Page 11
Hạnh spoke through her sobs.
“I used to think I was strong.” Minh remained silent.
“After my husband passed away, I never allowed myself to fall apart.
Because if I did…
who would feed my daughter?” She covered her face with both hands.
“But the truth is, I’m terrified, Minh.
There are nights when I lie awake listening to the rain, wishing morning would never come.”
Minh set down the last bowl.
He turned around, not knowing how to comfort her.
The man who could once make an entire restaurant laugh with a few ridiculous jokes now stood frozen in place.
He wanted to tell her, “Don’t cry,” but he knew those words could never erase her pain.
Hạnh sat down on the chair Minh had pulled out for her.
“One time, my little girl asked me, ‘Mom, when will our family stop being poor?'” She smiled through her tears.
“I told her, ‘When Mom earns a lot of money.'”
Hạnh lowered her head.
“She believed me.
That night, she hugged me as we fell asleep and whispered, ‘Mom, do your best, okay?’ I turned toward the wall…
and cried the entire night.”
Minh felt a sharp sting in his nose.
His eyes drifted to the worn-out sandals on Hạnh’s feet, faded from years of use.
At that moment, he realized he had never once asked how many difficult roads this woman had walked just to keep the little restaurant alive.
He only knew that she often scolded him, laughed at him, and sometimes even threw a towel at his face.
In the end, she was simply another person struggling to survive.
“I’m sorry.
I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Minh shook his head.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
He pulled another chair over and sat beside her.
“I’m not strong either.” He lowered his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m just good at smiling.”
Hạnh looked at him quietly.
“Because if I don’t smile…
I honestly don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
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