I live alone in a remote, impoverished countryside, with no husband, children, or family of my own. I’ve spent my entire life working tirelessly in the fields and living with extreme frugality.
One year, on a stormy, rain-soaked night, I found an abandoned newborn in front of the temple gate — still red, wrapped in a thin, drenched towel.
No one else was willing to take the child in, so I did.
I named him Minh, hoping he would grow up intelligent and full of light. Raising a child with no blood ties was already challenging, but doing so while living in poverty made it even harder. I borrowed money from every corner of the village, even from the policy bank, just to cover his school fees.
There were times when I survived on plain rice porridge, just so he could have a box of milk and a notebook like the other children at school.
Minh grew up smart, obedient, and quiet. He didn’t call me “mom”, just “aunt”, but I didn’t blame him. He just needed to study and become a good person.
The year he passed the university entrance exam, I emptied all my money and mortgaged the old house to borrow money from the bank again. Minh bowed his head and said softly:
– I will try, auntie, wait for me to come back.
But then it didn’t come back.
4 years, then 5 years… not a single call, not a single letter. I asked about my classmates, my old school – as if it had never existed. The phone number was canceled, the address was gone. I quietly continued the rest of my life carrying vegetables at the market, working as a hired hand picking trash at night to gradually pay off my debt.
Thirteen years after the first day I set foot in the bank to borrow money to raise him, I returned, trembling with a stack of papers in my hands, my back bent, my eyes dim. I said:
– Auntie, I want to pay off the last debt. I will pay off the rest.
The bank employee checked the machine, looked at me for a long time, then frowned slightly.
– Wait a minute. This loan… was paid off already? Two years ago.
I was stunned.
– What? Who… who paid…?
The employee looked at the screen then bent down to read:
– Account note: “Return on behalf of my aunt – the only person who loves me unconditionally.”
– Sender: Tran Minh.
I was stunned. For a moment, my knees went weak and I had to hold onto the table to steady myself.
It did not forget me.
It paid its debt.
Quietly, like the way it left.
My tears fell in the middle of the bank. Not because of anger, but because this old heart finally understood: it was not that the orphan left… but that it was trying to find a way to return, in its own way.
