I Built a House Worth Over ₱2.3 Million Pesos for My Parents, But When I Came Home, I Found Them Sleeping in the Warehouse, and Other People Were Living in the Expensive House
I am Hưng, 32 years old, a software engineer living in Saigon for over ten years. Since leaving my hometown outside Nam Định for college and starting work, I rarely went back. I only returned for a few days during Tet (Lunar New Year). My parents worked hard their whole lives, so when my career stabilized, I had one desire: to build them a decent house where they could rest in their old age.
About a year ago, I sent over ₱2.3 Million Pesos—almost all of my savings—to build them a modern single-story house with a Thai roof, with a separate room for each, a yard for planting, a big kitchen for Mom, and a living room so Dad “wouldn’t be embarrassed when inviting relatives over.”
On the day of the housewarming, I couldn’t go home because I was busy with a major project. I only watched it on a video Mom took with her old phone. They were smiling sweetly on the small screen. I promised: “When Tet comes, I’ll stay there with both of you for a long time.”
But no one knows what life holds. That Tet, the company ran into a big problem. I couldn’t go home again.
Finally, it was only this July that I found an opportunity to go home unexpectedly, without telling anyone. In my mind, I still imagined my parents sitting on the veranda of the new house, fanning themselves with a dried banana leaf, and smiling broadly when they saw me.
But…
Everything I imagined was wrong.
I arrived at the end of our alley before noon. The former muddy road is now paved. Our village has changed a lot over the years: two-story houses are everywhere, but only my parents’ corner of land remained quiet.
But the thing that stopped me was this:
The door of the new house was wide open. The front veranda was full of children’s clothes hung out to dry. Children’s bicycles were scattered in the yard.
I stood at the gate, my heart pounding strongly.
Then, I saw a young woman, about 30 years old, running out of the house, holding a bottle of fish sauce.
– “Oh, who are you looking for?” she asked. – “This… this is my parents’ house, isn’t it?” I replied, my voice slightly cracked.
The woman’s eyes widened at me, then she looked worried: – “Is this the house of Tito Đình and Tita Hà? Me… I’m just staying here temporarily… maybe, your parents are in the warehouse out back…”
It felt like my chest was being choked.
I headed straight to the back. The old warehouse was still there—the place I told them to tear down last year, but they couldn’t bring themselves to do it. The wooden door was rotting, and one hinge was broken. I opened the door, and dust fell down.
And I saw Mom lying on a folding bed. Dad was sitting on a plastic chair, fixing a broken basket with wire.
The place was cramped and incredibly hot.
– “Mom… Dad…” I called, my throat trembling.
Mom got up, happy: – “Oh, it’s Hưng! You didn’t even tell us you were coming home! I’ll go cook some food.”
I froze. Seeing the scene, anger surged inside me.
– “Why… why are you here?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Who is the new house for, then?”
Dad was slightly startled by my reaction, but still calm: – “Take it easy, Son, let’s go out first, it’s hot in here. Don’t rush, we’ll tell you.”
I couldn’t wait any longer. I almost shouted: – “Why are you humbling yourselves like this? And why are other people in the new house?”
Mom looked worried, and glanced at Dad. Dad sighed: – “It’s a long story, Son…” I bit my lip: “I want to hear it right now.”
The woman from earlier followed behind, standing by the door, still holding the bottle of fish sauce. She spoke softly: – “Please don’t blame Tita. It’s only because of our situation…”
I looked at her, losing a bit of patience: – “Who are you?” – “I’m Lan, Tito Thịnh’s daughter… Tito Thịnh passed away last year… My husband died of illness a year ago. Our house was relocated for the expressway and the compensation wasn’t enough to buy new land. My child and I had nowhere to stay… Tita took pity on us, so she let us stay in the new house temporarily…”
My brow furrowed: – “Stay… for a year? While my parents are in the warehouse?”
Dad spoke: – “They were displaced during the height of the storm. The new house was just finished, we hadn’t even moved in yet. We felt sorry for the mother and child, so we told them to stay for a few months. We didn’t know… that her medical treatments and compensation case would drag on. We have the warehouse which is still usable, even if it’s a bit cramped, but we’re used to it.”
I stood there speechless. I felt slapped.
Mom added, her voice soft: – “The house is big, we’re old, anywhere is fine. Lan is kind and her life is so difficult. I thought that helping others is also a way of accumulating good karma for you, children…”
I looked again at the hot, dusty warehouse; I looked at my parents living in a place that should have been gone long ago. Then I looked at the clean new house, with a shiny blue roof, where I could hear children’s laughter inside.
I felt hurt and angry. I wanted to speak, but my lips trembled. My parents were always like that—selflessly sacrificing, until… it was too much.
In the afternoon, I went to a neighbor’s house to park my car. From their stories, I learned more about Lan: the child, Bi, is five years old, often sick; Lan works at a sewing factory in town, traveling almost ten kilometers every day, the salary barely enough to live on; her husband died in a traffic accident while working as a shipper.
The neighbors praised Lan as kind, hardworking, and patient, but unfortunate due to consecutive misfortunes.
That evening, after dinner Mom cooked in the temporary kitchen, I sat outside the warehouse, looking at the lighted new house. My mind was a mess. I felt immense pity for my parents, but looking at Lan and the child, I also felt a different kind of pity, the pity for people with no other choice.
I didn’t want to snatch the house away from them. But I could absolutely not accept my parents suffering.
And I decided:
Tomorrow morning, I will fix everything—in the best possible way.
The next morning, after my parents finished breakfast, I spoke: – “I want us all to have a short meeting.”
Lan, who was about to leave to take her child to school, was also invited to stay. Perhaps, she guessed I would ask them to leave.
I took a deep breath: – “That house was built for my parents. I don’t want them sleeping in the warehouse anymore. And Lan… you and Bi… you can’t stay there for too long either.”
Lan bowed her head, close to tears: – “I know. I was planning to rent a place once the compensation case is settled. It’s just… I’m afraid Tito and Tita would be lonely…”
I spoke more gently: – “No one will be lonely. But we need to find a better solution, not this kind of sacrifice.”
Mom’s voice was shaky: – “Son, that’s what you say… but I genuinely pity Lan and her child…” – “I pity them too.” I replied. “That’s why I want to help them for real.”
They all looked at me, not understanding what I was going to do.
I continued: – “I have some savings left. Not as much as last year, but enough to buy a small house in the village for Lan and her child. It’s an old house, but better than renting. If Lan agrees, I’ll put it in her name, no need to pay me back.”
Lan cried: – “Kuya… why are you so kind to me? We’re not even related by blood…”
I shook my head: – “This isn’t kindness. This is what my parents taught me. If my parents sacrificed for a neighbor, I should continue that. But my parents deserve to live in a house worthy of them.”
Dad looked at me for a long time, his eyes slightly red: – “You’ve really grown up… I thought you would just get angry about these things.”
I smiled, with tears in my eyes: – “I am angry… but last night, thinking it over, I understand that you live by gratitude. But gratitude needs support too. Let me take care of the rest.”
Mom hugged me, speaking softly: – “Thank you, Son… and I also apologize for not thinking much about your feelings…”
I hugged Mom tightly.
That was the first time in years I felt like a small child again in my parents’ arms.
After three weeks, I found an old single-story house in the village, just a few hundred meters away from my parents’ house. I had it fixed up, bought Bi a new bed, and bought Lan a sewing machine so she could take on extra work at home.
On the day of the move, Lan cried as she hugged my parents: – “I will owe you this favor for the rest of my life…”
Mom just smiled: – “Oh, we’re just neighbors, dear.”
That evening, my parents finally moved into their own new house—at last. I sat in the spacious living room, watching Dad turn on the TV, watching Mom arranging every plate and bowl. They were so happy they were arguing over which corner to put the tea set.
I felt relieved.
That night, the three of us sat on the veranda. Dad poured a little liquor into my cup, and he spoke slowly: – “Do you know, Son… Tito Thịnh’s family was poor back then. One time, I had an accident and fell in the rice field, he himself carried me from the field to the clinic. And your Mom, when she was pregnant with you, she was often dizzy, and their family would run to get coconut water, or borrow rice. Our help to Lan… is just paying a debt of gratitude, Son.”
I was silent for a long time.
Then, I spoke: – “I understand now, Dad. But you also have to let us repay our debt of gratitude to you.”
Dad smiled: – “Now, you understand. You built this house. And your buying another house for Lan and her child… we know you didn’t do it just out of pride. That’s why we are at peace.”
Mom nodded: – “The important thing is… from now on, come home often to visit us, okay?”
I smiled, pouring warm tea: – “I promise. I will come home more often, and I won’t let you ‘accumulate good karma for me’ in hardship anymore.”
The three of us laughed.
The laughter faded into the night air.
Three months later, I suddenly received a letter from Lan. In the letter, she wrote: “Kuya Hưng, I was promoted to team leader at the sewing factory because of the sewing machine you gave me, I can sew much faster now. I plan to renovate the house you bought next year and open a small tailoring shop. If everything goes well, I want to return the money to you… not so I owe nothing, but so you can use it to help other people, just as your parents helped me.”
I cried reading the letter.
At the end of the letter, Lan added a line: “I think… the very house you built for your parents saved me and my child again. Thank you and thank you for the kindness of Tito and Tita’s hearts.”
I covered the letter. A warm feeling spread in my chest.
I understood:
Sometimes, what we thought was lost—comes back in a much better way.
Whenever I go home to the province now, I see my parents sitting in front of the veranda of the new house, the scene peaceful like a painting. Dad still sips tea, Mom still tells stories about the neighbors. Including the story about “kind Lan who was blessed by God.”
And I realized:
The house I built is not just a residence for my parents. It is also a seed of kindness, quietly sprouting in the way my parents approach life.
That seed, I will carry forever.