Minh grew up smart, quiet, and obedient. He never called me “mom,” just “aunt,” but I never minded. He had to study and become a good man.
When he passed the university entrance exam, I had emptied my savings and mortgaged my old house to borrow again. Minh bowed his head and said softly:
“I will try, auntie. Wait for me to come back.”
But he never did.
Four years passed, then five… no calls, no letters. I asked about him at old schools and among classmates — it was as if he’d never existed. His phone number was canceled, his address gone. I quietly went back to carrying vegetables at the market and working nights picking trash to slowly pay off my debt.
Thirteen years after I first went to the bank to borrow money for him, I returned, trembling with a stack of papers in my hands, bent over and tired, eyes dimmed by time. I said:
“Auntie wants to pay off the last debt. I will pay the rest.”
The bank employee checked the system, then looked at me with surprise.
“Wait… this loan was paid off two years ago.”
I was stunned.
“Who… who paid it?”
The employee read the note attached to the account:
“Return on behalf of my aunt — the only person who loves me unconditionally.”
— Sender: Tran Minh.
My knees went weak. I had to hold onto the table.
He did not forget me.
He paid his debt.
Quietly, just like the way he left.
Tears fell inside the bank — not from anger or bitterness, but because this old heart finally understood:
He didn’t leave to abandon me.
He was trying to find a way to come back.
In his own way.
