Mrs. Lan lives in a small alley deep in the heart of the city, where old houses are crowded together. People are used to seeing her carrying vegetables to the market early in the morning and then quietly burning incense in front of the altar in the afternoon. Neighbors say she is gentle and quiet, only her eyes are always filled with sadness. Mrs. Lan is over sixty this year, her hair is gray but her figure is still agile. What remains in her heart after decades is only a pain that will never completely heal.

Twenty-five years ago, she lost her only son when he was just two years old. That day, the market was crowded with people jostling each other, and she was only distracted for a moment when the boy disappeared. She panicked, ran everywhere, screaming her son’s name until her voice was hoarse. Her “Hai!” mixed with the noise of the market, but the only response was a vast void. That moment buried her entire life in darkness.

She searched for her son for many years, from asking the police, sending pictures to temples, to even going on the radio to read the news. Every day she lived in the faint hope that somewhere, her son was still alive. But the more she searched, the more she met head shakes, pitying looks. Some people told her to stop looking, that her fate had been decided. But how could she stop when her heart was still beating?

The name “Hai” was the first and only gift she gave her son. Every time she lit incense, she whispered that name as if calling a soul that had never disappeared. For many years, she lived quietly with the child’s faint memories and a round smile. Sometimes she wondered what kind of person he would be if he were still alive. But then the pain piled up and turned into a tormenting silence.

Life took a turn, Mrs. Lan had no one by her side, her husband died early, her relatives were all scattered. She was used to going to the market in the morning and coming back in the evening, sticking to her vegetable stall. People saw her smile, but no one knew that inside she was still bleeding. The only thing that made her try to live on was the fragile belief in a miracle. And she still burned incense every night, praying in silence.

One night, a loud shout came from the old apartment building near the market. The fire flared up, lighting up the sky. People panicked and jostled each other, screaming as they ran. Mrs. Lan also rushed out, joining the chaotic crowd. The fire engulfed every house, and the thick smoke made everyone suffocate.

In the chaos, a young man recklessly rushed into the fire. People stopped him, shouting loudly: “Going in there means you’ll die, don’t be foolish!” But he didn’t listen, just rushed straight into the sea of ​​fire. No one had time to remember his face, only saw his lean, determined figure. The firelight reflected his determination in every step.

He led them out one by one, from the screaming child to the unconscious man. Everyone was stunned by the scene, some burst into tears, some clasped their hands in prayer. Mrs. Lan also stood still, her trembling hands clasped before her chest. Amidst the cries for help, she could hear her heart pounding, her eyes blurred by the smoke. But the young man still kept rushing inside.

Finally, he found an old woman trapped on the second floor. The fire and smoke were everywhere, the stairs were crumbling, and the wood was burning fiercely. Without hesitation, he carried the old woman on his back and groped his way down the half-burned stairs. Each step was like a struggle with death, his breathing was rapid and mixed with the black smoke. The people below were screaming, their eyes watching him tensely.

As soon as he put the old lady on the ground, the young man staggered and collapsed. His body was covered with burns, sweat mixed with dust. In a moment of exhaustion, he moved his lips and muttered a sentence. Mrs. Lan heard it clearly, like a knife piercing straight to her heart. “My name is Hai…”

Mrs. Lan was stunned, her eyes wide open, her ears ringing as if she couldn’t believe it. Her heart clenched, tears welled up uncontrollably. That name, she had called out in tears for twenty-five years. Every second, every minute of waiting, now it rang out right in front of her. She trembled, her mouth mumbling: “Hai… my Hai…”

The young man was rushed to the emergency room in critical condition. Mrs. Lan rushed after him, clutching the nurse’s sleeve as she walked, afraid that he would disappear again. She had a strong feeling that this was not a coincidence. Her eyes did not leave the sweaty, motionless face on the stretcher. She had waited her whole life, she could not let this opportunity slip away.

In the hospital, Mrs. Lan sat outside the emergency room, her hands clasped together. The sound of the machines inside made her heart tremble with each beat. She remembered the innocent face of the child years ago, the voice that babbled and called “Mom”. Memories flooded back, tearing her old heart apart. And now, that name saved her from the depths of despair.

When Hai regained consciousness, Mrs. Lan sat next to him, her eyes filled with tears. He opened his eyes slowly, looking around, his eyes filled with fatigue. She held his hand tremblingly: “My child… do you remember anything about your childhood?” Hai shook his head, his voice hoarse: “I… grew up in an orphanage, never knowing my parents.” Her heart felt like it was being squeezed, but at the same time, a fierce hope flared up.

The next day, Mrs. Lan tried every way to get a DNA test. The hospital staff were initially surprised, but when they heard her story, they nodded. She hardly slept, waiting every hour and every minute. She was torn between fear and anticipation. She feared the truth would deny her, but she also longed to hold her child once.

When the results came back, Mrs. Lan was shaking so much that she almost collapsed. The white paper clearly read: “Blood relationship: Mother – Child”. She burst into tears, her trembling hands covering her face. Each sob that came out seemed to tear the silence apart. The whole world seemed to explode in that moment.

She rushed to hug Hai, tears falling and wetting his shoulders. He was still bewildered, not fully understanding what had happened, only knowing that her arms were shaking and squeezing tightly. “You… you are my Hai… I have been looking for you for twenty-five years…” – she choked. Hai was stunned, his whole body trembling when he heard those words. His heart shook violently, his eyes blurred with tears.

He whispered softly: “So… do I really have a mother? All these years… I thought I was just an abandoned child…” She hugged him tightly, shaking her head repeatedly: “No, you were never abandoned. I searched for you until I was exhausted, I lived just to wait for this day.” Hai buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing like a child. They both cried in each other’s arms, both happy and in pain.

In the following days, Mrs. Lan stayed by Hai’s bedside, taking care of him with every spoonful of porridge and every drop of water. She was worried when she saw the numerous burns on her son’s body, her heart aching like a knife. Hai looked at her, a sacred feeling that he had never felt before arose in his heart. He hesitantly said: “Mom… I’ve lost so many years… will we still make it in time?” She smiled, tears rolling down her face: “As long as we’re alive, we still make it in time, my child.”

The morning after the fire, sunlight streamed through the window, shining on the hospital bed. Hai sat there, holding his mother’s hand tightly, his eyes shining with new faith. Mrs. Lan whispered: “You have saved so many people… and finally saved your mother. God cannot bear to let your mother lose you again.” The old and young hands clasped together, trembling but warm.

The fire that night burned down many houses, but it also lit up a miracle. It gave Mrs. Lan a new life, freeing her from a life of loneliness. It gave Hai back a family, something he thought he would never have. In the ashes, the motherly love that he thought was lost was revived brilliantly. And that fire became a witness to an unforgettable reunion.