When I got home, I didn't see my mother anywhere, and the door was still locked. I quickly took the key out of my bag, carefully unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Stepping inside, I quietly looked around; the house was pitch dark. Finally, I found the light switch and turned it on. The sudden brightness made me squint for a few seconds.
Entering the house quietly, with my stomach growling in hunger, I hurried to the kitchen to find something to eat. Finally, I spotted the dinner tray. Today, we had fried fish, fern greens, and a bowl of fish sauce. The rice had gone cold, but I quickly set the table. I carried each dish to the table one by one, and lastly, I brought out two bowls and a pair of chopsticks.
I ate eagerly, but my heart felt heavy. The house was empty except for me, and it made me miss the times when the whole family ate together, laughing and talking. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a motorbike stopping in front of the house. Overjoyed, I shouted:
"Mom's home!"
Sweat clung to my mom's back, dripping down her shirt as if a light rain had just fallen. She had been working nonstop, and beads of sweat rolled down her face, marked by wrinkles carved by years of sun and rain. Seeing how exhausted she was, I hurried inside to pour her a glass of cold water. All I could think about was getting her the water as quickly as possible, so I rushed and ended up tripping and falling. The glass shattered on the floor before it could reach her, shards scattering everywhere.
Seeing this, the weariness and frustration in her seemed to bubble over. She yelled loudly:
"Oh my goodness, you're so clumsy! How will you manage anything in the future?"
I lowered my head, filled with guilt, bracing myself for more scolding. But after her outburst, she just sighed and, in a softer voice, said:
"Go get something to clean that up! Be careful not to step on the glass."
She sat down at the table, her hands trembling from exhaustion. The food was long cold, and the fried fish had lost its crispiness. She silently picked at her food, eating quickly—not out of enjoyment but to be on time for work. I could feel the weight of her struggles in every motion, and it made my heart ache. Quietly, I grabbed a broom and began cleaning up the mess I had caused.
But before I could finish, I accidentally stepped on a shard of glass. The sudden pain made me dizzy; it was so intense that I couldn't hold back my tears. I tried not to cry out, but the pain was too much to hide. Hearing the commotion, my mom immediately stood up and rushed over. Without a word of blame, she knelt down, gently lifting my foot to examine it. Seeing blood oozing from the wound, her eyes flashed with worry.
She quickly ran to find supplies to treat my wound. Everything in the kitchen was in disarray as she rummaged through the cabinets. After a few minutes, she found a nail clipper. Sitting down beside me, she carefully removed each shard of glass from my foot. Her face was full of concentration, and her hands were gentle yet firm. I bit my lip, tears still streaming from the pain, but her presence made me feel safe.
Once the last shard was removed, she didn't waste a moment and immediately applied antiseptic. The sting made me wince, but she quickly covered the wound with a bandage, her eyes filled with concern.
She sighed, her voice weary but tender, as she spoke to me:
"Giang, you're a good child. A good child gets candy, but an understanding child might not always have that privilege. So, being good means you'll always be happy, always smiling, and always full of sweet treats."
I stared at her, puzzled. What did she mean by "good child" and "understanding child"? My mind swirled with confusion. Was she saying this because I had broken the glass? Was she telling me to learn from my mistakes? But why wouldn't an understanding child have candy? The more I thought about it, the more tangled my thoughts became. I just nodded vaguely as if I understood, though I didn't at all.
After bandaging my foot, my mom quickly cleaned up the dinner tray. I hurried to change clothes and get ready for school. Together, we climbed onto her motorbike. I sat behind her, hugging her waist tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from her back. The cool morning breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of dew-covered fields. That peaceful feeling made me want to stay like this forever, as if I could ride behind her endlessly.
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, we reached school. I got off the bike, looking at my mom, feeling an odd sense of emotion welling up inside me. She smiled at me, her eyes full of love but tinged with worry. Suddenly, she asked:
"Did you forget something?"
Realizing I had forgotten to say goodbye, I awkwardly clasped my hands and said loudly, with a bit of embarrassment:
"Goodbye, Mom! I'm off to school!"
She smiled at me, and the motorbike engine roared as she prepared to leave. The sound of the engine echoed in the quiet morning. Suddenly, I felt a pang of longing, as if there was something unsaid. I quickly ran back and hugged her tightly from behind, a warm, firm embrace as if I didn't want her to leave just yet. She seemed startled at first but soon turned and gently patted my head, her eyes soft and caring as always. She said quietly:
"Study well, my child."
I nodded slightly, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. That hug gave me strength. As I let go, she waved goodbye and rode off along the familiar road. The school bell rang, snapping me back to reality. I quickly turned and ran towards the school gates. As I ran, I glanced back one last time, watching her figure fade into the distance.