1. The Wound from Childhood
In 1990, our quiet little village was shaken by shocking news: my mother—the kind and hardworking woman who had raised me alone—had suddenly left with the richest man in the region.
On our rough wooden table, she left a hasty note:
“I’m sorry, my child. Forgive me.”
Beside it was a small gold bar, which she said would be my inheritance for the future.
My father, once a strong man, fell into disgrace. He fell ill and died not long after. I grew up under the whispers and derogatory looks of the entire village:
— “That’s the son of the woman who left her husband to chase wealth.”
My childhood was nothing but exhausting bitterness. I told myself, I no longer had a mother.
2. The Unexpected Reunion
Time passed. Almost 35 years later, I had a wife, children, and a modest but stable home.
One hot afternoon, a sleek black car pulled up at my gate. The door opened, and a frail, silver-haired woman stepped out with shy eyes. I froze—it was my mother.
In her trembling hands was a large bag. She placed it on the table and carefully took out three land certificates and a savings book worth 500 million VND.
My entire family was shocked.
I looked at her coldly, years of quarreling erupting:
— “Do you think you can buy relatives with money? You left us. You will always be strangers!”
Tears streamed down her face as she fainted:
— “No, my son… This is not my money. It belongs to your father. I have kept it safe for 35 years, waiting for this day. At that time, I did not leave for the wealth. I only left your father… and to protect you.”
3. The Hidden Truth
He handed me a bundle of old documents, with a bright red seal. Inside, it was written: in 1990, my father was involved in a violent land dispute with a powerful gang. They promised to destroy our family if he did not pay his debts.
My mother agreed to “leave” with the rich man, pretending to betray his wife and son in exchange for our safety. In reality, that man was just a cover—a temporary shield that allowed him to protect my father and me.
I remained silent, every word piercing me like a knife. All my life I had felt hatred, only to discover that the one I despised the most was the one who sacrificed the most.
4. A New Storm Breaks
Soon, the loud sound of car horns blared at the gate. A group of threatening strangers entered, threatening:
— “This land belongs to us. Back then, your mother owed us a debt on behalf of your father. Now you’re the one to pay.”
I was shocked—the enemies of the past had not yet disappeared.
As the air filled with tension, my mother tremblingly opened the last envelope. Inside was my father’s original notarized will, which proved that all the land was his legal property. No one had the right to contest it.
The thugs swore in frustration before leaving. But I knew deep down that the danger was not really over.
5. The Shattering Moment
When only my family and my mother were left in the yard, my knees buckled.
I cried like a child, sobbing:
— “Mom… I’m sorry. I’ve spent my whole life hating you, I didn’t know… You sacrificed everything.”
She pulled me into her arms, her weak hands shaking as they stroked my hair:
— “As long as you can call me ‘Mother’ again, then every sacrifice I made was worth it.”
Outside, the setting sun painted the sky red. Inside our poor home, filled with sobs, the bond between mother and daughter—which had been buried for 35 years—was finally restored.
6. Conclusion
My mother’s story taught me this: sometimes what we see is only the surface of the truth.
I carried hatred for almost half my life, unknowingly rejecting the very woman who had quietly given up her youth to protect her family.
Now, every time the words “Mother” leave my lips, my heart warms—because they hold forgiveness, love, and a vow: to spend the rest of my life making up for the years lost to her.