Mr. Bay is 82 years old this year, with white hair and a thin figure, living alone in an old house in the middle of a small field. Since his wife passed away, he has only had the incense altar and the rice fields as his friends. His small pension and a few rice crops a year are all he can manage. Even though he has five children, he is still used to eating, sleeping, and taking care of everything by himself. Every afternoon, he leans on his cane and goes out to the yard to look at the village road, waiting for the sound of someone’s car coming home.

Occasionally, the children would come home, carrying a few gifts and asking a few superficial questions. “How is Dad? How is he eating?” – they would ask and then hurry away. He forced a smile and nodded, although the coughing fits that had often made him want to collapse. Only the third daughter, called Tu, often stayed by his side to help him harvest rice, cook rice, and clean the altar. The villagers said Tu was slow and not as agile as her siblings, only hanging around the fields. But it was this hanging around that helped him feel less lonely.

One rainy day, Mr. Bay fell in the kitchen and had to stay in bed for several days. News of his illness spread quickly, and his five children came home one by one. But instead of asking him how he was doing, they started whispering and calculating. “Who will take care of dad now? A month’s medicine costs several million, not to mention food…” – the eldest brother frowned. The second sister complained that her husband and children were busy and could not bring their dad home to take care of him. Every word of discussion reeked of shifting responsibility.

Mr. Bay lay still listening, his heart aching, his eyes staring at the ceiling, his heart empty. He only coughed softly to hide his sadness. The children’s arguments filled the house, people’s voices mixed with sighs. Tu stood in the corner, his hands trembling as he held the bowl of porridge, not daring to speak. The porridge was cold, and he had not yet had time to give it to his father. He turned his face away, tears falling wet his pillow.

Finally, the five of them discussed: sell their father’s field to get the money to divide, whoever wants to contribute to raise it, the rest to keep for themselves. “Why leave that field, it will only make you miserable, how much will you gain” – the second sister firmly said. The youngest added, saying that their father was old, keeping the land was useless. They decided to go to the bank the next morning to complete the paperwork to sell it. Tu was stunned, his heart ached, but he remained silent.

The next morning, the group went to the bank, bringing their papers. They discussed the money to be divided, each person a share, then decided to take care of their father. The eldest brother enthusiastically said: “Divide it into five parts, whoever wants to take care of their father can take a share.” Everything seemed to be going smoothly. But when the officer showed the savings book, the group was stunned. The account holder was not Mr. Bay, but the third daughter – Tu.

The thick savings book, the number clearly appeared: nearly 3 billion VND. The entire bank room seemed to fall into silence. The eldest brother opened his eyes wide, his voice faltering: “Why… why is it Tu’s name?” The second sister turned pale, slumped down in her chair. The youngest pursed her lips, unable to believe what was happening before her eyes. They looked at each other, then simultaneously turned to Mr. Bay, looking for an answer. But he just sat there silently, his face calm.

Tu bowed his head, his hands clasped together, his lips trembling. The bank officer explained: “This amount has been deposited for many years, the person in whose name it is is Miss Tu, regular transactions.” All five children looked at Tu, their eyes filled with both surprise and shame. The old scornful words about Tu “not doing anything”, “living a dull life” seemed to slap them back. The eldest brother cleared his throat, trying to find a reason: “Where did the money… come from?”

Mr. Bay cleared his throat, his eyes looked at each of his children, then stopped at Tu. “For decades, I have been getting weaker, who will take care of the fields and gardens? Who will sell each grain of rice, each can of paddy to deposit in the bank?” – his voice was slow. No one responded, the whole room was silent. He continued: “Whoever knows how to love me, I will give it all to them. I will not keep it for myself.” The words were as light as the wind but as heavy as a rock falling in the hearts of each of his children.

The second sister burst into tears, burying her face in her hands, her voice choked with sobs: “I… I didn’t expect… Dad to believe him like that.” The youngest looked at Tu, her eyes filled with embarrassment and regret. The eldest brother sat there, remembering the times he blamed his father for keeping the fields in vain, when those fields were the ones that nourished everything. Tu stood still, her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face. She never thought her secret efforts would be exposed to her siblings.

Mr. Bay sighed, his voice low: “I’m old, I don’t need much money. I just hope you don’t argue, don’t consider me a burden.” His words made no one dare look straight into his eyes. They used to be his pride, but now they turned into sadness. His whole life was spent on the fields, he just wanted his children to be united, and yet. The atmosphere was stifling.

Leaving the bank, they walked silently, no longer chatting about the division of money. On the way back, the wind blew through the bamboo trees, rustling, as if reminding. The second sister held Tu’s hand, her eyes red: “I… forgive you.” Tu just lowered her head, said nothing, but her trembling hand still held it. Mr. Bay sat in the car, his eyes looking far away at the fields, a tired smile on the corner of his mouth.

From that day on, the children began to change, slowly but surely. The eldest brother often called home to ask about his father, no longer in an urgent tone. The second sister occasionally came back, bringing home-cooked food. The youngest brought her child home for him to play with, the children’s laughter making the house less empty. Whenever they gathered, they no longer talked about money, but reminisced about old memories. Mr. Bay sat in the middle, his eyes sparkling.

In the following harvests, Tu still quietly went to the fields, reaping each grain of rice, drying each basket of paddy. But this time, she was no longer alone, her brother and sister also helped a little. Mr. Bay looked at that scene, feeling relieved, even though he knew his strength was not long left. He believed that when he was gone, this house would still have people, no longer silent. The greatest legacy he left behind was not money, but awakened love.

And every afternoon, he still went out to the porch, leaning on his cane and looking at the village road. But instead of waiting in vain, he saw familiar footsteps returning more often. The wind still blew on the old tiled roof, the birds still chirped to each other. He smiled slightly, whispering in his heart: “Finally, I still have you by my side.” That was all he had hoped for his entire life.