A Joyful Surprise for Huyen and De: His Ex-Wife Returns to Finalize the Divorce

A Joyful Surprise for Huyen and De: His Ex-Wife Returns to Finalize the Divorce

Sometimes life brings closure not with loud 
storms but with a quiet return. A door once closed slowly opening again. After years of waiting and 
uncertainty, a single message changes everything. On the road home, D receives the call he’s 
long avoided. His ex-wife has come back, ready to sign the divorce papers. “I just 
want us both to be free,” De says softly, his voice trembling between relief and disbelief. 
“Tonight, as the wind cools and the past begins to loosen its hold, Huan and De finally see a glimpse 
of peace at the end of their long journey.” Welcome to this episode. A joyful surprise for 
Huan and Di. His ex-wife returns to finalize the divorce. The morning sunlight slid gently across 
the small courtyard, painting the cement floor in pale gold. Dew still clung to the edges of the 
vegetable leaves, glittering faintly as Maya tiptoed barefoot toward the water bucket. The air 
smelled of damp soil and young greens, of a quiet countryside, still half asleep. From inside the 
house, Huian’s soft footsteps brushed the floor, steady and patient, the rhythm of someone long 
accustomed to doing everything herself. The old well creaked faintly when she lowered the bucket, 
the sound echoing like a sigh across the yard. Mom, let me water the vegetables,” Maya called, 
her voice bright with excitement as she tried to lift the bucket. The wooden handle trembled 
in her small hands. Water sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “The water bucket is too heavy 
for you to carry,” Huan said with a gentle smile, brushing the child’s hair away from her forehead. 
“You can sweep the yard instead.” The girl’s eyes, dark and round, shown with mischief. “I finished 
sweeping already. Can I help water the vegetables now?” she asked again, almost pleading. Huan 
straightened, a few drops of sweat glistening on her temple, and said softly. When the bucket 
is lighter, “You can help. The water’s gone now. Let’s get more first.” The sound of a hammer 
drifted from afar. Someone was building a tall house, each metallic strike ringing like a 
distant reminder of other lives moving forward. Maya looked up toward the sound, then turned back 
to her mother, her lips forming a tiny pout. Even when angry, love is still there. Huan murmured 
absently, half to herself, her gaze lost in the light flickering on the leaves. Mom, why don’t 
you let Maya water the plants? the child insisted, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. Hoyen looked down, 
her eyes soft but firm. Maya’s small voice turned playful again. To go to the pond. Mom needs Uncle 
De’s permission, she said with a teasing grin, mimicking the tone she had once heard from adults. 
Huian paused, her hand frozen on the handle of the watering can. But Uncle Day is away,” Maya added, 
her expression suddenly thoughtful. “So there’s no permission anymore.” The courtyard grew quiet 
except for the faint rustle of wind stirring the bamboo fence. Huan didn’t answer right away. She 
just looked at her daughter, the sunlight catching in her eyes, and smiled faintly, a smile that held 
both tenderness and longing. In that small pause, somewhere between laughter and ache, the sound 
of the distant hammer echoed again, and the world went on quietly around them. The late morning 
light drifted lazily through the doorway, falling across the old wooden chair set in the middle of 
the courtyard. A faint breeze stirred the laundry on the line, carrying with it the scent of soap 
and sunwarmed cotton. Huan stood beside the chair, a pair of dull scissors in her hand, calling 
softly, “Maya, come here so mom can trim your hair.” From behind the banana tree came a small, 
panicked voice. “No, I don’t want to cut my hair.” The little girl’s head peeked out for a moment, 
two wide eyes, a flash of nervous laughter, then vanished again. Hu Yen sighed, her smile 
half amused, half resigned. This time, mom won’t cut it short. She promised, stepping closer. The 
sound of her sandals brushed against the ground, steady and gentle. Maya whispered to herself. “I 
better hide or mom will cut my hair short again.” and crouched lower behind a clay jar. “Maya, 
where are you?” Huian called, her voice rising slightly as she searched the corners of the yard. 
“Come here so mom can cut your hair.” When silence answered, her tone shifted. No longer playful, but 
patient. The kind of patience that grows from love and exhaustion. Maya, come here. Let mom cut 
your hair. Where did you run off to? I don’t want to cut my hair. Came the reply, stubborn but 
trembling. Huan found her then, crouched small in the shadow, and crossed her arms. Who told you to 
hide from mom? You’re being naughty. I don’t want to cut my hair. Maya’s voice cracked, her eyes 
wet. You dare hide from mom. I’ll spank you now. Hen’s voice sounded fierce, but her hands only 
rested on her hips, motionless. Then she softened, her anger dissolving as quickly as it came. Mom 
said just a little trim. And you dared to hide, she said gently, reaching down to lift the child’s 
chin. Mom will only trim a little bit. Okay. Maya bit her lip, whispering. Don’t cut it short. Mom, 
I want to look pretty. All right, Ouan said, her tone melting into warmth. Put on this cape so your 
hair doesn’t fall all over you while I cut. The child climbed into the chair, shoulders hunched, 
the oversized cape wrapping her like a cocoon. Mom, I’m really scared of haircuts, she murmured, 
twisting her fingers in her lap. Please don’t cut it too short. I want to keep it long. I’ll 
just trim a little in the front, Huan reassured, combing through the soft black strands. I’m only 
cutting a bit of your bangs in the front, not the back. The scissors clicked rhythmically, slow and 
deliberate, echoing faintly in the quiet yard. Sit still and close your eyes so I can cut your 
hair. Huian said, bending close. Maya frowned, eyes squeezed shut. I’m scared of your hair 
cutting skills. Mom, raise your head up so I can finish cutting. Huian chuckled. The scissors 
hesitated against a lock. These scissors are so dull. Sit still. Lift your head so I can 
make it look nice. A few more snips, a pause, then a breath of relief. “Do you think you look 
pretty?” Huian asked. Maya’s smile broke wide. “Pretty?” she said proudly. “Why does it look like 
a boy’s haircut?” “It doesn’t?” Huian laughed. “You’re just imagining things.” She dusted 
the small bits of hair from Maya’s shoulders, shaking the cape gently. “All done. Let me take 
the cape off. Careful or the hair will fall on you and make you itchy. The child jumped down, 
touching her newly trimmed bangs with wonder. Go get your backpack and books. Huan reminded 
softly. It’s time for school. She crouched to wash Maya’s face with cool well water. When you 
come home this afternoon, I’ll give you a bath. She checked the small backpack again. Make sure 
you’ve packed all your school supplies properly. Outside, the sunlight was softer now, 
leaning toward noon. “Let’s go to school, my dear,” Huian said, brushing the dust from Mia’s 
shoulders. “It won’t rain. You can leave your umbrella at home.” Mia frowned, glancing 
at the sky. “Just bring the umbrella, Mom, in case it rains later when I come back.” Huan 
smiled and handed it over. Okay, take it then. Don’t forget to wear your hat. The girl nodded 
solemnly, gripping her umbrella like a treasure. Huian watched her go, the small figure wobbling 
down the path and whispered under her breath. When Uncle D brings back the motorbike, he’ll take 
Maya to school faster. Her voice lingered in the air like a quiet wish, fading into the hum of the 
midday wind. The sun was already leaning west when Day’s motorcycle hummed along the narrow road that 
cut through the endless stretch of rice fields. Dust followed behind him like a quiet shadow, 
swirling golden in the fading light. His jacket was streaked with the marks of travel, his face 
calm but weary, eyes hidden behind the reflection of the sky in his helmet’s visor. A faint 
vibration broke through the rumble of the engine. The phone in his pocket buzzed once, then fell 
silent. When he stopped by the roadside to rest, he saw it. A missed call from my name froze him 
for a moment. Wind brushed against his face, carrying the faint scent of burning straw from a 
distant field. “Huh? Why is there a missed call from her?” he muttered under his breath, pulling 
off his gloves. He dialed back, pressing the phone close against the wind’s hiss. Hello, Mai. Did 
you call me earlier? There was a brief pause, a quiet filled with the static of distance. 
I probably called while you were on the road. Mai’s voice replied, clipped and cool. I came 
by your house, but you weren’t there. De’s tone softened. Careful. Are you back already? When will 
you come again? In a few days, she said quickly, then added, “Why? You sound in a hurry.” D 
shifted his weight, leaning against the bike, watching the horizon where the fields met the sky. 
“I just think we should settle this once and for all,” he said evenly. “The divorce.” “Let’s finish 
it so you’ll be free, and I won’t be entangled with you anymore.” The other end went quiet for 
a few seconds before her voice turned sharp. So that’s it. You’re rushing this for her, aren’t 
you? For that woman. No, he said simply. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. We’ve 
dragged this out long enough and the land, she demanded. How will you divide it? Equally, 
De replied without hesitation. You’ll get your half. A bitter laugh echoed through the speaker. 
You always sound so fair when it benefits you. Day’s eyes lowered to the dirt road, his voice 
calm but edged with fatigue. I don’t want to argue anymore. My just make time to come back and finish 
the paperwork. We’ll meet at the court. Fine, she snapped. See you there. Then the line went dead 
with a faint click. For a while, D stood still, the sound of cicas rising in the quiet fields. 
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, drew a slow breath, and spoke softly to the fading 
horizon. I’ll divide that piece of land equally. I don’t understand how she can still be so selfish. 
The breeze stirred the grass around his boots, whispering through the dry stalks. “I just hope 
this time she keeps her word,” he murmured. His eyes softened as he thought of home, of 
Huian’s gentle smile, of Maya’s laughter echoing in the small yard. “I’m eager to end this 
completely,” he said quietly, starting the engine again. “So I can move forward, start a new life 
with Huen.” The motorcycle roared back to life, cutting through the wind. “I really want to bring 
a better life to Huan and Maya,” he whispered as the fields blurred by. Even if I don’t have 
much, I’ll give them everything I can. The wind carried away the sound of his words, leaving 
only the faint hum of the motor fading toward   the horizon. The afternoon sun hung low over the 
fields, its light stretching long and soft across the ridges of soil where rows of white radishes 
pushed through the dark earth. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of mud and young 
leaves. Far off, a cowbell clinkedked lazily, and cicas began their dry chorus. Huan adjusted 
the strap of the woven basket across her shoulder as she walked toward an older man bent over the 
furrows, his hands buried deep in the soil. She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. 
“Good afternoon, uncle.” She greeted gently. The man looked up, his face weathered from sun and 
years of labor. Ah, you again. You came by the market yesterday, didn’t you? Looking to buy some 
radishes. Yes, Huan said, glancing at the plants, their green tops crisp and strong. How much 
are you selling them for? Half a dollar a kilo, he said, leaning on his hoe. You can pull up 
the big ones. Let me try one, Huan offered, crouching down and tugging carefully until a thick 
white radish came loose, its skin glistening with dew. This one’s good, she smiled, brushing the 
dirt away. I’ll pull a few more. Maybe you can give me a little discount later. The man chuckled 
softly. Go ahead, young lady. You can have a bit off the price. Hoyen worked methodically, her 
hands moving quickly through the rose, the soft rip of roots breaking free, echoing with each 
motion. Sweat rolled down her neck as she stacked the radishes neatly into her basket. Yesterday at 
the market, they sold for.7 cents a kilo, she said thoughtfully. Selling at 50 is still good enough, 
better than nothing. The man nodded, his gaze approving. Huian straightened up, stretching her 
back and wiping her brow with her sleeve. The trip here is quite long, she said, breathing lightly. 
I’ll dig a bit more while I’m here. Might as well sell it all in one go. Yes. The man said nothing. 
Just watched as she worked. The son glinted off the silver handle of her small trowel. When the 
basket was finally full, Huen knelt beside it, counting the heavy roots with care. Uncle, I’m 
done, she said, her tone polite but tired. Please help me weigh it. The man placed the scale on a 
flat stone and the basket settled on top with a soft thud. Including your basket. That’s 26 
kilos, he said. I’ll give you 100,000 dong. Huian hesitated, her fingers resting on the edge 
of the basket. Could you give me a small discount? she asked softly. I still need money for the 
ferry. The man nodded, his face kind. All right. All right. Lift it up. I’ll help you. He stooped 
and with a firm hand swung the heavy basket onto her back. Huan bent slightly under the weight, 
but smiled with quiet gratitude. That’s good now, Uncle. Thank you so much. She took a few careful 
steps, balancing herself, then turned back one last time. “Uncle, is this shortcut faster to 
the market?” “Yes,” he said, pointing toward the narrow path lined with banana trees. “Go that way. 
It’ll save you time.” “Thank you,” Huian replied, and started down the dusty trail, the hem 
of her trousers brushing against wild grass. The radishes swayed gently in the basket behind 
her as she walked, her breathing steadied, her eyes fixed on the winding path ahead. 
“I wonder where D has reached by now,” she murmured to herself. The thought of him lingered 
like a soft ache in her chest. A breeze passed, carrying the earthy scent of freshly turned 
soil and the faint sweetness of her harvest. Looking at the white bulbs peeking from her 
basket, she smiled. These radishes are so big and beautiful today. If I sell them for 15,000 per 
kilo, that would be great. She shifted the weight on her back, straightened her shoulders, and kept 
walking, the late afternoon light wrapping her in a quiet glow as the sound of the fields faded 
behind her. The afternoon light softened as the wind drifted lazily across the yard, carrying 
with it the faint smell of chicken feed and the dry scent of hay. The house stood quiet, its front 
door halfopen, a woven mat folded neatly by the threshold. In the distance, the rustle of leaves 
mixed with the faint clucking of hens pecking near the fence. Down the path came an older woman 
in a faded brown blouse. Her steps slow but deliberate. Her eyes swept across the place with a 
mixture of hesitation and envy. It was Huen’s old mother-in-law, the mother of the man who was now 
serving time. In her wrinkled hands, she carried a small paper bag wrapped carefully in newspaper. 
The kind of gift one brings not from affection, but from uneasy obligation. She paused at the 
gate, eyes tracing the new walls, the tiled roof, the freshly painted windows. She built such a 
nice house. The woman muttered under her breath, disbelief threading through every word. Where 
did she get the money? Maybe she’s found someone rich to help her. The hens scattered as she 
stepped closer, her shadow stretching long over the clean cement floor. Still, “I didn’t 
come here to judge,” she told herself softly, her tone wavering. “I came to ask for help if 
she would just forgive a little. Maybe my son could get a lighter sentence.” She looked around, 
hoping to see Hu Yen, but the house was empty. only the faint creek of bamboo chimes 
answering her call. Hu Yin, are you home, child? Silence. The woman frowned, clutching the 
paper bag tighter. She’s not here, she whispered. Her gaze fell on the chicken coop, fat golden 
hens clustered inside, feathers shimmering under the late sun. She’s even raising chickens now, she 
said with a half smile that didn’t reach her eyes. living better than before. A sigh escaped her 
lips. I told her if she agreed to help, the court might show mercy. But if she refuses, my son 
will stay behind bars even longer. She hesitated, stepping up to the porch. “If only she were here,” 
she murmured, lowering the bag onto the small table by the door. “I brought this as a token, 
hoping she might consider.” The paper crackled under her trembling fingers. She looked at the 
door again as if Huen might appear at any moment. “Please, child,” she whispered, though no one 
could hear. “You were once part of this family. Don’t hold it against him forever.” Her voice 
cracked as she straightened, glancing toward the path she had come from. “But leaving this here, 
maybe she’ll think I came for something else,” she muttered, conflicted. No, better take it back 
for now. She picked up the small parcel again, pressing it close to her chest. Her eyes lingered 
one last time on the neat house, the tidy yard, the sign of a quiet, rebuilt life. She lives 
so comfortably now, the woman said softly, almost to herself. If she’d just help, my son 
could have a chance. Turning slowly, she stepped back onto the dirt path. her sandals brushing 
against fallen leaves. The wind lifted the edge of her scarf as she walked away, her figure 
shrinking against the fading light. Behind her, the yard remained still, the soft coup of hens, 
the gentle creek of the hanging bamboo windchime, and the unspoken tension of a past that still 
hovered quietly between forgiveness and regret. The morning haze had barely lifted when Hu 
Yian reached the edge of the market. The   air buzzed with the hum of conversation, the 
metallic clatter of scales, and the rhythmic calls of vendors competing for attention, the 
scent of fresh herbs, wet earth, and charcoal smoke blended into something unmistakably alive. 
Huian’s steps were slow. careful, her shoulders bent beneath the weight of the woven basket filled 
with white radishes, still cool and damp from the early harvest. She found an open spot by the 
fairy landing, spread out a square of burlap, and began arranging the radishes in neat rows, 
their pale skins gleaming under the faint sun. “Ladies, come buy some radishes,” she called, her 
voice light but firm. Fresh radishes just picked this morning. The words cut through the murmur of 
the crowd, but few looked up. She smiled anyway, brushing the dirt from a bulb and holding it high. 
Only a few thousand per kilo, 15,000 a kilo here, cheaper than anywhere else. A woman passing by 
slowed, eyeing the vegetables with a practiced glance. “Are you selling them with the leaves?” 
she asked. Huian nodded quickly. Yes, ma’am. When buying, it’s weighed with the leaves. We don’t 
remove them. Okay. How much did they sell for at the garden? Another woman asked, squinting at the 
pile. 10,000 a kilo there. Huan answered honestly. I sell them for 15,000 here, but the leaves are 
fresh and full of water. You’ll make good profit selling them again. The first woman hesitated, 
then leaned closer. “Are you buying them to resell by yourself?” Hoyen asked gently, sensing 
her hesitation. “Yes,” the woman admitted. “I’ll sell them retail. Give me a small discount, will 
you? I’m only making a little profit,” Huian said, her tone both apologetic and resolute. 
“But go ahead and weigh them, dear.” She wiped her hands on her apron, lifted the 
basket, and poured the white bulbs onto the scale, watching the needle tremble. “How much per kilo?” 
the woman asked again, her voice soft but firm. “15,000 per kilo?” Huian repeated, her tone steady 
now. The woman nodded, digging through her small purse. “Here’s your money,” she said, handing over 
a folded bill. Huian received it with both hands, bowing her head slightly in gratitude. Thank you, 
Auntie. The weight of the basket eased from her shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of relief 
that spread slowly through her chest. Around her, the market pulsed with life, the cry of a child, 
the clinking of coins, the thud of vegetable baskets dropping to the ground. Hu Yen sat back 
on her heels, tucking the bills carefully into the pocket of her faded shirt. The air smelled of 
rain, faint and distant, but she didn’t mind. Her hands were rough. Her back achd, but there was a 
calm satisfaction in knowing that today at least there would be enough. Enough for rice, for a 
small piece of meat, maybe even a little treat for Maya. She watched the other women bustling 
past, their laughter weaving into the sound of the river lapping against the dock. And for a brief 
moment, she smiled softly, quietly to herself. The afternoon sun tilted low over the schoolyard, 
spilling a warm amber glow over rows of small wooden desks seen through open windows. The sound 
of children’s laughter echoed down the dusty path that led from the school gate to the village road. 
Maya stepped out, her backpack bobbing against her shoulders, her freshly cut bangs fluttering in 
the breeze. She turned back to wave. “Goodbye, teacher. I’m going home.” She chirped. Her teacher 
smiled, smoothing the chalk dust from her hands. Remember to study hard when you get home. Okay. 
Yes, teacher, Maya replied, then bounded away, her shoes tapping lightly on the ground. The school 
bell faded behind her as she ran toward home, the road bathed in the pale gold of late afternoon. 
BB, guess what? She shouted, her voice echoing through the narrow alley between two hedges. 
I got a 10 today. The air was soft and smelled faintly of ripe fruit and dry grass. She laughed 
as she ran, calling again, “Be!” Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, and someone’s voice called out, “Run 
slowly or you’ll fall.” But Maya didn’t slow down. “I got a 10.” “Be,” she said again, breathless 
with joy. The front gate creaked as she pushed it open. Inside the yard, chickens scratched the 
dirt lazily, and the faint sound of water dripping from a spout echoed against the walls. Huan was at 
the porch, sleeves rolled up, her hair tied back with a faded ribbon. She looked up just in time 
to see her daughter come rushing in. BB. Today, Sister Maya got a perfect 10. Maya announced to 
the family’s small dog before spinning to face her mother, cheeks flushed. Huian smiled, her eyes 
soft with pride. Maya is getting better and better at studying. She said, brushing her hands on 
her apron. Today, mom bought your favorite dish, meat, and I brought home some radishes to pickle 
later. It’ll taste great. Maya’s eyes widened as she followed her mother into the small kitchen. 
The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of vinegar and garlic. After mom removes the leaves, 
we’ll put the radishes in here. Okay. Huian said, pointing to a clean clay jar on the counter. We’ll 
make pickled radish to eat with rice so we don’t have to spend money on extra dishes. Is that 
okay, dear? Yes, Mom, Maya replied, standing on tiptoe to watch. Now, Mom will start pickling. Can 
you go pick some morning glory for me? Yes, Mom. Maya ran out toward the garden, her small feet 
brushing over the moist soil. “Is this morning glory, Mom?” she called, pointing at the green 
vines curling by the fence. “Yes, that’s right, dear.” Huian answered from inside, her voice warm 
and steady. The sky darkened slightly as gray clouds drifted in from the east, promising rain. 
The air grew heavy and cool. Huan stepped outside, gathering a pile of dry twigs near the corner 
of the yard. “It’s about to rain,” she murmured, glancing up at the sky that had turned the color 
of smoke. “Let me burn this pile of trash before it gets wet, and I can’t light it.” She struck a 
match, the faint hiss of flame catching quickly on the brittle leaves. The smell of smoke mingled 
with the earthy scent of rain waiting to fall. Maya came running back, her hands clutching 
a small bundle of morning glory. “I’m done, Mom,” she said proudly. “Good girl,” Huian 
replied. Her voice softened by the dimming light. The first drops of rain began to fall, whispering 
softly against the leaves, and for a moment, the whole yard shimmerred in that tender hush 
before the storm. In the glow of the small fire, Huan watched her daughter’s face light up with 
innocent joy, and in that fleeting moment of quiet, the humble yard, the wet soil, and the 
faint smell of smoke, all felt like the rhythm of a home, fragile, hard-earned, and deeply loved. 
The wind had turned colder by late afternoon, threading through the bamboo fence and stirring 
the drying laundry that hung behind the house. The clouds, heavy and gray, drifted low over 
the fields, pressing the light into a quiet dimness. In the small yard, Huan rubbed her arms 
against the chill, then turned toward the doorway where her daughter stood, the hem of her dress 
fluttering in the breeze. “Maya, it’s cold now. Go get your socks, dear,” she said, her voice gentle 
but tired. Yes, mom,” the little girl replied, skipping inside on bare feet. The sound of 
rustling leaves filled the air, and somewhere far away, a dog barked at the oncoming dusk. Huen 
watched the sky for a moment, her eyes distant. Her thoughts wandering far beyond the garden. “The 
monsoon winds are back today,” she murmured softly to herself. “The season is changing. It’s getting 
colder.” Her gaze drifted toward the road that led out of the village. I wonder how far on day has 
gotten. She took a deep breath. The smell of wet earth mingling with smoke from the kitchen fire. 
When the seasons change, there are often storms, she whispered. I hope he doesn’t get caught in the 
rain on the way. The worry in her tone deepened as she rubbed her hands together for warmth. I wonder 
if he brought a warm jacket, she added, her voice fading into the hum of the wind. The road back 
is really chilly. From inside came Maya’s quick footsteps and a sudden excited cry. Mom, Uncle Day 
is back. She shouted breathless with joy. Huian froze, the words hanging in the cold air. Are you 
teasing me again, Maya? she asked though a flicker of hope passed across her face. Uncle Day said 
he would be back today. Mom, I really missed him. The child said, her eyes wide with belief. Huan 
laughed softly, shaking her head. You missed your uncle again. Huh? But before she could finish, the 
faint roar of a motorcycle broke through the wind. The sound grew louder, closer, until it filled 
the entire yard with its vibration. Maya gasped, her face lighting up as she ran toward the gate. 
Uncle D. Mom. Uncle Day is really back. The old metal gate creaked open. And there he was, dust 
clinging to his jacket, eyes weary but shining. Uncle D’s home. Maya cried, running straight into 
his arms. D crouched to catch her, his smile tired but full of warmth. “I got the motorbike back,” 
he said, patting her head. Hoyen stepped closer, her voice trembling with relief. “You got the bike 
back, day, how wonderful,” her eyes glistened in the dim light. “Have you been good at home, Maya?” 
he asked, his hand still resting on the child’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.” Huan looked at 
him, her tone softening, the fatigue in her face replaced by quiet joy. “Was your trip tiring?” 
“Huh?” she asked. D shook his head lightly, pulling a small package from his jacket. “Huian, 
I know today’s already passed November 20th,” he said, his voice hesitant. “But I still wanted to 
give you this gift.” Huians eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. I’m just glad you 
came home safely, she said, her tone trembling between relief and affection. I don’t need flowers 
or gifts. I just want you to travel safely and come home to me and our daughter. Dy smiled, 
his eyes soft. I’ve been careful on the road, he replied. And I always think about you and Maya. 
All I wish for is to return home safely and see both of you again. Huians lips quivered, her 
voice barely above a whisper. Do you know I’ve been so worried about you these past few days? 
Now that you’re home, Maya and I are so happy. She turned to the little girl who stood clutching the 
flowers day had brought. Do you think the flowers Uncle gave us are pretty? Maya, they’re so pretty. 
Uncle Maya exclaimed, holding them up proudly. Are you very tired? Huian asked again, searching 
his face. “No,” Dai said with a faint laugh. “I’m not tired at all. When I asked about shipping the 
bike back north, they said the fee was too high, so I decided to just ride the motorbike back 
home.” “I was so worried,” Huian admitted. “Traveling that far by motorbike is dangerous.” 
“It’s all right,” D replied gently. “I am used to it. I can handle it.” Maya tugged at his 
sleeve, teasing. Uncle Day, you’re carrying me, but not Mommy. D grinned, scooping Huian up for 
a brief, playful moment. Then I’ll carry mommy, too. Hey, don’t listen to Maya. Huian protested, 
laughing through her embarrassment. You can’t do that. Day laughed softly, his voice warm against 
the rustling of the wind. I’m carrying mommy now. Maya, aren’t you tired after such a long trip, 
still carrying me like this? Huian asked, her laughter fading into a tender quiet. “Seeing 
you and Maya makes me forget all my fatigue,” D answered, his tone low and steady. The house 
seemed to breathe again, warmth returning where cold had settled. The scent of flowers mixed with 
the smell of the road clinging to his clothes. In that small courtyard, beneath a sky heavy with 
the promise of rain, they stood together again, a family complete, fragile but whole, the quiet 
joy of reunion glowing softly between them. Night had fallen softly over the village, the air damp 
with the scent of rain and the lingering warmth of cooking smoke. Inside the small house, the golden 
light of an oil lamp flickered gently across the wooden walls, casting faint shadows that swayed 
with every movement. The hum of crickets blended with the crackle of firewood in the kitchen. 
Day sat near the table, his travel bag still beside him while Maya nestled against his arm, 
clutching the teddy bear he had brought. “Uncle D, did you buy anything for Maya?” she asked eagerly, 
her eyes sparkling. Maya is such a good girl, D replied, smiling. Uncle brought you a gift. He 
reached into his bag and pulled out the soft brown bear. Do you think this teddy bear is cute? 
It’s so cute. Uncle Maya beamed, hugging it tightly. Did you think uncle yet? Huian asked, 
glancing from the stove, her tone half playful, half tender. He saved money to buy you this toy. 
“Thank you, uncle,” Maya said, her voice full of joy. D reached out to pat her hair. “Have you 
been a good girl at home?” “Yes, I have,” she replied quickly. Ho yan turned from the pot that 
simmerred quietly. “Its aroma rich and savory. You must be tired. Come inside. I’ve cooked 
dinner. Let’s eat together. De smiled faintly, the warmth of home settling over him like a 
soft blanket. I’m just happy to be back safely, he said, looking around the familiar room. And 
to have the bike again. Now that we have it, everything will be much more convenient. Taking 
Maya to school and doing other things will be easier. You used to have to walk so far to work, 
Huan said, pouring soup into a bowl. It was tough. It’s getting cold out here since I got back, Dez 
said, rubbing his hands together. Make sure to dress warmly or you’ll catch a cold. Huan looked 
at him, her expression soft with concern. I was so worried about you. It’s cold and you traveled 
such a long distance. I was afraid you didn’t bring warm clothes. I brought both a jacket 
and thermal wear. Don’t worry, he reassured sitting down beside her. Take a rest for a bit, 
she said. I just got back from the market and haven’t finished cooking yet. Let me help you, he 
offered, standing up, but she shook her head. No, just rest. I’ll be done soon. Maya tugged at his 
sleeve. Uncle Day, come play with me. This is Mr. Capibara. And this is my teddy bear. They’re 
best friends. De chuckled softly. You missed me, Maya. I missed you a lot, she said, squeezing 
his arm. Sit and play nicely, Huian called from the kitchen. I’ll go help mommy cook, D told 
Maya. Okay, she answered, arranging her toys neatly. Hu handed him a glass of water. You must 
be exhausted after riding for several days. If I took the coach, it would have taken 2 days, he 
said quietly. But riding myself took three. I just wanted to save a bit more money to set aside 
for Maya’s school fees. Hoyen looked up at him, her eyes glistening in the lamplight. You’ve 
done so much for the two of us. It’s not hard for me at all, he said, smiling gently. Bus fairs 
are expensive now. I figured even if I worked for weeks, it still wouldn’t be enough. So, I rode 
back. It saves money and I can control the trip. Even though it takes 2 or 3 days on the road. It’s 
worth it, Huan said softly, turning the meat in the pan. I don’t need much, she added. As long as 
you’re safe, I’ll feel at peace. As long as I can come home to you and Maya,” D replied, his voice 
low. “I’m already happy. I always try to stay safe,” he added. “So that I can come back to you 
both.” The sound of sizzling meat filled the room, mingling with the fragrance of radish and onion. 
Huian smiled faintly. “Maya, play with uncle while I finish dinner. Mommy bought delicious meat 
today. Maya, stay here and play, D said, standing up. Uncle will help mommy cook. You rest, Huian 
insisted, but he shook his head. I missed you so much, he said softly, coming closer. I thought 
once you left, you’d forget about me. Now, the only person in my heart is you,” she whispered, 
her voice trembling slightly. “I missed you a lot, too. I always worry about you, he said. Me too, 
she replied, glancing toward the small room where Maya hummed quietly to herself. I always think 
about you and our daughter. D turned to the stove, stirring the meat gently. Let me do that for you. 
You just got back. You must be tired. Huian said, but he smiled. No, I’m not tired at all. Seeing 
you and Maya makes me feel completely recharged. I’ll sauté the meat a bit first to bring out 
the aroma. This morning, I went to the ferry market and bought some radishes to sell. Huan 
said, “The prices over there are much cheaper. If we bring them here to sell, we can make a good 
profit.” “Whatever you do, just remember to take care of your health,” D said, inhaling deeply. 
“This brazed pork with radish smells amazing. Let me stir fry it first, she said, smiling as the 
sweet, savory scent spread through the room. Ah, I’ll peel some onions, too. Now that we’ve got 
the motorbike back, De said, glancing at her. It’ll be much easier to go harvest things far 
away. I’ll drive you, so it won’t be so hard for you. Walking that far is exhausting, she agreed, 
her voice tender. It’s really convenient to have transportation, isn’t it? With a bike, we can go 
deep into the countryside, buy produce from people who can’t make it to the market, and resell 
it. The road might be rough, but we’ll earn more. The two worked side by side, their hands 
moving in quiet rhythm, the clink of chopsticks, the scrape of a knife, the gentle hum of the fire. 
Outside, night deepened. The rain clouds finally parting to reveal a faint silver moon. Inside, 
the scent of home, warm, steady, full of life, filled the little kitchen as the three of them 
shared the soft, unspoken peace of being together again. The night had settled deep and quiet, the 
rain finally gone, leaving the world wrapped in a cool mist. Inside the small house, the oil lamp 
burned low, its golden glow flickering across the wooden floor and the faces gathered around the 
dinner table. The air smelled of brazed pork and simmered radish, of rice still steaming from the 
pot. Outside, the sound of water dripping from the eaves kept time with the low hum of crickets. 
Maya, come inside, Huian called softly. It’s getting dark. The girl ran in, wiping her hands on 
her skirt, her cheeks flushed from play. Dez set down the chopsticks he’d been holding and looked 
toward the door. “Has it been raining these past few days?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Yes,” 
Hyen replied, ladling soup into a bowl. “It’s been raining non-stop. How’s it over there?” D 
asked after a pause, his tone quieter now. Ouen looked up, concern flickering across her face. 
“When I arrived,” he continued, “I was shocked. Your old house had been completely swept away by 
the flood.” She froze, the ladle hovering midair. “Really?” she whispered. “Yeah,” D said, his 
voice heavy with disbelief. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. The flood even washed away the ground 
where the house stood. There’s nothing left. It dug a meter deep hole into the foundation. Nothing 
left at all? She asked, her voice trembling. Only a few large china berry trees behind the house, he 
said. The flood was that strong. It’s a good thing we came back early, she murmured, sitting down 
slowly. If we had stayed there, who knows what could have happened. How did you know to stop by 
and check? she asked after a long silence. I got there early, he said before the police arrived. 
I really missed that place, too, but I never imagined the flood would wipe it out completely. 
The fire crackled softly, shadows moving across their faces. Before I got there, D continued, 
I even asked some herders nearby. They said the house had been swept away days ago. The flood 
was huge. Huan pressed her hands together on her lap. “Our house was sturdy,” she whispered. “But 
being near the stream, the flood water hit hard.” “The men warned us before, didn’t they?” D nodded, 
eyes distant. “Back then, there wasn’t any other land left to build on.” Huian exhaled slowly, her 
voice breaking. “Luckily, you brought me and Maya back to your hometown. Otherwise, she stopped, 
her eyes glistening in the lamplight. You truly are our guardian. Duh. If we had still been there 
when the flood came, we might not have made it out in time. De’s expression softened. It’s fate, he 
said quietly. That’s how I met you and Maya. She smiled faintly through her tears. Maya and I are 
so lucky to have you beside us, protecting and sheltering us. The sound of the rain gutter echoed 
faintly outside, soft and rhythmic. Was the house foundation really eroded that deep? She asked. 
Yes, he said. The water washed everything away, even the ground itself. It rose high enough 
to submerge half of the big china berry tree behind the house. “Then our house must have been 
completely flooded,” she said, her voice trembling again. That flood was terrifying, he murmured. If 
we had stayed, it would have been so dangerous. Heaven must still have mercy on us, Huian said, 
her voice low but steady, keeping us safe. D reached across the table, brushing her hand 
gently. Since we moved here, she continued, “Life feels more stable, and business has been going 
well. This place is close to the river,” he said. But the water drains quickly. No flood worries. 
She nodded. Even if it floods, it’s just a little water. Nothing serious. But back there in the 
mountains, heavy rain always means flash floods and landslides. Suddenly, Huyan sniffed the air, 
her eyes widening. Oh no. We talked so much the porridgees burned. She jumped up, hurrying to the 
stove, the air filling with a faint bitter smell. It smells so good. Though deeased, “Can you help 
me put the meat in?” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “This dish is delicious. Stir-fried pork 
with radish is the best. Go wash your hands and face,” she added. “You must be dusty after that 
long road.” “Maya, sit close to mom to stay warm,” D said, pouring her a little soup. “Hey, there’s 
hot water ready now.” The room filled with gentle clinking as bowls were passed, the soft sound 
of rice scooped into porcelain. “Maya,” Huian reminded. “After you finish eating, remember 
to study. Your teacher gave homework.” “Yes, I’ll study tonight,” the girl said obediently. 
“I’ll boil another kettle of water later,” Huian said. “So you and Maya can take a warm bath.” 
Day stood and added firewood to the stove. Okay, let’s get ready to eat, he said. Can you 
help me get the bowls? Maya, are you hungry yet? Yes, I’m hungry, she said, giggling. All right, 
then. Huian said, smiling. Let’s eat together. The three gathered around the small wooden table, 
the lamp light glowing softly on their faces. Maya, stand up so uncle can serve you some 
rice. D said, the rice tastes so good. Uncle, she replied between bites. Maya loves this meat. 
Who are you inviting to eat with you today? Maya, Huan teased. You must be really hungry, huh? De 
said, grinning. Scoot over a little so you can eat more comfortably. Huian added. Remember to eat 
rice with the meat. Don’t just eat the meat alone. D said. Here, taste this piece and see if it’s 
good. Which piece tastes the best? Maya asked, smiling mischievously. Ah, let me have one, 
too. Day laughed, taking a small bite. Eat more, Huan said softly. You’ve had a tiring journey 
these days. You eat too, he replied. The room fell into an easy quiet filled only with the clink of 
chopsticks and the warmth of shared breath. “After dinner, you should go to bed,” Huian said. “But I 
have to study, Mom.” Maya protested gently. “Sleep first,” she said. “You can study tomorrow.” D 
smiled. “I’ve been eating out all week,” he said. “Nothing tastes as good as your cooking. When 
you travel, do you usually stop by restaurants or bring your own food? Huian asked, pouring him tea. 
It depends, he said. Sometimes I stop by a diner. Other times I buy some food to bring along. Just 
eat wherever it’s convenient. Since I travel and rest along the way, I have to stay flexible. That 
must be tiring for you, she said softly. But at least I managed to get the bike back, he answered 
with quiet pride. That makes me happy enough. That’s good enough, she said, smiling. And it’s 
delicious, too. The last of the rice disappeared and the fire burned low. Maya, you don’t have to 
wash the dishes, Huan said gently. Mom will do it. The girl nodded sleepily, her eyelids heavy. “It’s 
cold now,” Huian murmured, glancing toward the corner where the family dog curled up by the door. 
“And BB’s been eating less lately.” “Are you full already, Bi? Why aren’t you eating more?” D stood, 
stretching his back. “I’ll boil some water so you both can take a warm bath later.” “The water’s 
almost boiling,” Huian replied, stirring the pot. This fire would be perfect for roasting corn, 
wouldn’t it? The other day when I sold corn, I kept a few old ears to roast later. The 
smell of wood smoke filled the room, cozy and faintly sweet. Now, let’s help Maya with her 
homework. Day said, smiling at the little girl, who was already yawning. Come sit here to stay 
warm, BB. Huan said, placing another log on the fire. I’ll go get your clothes, then I’ll bathe 
you. Okay. Yes, Mom. Maya replied drowsily. The water’s boiling. Go take your bath now. You two. 
Huian said. Maya, wear the pink outfit. Okay. Yes, Mom. The girl answered. De leaned against the door 
frame, his voice low. Oh, by the way, about Adam, Huan turned, her brow creasing. When I went to the 
south, he said, I stopped by to look for him, but he doesn’t work there anymore. I went to his old 
house, but he wasn’t there either. The farm owner said Adam had moved somewhere else for work. Huan 
sighed softly. He probably hasn’t gone back to his hometown yet. If he had, he would have visited us. 
That’s what I thought too, De said. The owner said he’s now working in the city. I hope Adam finds 
a better job, Huan murmured. Yes, D agreed. I hope he finds something stable and builds a 
better life. Me too, she said after a pause, her eyes softening. I wish him all the best. And 
I also hope that our relationship will soon have a happy ending. Her voice trembled slightly. So 
we can start our married life together. I wish for that too, he said quietly. Now Maya and I only 
have you to rely on. She smiled faintly. We always worry about you when you’re away. Just praying 
that you’re safe. I miss you both so much too, he replied, his eyes full of warmth. I always hope 
things will go smoothly so I can come back to you too soon. I just wish our life could stay this 
peaceful forever, she said, her voice barely above a whisper. All I need is for our family to stay 
healthy. No matter how hard life gets, as long as we have each other, that’s enough happiness. The 
fire crackled one last time before dying down, leaving only its faint glow. The water’s boiling, 
Huan said softly, standing. Let me mix some warm water for Maya’s bath. I’ll go get a basin, D 
replied. The water’s ready, she said at last, her voice gentle in the stillness. Let’s 
go take a bath. You two A. And outside, under the pale silver moonlight, the 
night held its breath, a fragile,   tender piece settling over their small home, 
as if time itself had slowed to let them rest.

#huyenlifesingle #kindman #lifesingle #huyen
Hello everyone! Welcome to Life single Review
My name is Life single Review, and on this channel, I want to share with you the emotional and inspiring journey of a woman named Huyền – a resilient single mother.
Huyền comes from a poor countryside village. She once lived in a broken marriage where her only “fault” was not being able to give birth to a son. Because of that, she was constantly humiliated by her mother-in-law, and her husband, Thu, who always followed his mother’s words, became increasingly abusive.
Eventually, Huyền was kicked out of her home with nowhere to go. Just when she had lost everything, a kind stranger named Đệ appeared and offered her shelter. From that moment on, Huyền began a new chapter in life—filled with pain, but also hope and quiet determination.
Despite all the hardships, Huyền never gave up.
Her story is a powerful reminder of a mother’s strength, courage, and unwavering love.
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