Who will take care of Mom when she's old?

Nine at night, Thanh video-calls his mom. The screen lights up and there she is, sitting alone — and behind her stretches the whole house, wide and dark, only the flicker of the TV reaching her.

Since his father passed, the house has stayed the same — just as big, but now only one person moves through it. Thanh looks at the empty chair beside her, then at the bare stretch of floor behind. After he hangs up, he sits still for a while. Suddenly his home and hers feel so far apart.

The next night, Thanh means to send her a little spending money. She waves it off at once: "Save it for yourself." She says it like a reflex — her whole life she has never spent anything on herself, only ever set aside a share for someone else first. This time Thanh doesn't listen. He taps send anyway. Some things, it's his turn to carry.

Saturday morning, Thanh quietly boards the bus home. He doesn't tell her — he just wants to surprise her. Four hours on the road, and his stomach won't settle. Then he's standing at the door, knocking softly, and he hears her voice from inside: "Who's there?"

All her life she said, take care of yourself. Now it's my turn to take care of her.

She'll still say "I can manage on my own" — next time he calls, it'll be the same. And you — how long has it been since you knocked on your mother's door?