Who's going to take care of you, Mom?

9pm, and the only sound in the rented room is the fan. Thanh props his phone against a book and video-calls his mother, same as every night. The screen lights up, and the first thing he notices isn't her face — it's how much house there is behind her.

She's watching TV alone. The other chair is still there; nobody has sat in it since his father died. Thanh hears himself joke: "Mom, when you're old, who's going to take care of you?" She laughs and answers fast, like the words were already waiting: "I can take care of myself. You just look after yourself." He laughs too. It's only after he hangs up that something catches in his throat — she didn't think about it for even a second.

That shirt she was wearing on the screen — he realizes he's been seeing it for years. Collar worn thin, stitching gone pale. She has never bought herself anything expensive. But money for his school, his exams, his move to the city — not once did she say there wasn't any. He sits there trying to remember the last thing she bought for herself, and can't.

No holiday coming up. No Tết. He opens the app and books a bus for this weekend. Only the back row is left — fine. Four hours and he's home. He doesn't text ahead, doesn't come up with a reason. He's just not waiting for Tết anymore.

She says she can take care of herself. I'm not going home because she needs me.

She'll say the same thing next time he calls. She always does. When was the last time you went home, and did it have to be a holiday?