Minh bent down, his small hands gripping the steering wheel of the car full of scrap metal as it rattled on the sun-drenched road. The June sky was hot, each ray of sunlight seemed to burn the back of his faded shirt. His sandals were torn, each step made a strange “clack-clack” sound. The boy’s cheeks were red, beads of sweat rolled down his chin. Suddenly, a “bang” sounded, the wheel scraped hard against the side of the shiny silver car.

The door opened, a middle-aged man stepped out. His tall, gray suit hugged his figure, his face was angular, his cold eyes made Minh tremble. “What are you doing? Do you know how much this car is worth?” His voice was harsh, mixed with anger. Minh panicked, bent down, and mumbled: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, my car is too heavy…” His eyes were blurred with sweat, his gaze was both scared and pitiful.

The man, named Quang, frowned, about to shout again, but stopped. That childish look in his eyes made him suddenly soften. “What’s your name, where are you from?” he asked. Minh hesitated: “I… I’m Minh, I live in the boarding house over there, after school I help my mother pick up scrap metal.” The innocent words made him a little stunned, his heart suddenly rippled.

He was about to turn away when Minh blurted out, “My mom has a picture of you in her wallet.” Quang froze, his eyes glued to that dirty face. “A picture… of you?” he asked again, his voice trembling slightly. Minh nodded, “Yes, my mom’s name is Huong. She said when she was young, she took a picture with someone who looked a lot like you.” Hearing that name, Quang’s heart clenched.

That night, in the large villa, Quang could not sleep. The glass of red wine on the table gradually decreased, but the gnawing in his chest grew stronger. He remembered thirteen years ago, the day he left Huong. At that time, she was just a gentle street vendor, while he, with his ambition to get ahead, was forced by his family to choose. He chose his career, leaving behind a daughter and perhaps a life yet to be born.

Early in the morning, he drove to the poor market. The sound of lottery ticket sellers echoed, and among the crowd, he recognized Huong. She was thin, her shirt was faded, her face was sunburned, but her eyes were still gentle and heartbreaking. Quang slowed down, as if afraid that speaking would ruin the moment. Huong looked up, her eyes were slightly surprised, then calmly said: “Are you looking for me?”

“It’s me… Quang.” He exclaimed, his voice faltering. Huong was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly, her lips pursed into a faint smile. “It’s been a long time, do you still remember me?” she asked, her voice mixed with sarcasm and fatigue. He choked up, only saying: “I remember, I have never forgotten.” Huong looked down, quietly opened her old wallet, and took out the yellowed photo.

In the photo were two young faces beaming with happiness. Huong placed it in his hand: “I keep it, not to resent, but to remember that there were beautiful days.” Quang took it, his hand trembling, his eyes blurred. “I… am sorry. I left, leaving you alone.” His voice choked, each word seemed to tear at his heart.

Huong smiled faintly, shaking her head slightly: “You don’t need to apologize. The decision to continue was mine. I chose to keep the child, chose to be a mother, so I don’t blame him. But Minh… growing up not knowing who his father is, that’s what bothers me the most.” Those words made Quang collapse.

“Minh… is your son?” he whispered. Huong was silent for a long time, then finally nodded. Her eyes reflected the resilience of a woman who had raised her child for twelve years. He wanted to hug her, to make up for everything, but his hand only trembled slightly. The distance between them now was a lifetime.

That afternoon, Minh trotted over and was startled to see Quang: “Uncle… why are you here?” Quang smiled awkwardly: “I just came to visit your mother. How are your studies?” Minh innocently replied: “I study well, but my mother gets tired very often.” That sentence made his eyes water, and his heart filled with an unprecedented love for his child.

In the following days, Quang came to visit many times. He bought some food and left it at the corner of the table. He gave her medicine and quietly followed her. Huong initially refused coldly, but his sincere eyes gradually softened her heart. Minh quickly became attached, telling him small, everyday stories, sometimes smiling innocently: “You look a lot like my father!”

One evening, when Minh was asleep, Quang sat in front of Huong. He said in a low voice: “Please let me be with the child, even if only as a father.” Huong was silent, her eyes sparkling but firm: “You chose to leave. I have learned to live without you. I don’t want Minh to be disturbed.” After saying that, she turned away, tears rolling down her face.

Quang was in pain but did not give up. He continued to quietly care for him. Minh gradually considered him as a relative, often calling him “Uncle Quang” in a cheerful voice. Every time the boy showed off his ten points, his eyes lit up with joy. He watched his son grow up, feeling both happy and troubled. It was too late to make up for it, but that was all he could do.

One rainy night, Huong sat on the porch of the boarding house, watching the rain splash on her shirt. Quang came over and handed her a raincoat: “I don’t want you to suffer like this alone anymore.” Huong’s voice trembled: “Do you know what I’ve been through? Years of struggling, penny by penny to raise my child… but that’s it, it’s all over. I just hope Minh grows up well.” Her words made him silent, his eyes red.

Minh ran out, put a raincoat on his mother, innocently: “Mom, put it on so you don’t get cold. Uncle Quang is so nice!” Quang’s childish words made him choke up, wanting to shout: “It’s Dad!” But he just smiled slightly, swallowing his tears. The fatherly love was there but he couldn’t name it.

As time passed, Quang’s presence became familiar. Huong gradually realized that he had changed, his eyes filled with regret and a desire to make amends. One time, she exclaimed: “You are no longer the man you used to be.” Quang smiled sadly: “I was foolish in the past, now I only hope I have a chance to do the right thing.” Between them, a fragile trust was gradually returning.

On Minh’s birthday, Quang quietly bought a cake, with the words “Happy 13th birthday.” Minh happily exclaimed: “Uncle Quang gave me a cake, just like my father gave me one!” Huong looked at her son, then at Quang, her heart in turmoil. His eyes were full of hope, as if waiting for her to allow the truth to be revealed. But Huong just kept quiet, wiped her tears, and smiled softly at her son.

That night, when Minh was fast asleep, Huong said softly: “You know, there was a time when I hated you to the core. But when I saw you with the child, I thought… maybe you really regretted it.” Quang nodded, his voice choked: “It took you too long to understand. Give me a chance… if not with you, then with the child.” In the darkness, their eyes met, teary but sincere.

As the days passed, Minh continued to grow up innocently, unaware of the truth. Quang, on the other hand, remained patiently by his side, quietly sowing the seeds of love day by day. In his heart, money and fame suddenly became insignificant. What he longed for was just a simple call: “Dad.” Huong understood, and gradually stopped avoiding him.

The story is like a sad but hopeful song. The successful man realizes that true value lies not in numbers, but in the lost family. The strong woman learns to forgive, so that her child can have a father. And the innocent boy, growing up in the arms of both his mother and the person he missed, will have a more fulfilling childhood. Everything is like a destiny, closing the past, opening a peaceful present.