Flowers Bloom in the Dark - Short story by Le Ngoc Son

I stood there, not crying, not responding. I had long since gotten used to it. Her rages were like storms, destroying everything in their path, then disappearing, leaving the space silent and cold.

My mother was once a beautiful young woman, but she used her beauty as a one-way ticket to find money. She did not like to work. According to my grandmother, from a young age, my mother only liked to dress up. She had a very practical dream: "Must marry a rich man." At the age of 20, she left home to work at her uncle's bar in the city. There, she met the man who gave me life, a man who was in name my father, but never gave me fatherly love.

He was a construction contractor, had money, status and… a family. But in my mother’s eyes, he was just “prey”. At that time, he had been away from his wife for a long time, perhaps he also felt lonely. With cold calculation, my mother made him fall. Perhaps, when a woman deliberately conquers, few men can resist. However, this bond only lasted a short time. When he was enough to have me, he woke up, decided to break up and return to his wife and children, cutting off all contact, even though my mother tried to hold on and threaten him.

"You think I would abandon my wife and children for you? Wake up!", he once said coldly. But my mother did not give up. She brought me, a newborn baby, to his house in the countryside, threw me down in front of his wife: "This is your husband's child. What do you think?".

His wife, who was pregnant, lost the child in her womb after that shock. And from that moment, I became the karmic retribution, the child that caused a woman to lose her child, the reason why that man hated my mother, and always avoided me like a disaster. His family refused to accept me. But perhaps out of pity, the wife stepped in to provide for me, as a way to stop the harassment.

My mother moved to their commune to live, to "conveniently fight". She received the subsidy money and spent it on cosmetics, gambling, and fleeting love affairs. I, the little girl, did not have a full meal when I went to school, had no money for tuition, and had nothing but the title "child of the 13th zodiac animal".

My mother used to take me to the big house to beg for money. After each time, she would give me a gift. I naively thought I was loved. But as I grew older, I realized that I was just a pawn in my mother’s bargaining game.

Flowers Bloom in the Dark - Short story by Le Ngoc Son - Photo 1.

PHOTO: AI

Over the years, I grew up with a little bit of money and food from my grandmother. I grew up in humiliation. Friends sneered, neighbors gossiped. Phrases like "bastard", "child who ruined other people's families" became familiar. Every time I heard them, I felt my heart break a little more, like a small piece of soil breaking into pieces when a rough foot stepped on it. But then, the tears dried up. All I had left was silence. No one understood the loneliness in my heart, when I saw warm families, while I only had darkness and judgment.

I studied like crazy, not to change my life, but to escape. I passed the university entrance exam and went to Hanoi . While studying, I did all kinds of things: washing dishes for hire, delivering goods, tutoring. The money my mother sent never reached me, it was on lottery tickets at the village entrance. One time I went back to my hometown, not to visit home, but to pay off the debt my mother had borrowed and run away from.

I graduated with honors and got a stable job. I never returned to that dark hometown. I lived and breathed my own life, scarred but healed. Occasionally, I sat by the window, looking at the weak light of the morning, feeling life through each breath, simple but free.

Then I fell in love, a good man, gentle, patient enough to listen to me, open-hearted enough to embrace me. He didn't ask about my past, but always let me feel that, in his eyes, I was an important part. For the first time, I dared to think of the word "family".

But when his family learned the truth, everything collapsed. His mother strongly opposed it.

"That girl has no background and is the result of an affair. If you marry her, people will laugh at your parents!"

"The old people taught: to marry a wife, choose her family line, to marry a husband, choose his breed, open your eyes, my child!".

He held my hand tightly, his hand was cold, but mine was even colder. In his eyes, I saw a desperate struggle. Then he shook his head slightly, his eyes turned away from me as if he didn’t dare to look at me.

"I'm sorry…", his voice choked and broken, "I… thought I would do anything for you. But… I can't."

I imagined the fragile bridge I had worked so hard to build, now crumbling to ashes with just a shake of my head.

"If I choose you… and my mother cries, and my father looks at me like a stranger… I can't stand it."

I stood there, stunned, each word like a scissors cutting away all hope.

"I don't want you to be known as the person who made me lose my family. And… if I lose them because of love, then… maybe I'm not a good enough man."

I heard every word clearly. Every word he said was like a nail hammered into my heart. It's not that he didn't love me. It's that he didn't love me enough to choose me over them.

I smiled, a paper-thin, dry smile.

"I understand. Family is something I never had. Don't lose it because of me."

I returned to my hometown on a windless afternoon. The whole space seemed to be quiet in the rustling of the gray clouds. The trees leaned in the wind, as quiet as a distant memory that I had tried to forget. Not to my mother's house, but to my grandmother's house, the only place that had ever given me a bit of warmth. But she had passed away, quietly gone while I was running away from my fate. The old house was moldy, but still smelled of her. I opened the creaking wooden door, each speck of dust flew up like a forgotten memory. On the wall, the woolen scarf my grandmother had knitted for me when I was 10 years old still hung quietly. The old curtains were frayed, the wooden chairs had cracks on the armrests, but every time I sat down, I felt strangely warm.

I found a notebook in the kitchen. She had written: "The child is suffering too much. I am old and cannot help much. I hope she lives a decent life, that is enough."

I cried, cried like the first time someone held me. The feeling was sweet and painful. The tears were not from sadness, but from the comfort hidden in the words she left behind.

I stayed. I stayed to start over. I renovated the house, planted more flowers along the porch, and opened a small bookshelf for the children. Every morning, the fragile light shone through the window, gently passing through the old walls, bringing life to the house. I taught free of charge to the poor, the children whose homework needed answers and whose parents were away at work. I taught with love. I taught the way I had always wished someone would teach me, with my heart.

Every day, I sit under the bougainvillea trellis that my grandmother used to plant, listening to the rustling wind and the children’s laughter. The air is fresh and pleasant. I feel my heart soften, as if an invisible hand is caressing my rough heart.

One late autumn afternoon, while I was wiping the board on the porch, a sudden knock on the door made me look up. A man stood in the doorway, about thirty years old, tall, with a gentle face but his eyes were somewhat distant, as if he had an unexpressed feeling.

"Hello, I'm Minh. I just moved to the next commune and work at the health station. I was very impressed when I heard the children talk about your class. I wonder if I can come visit?" He said, his voice warm, gentle, and unhurried.

I nodded, inviting him in. He walked in, his eyes scanning the house, stopping at the old walls, the worn wooden chair, then quietly turned back to look at me. It was as if he was looking not only at this space but also at something in me.

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, not probingly, but gently, not wanting to make me feel judged.

I smiled. Not because I was happy, but because I felt like I was being seen normally, without any pity or embarrassment. It was just a light conversation, like two friends who didn’t have to share everything, but could still understand each other through their eyes and silence.

"I see… there are more beautiful things here than I thought."

From that day on, he came by occasionally. Sometimes just to fix a broken faucet, bring me a bag of tea, a basket of fresh vegetables. We didn’t talk much, but every time he came, the house seemed a little brighter. He moved the old chair back to make it secure, then sat down, his hand gently touching the hot cup of tea I poured. That gesture, simple as it was, warmed my heart like the late autumn sun.

He didn't ask about my past. And I... wasn't afraid of how people looked at me anymore.

I used to wish I had never been born. But now, sitting in the middle of the small garden, listening to the chirping of birds in the afternoon, feeling the sunlight dancing on the time-stained walls... I know: I am alive.

Not to live to pay for other people's mistakes, but to live to find the most beautiful part of myself. I am not my mother's "shadow". I am not "someone's child". I am myself, the one who has gone through the darkness and chosen to bloom.

Light doesn't need to be bright. Just warm enough. And love doesn't need to be noisy. Just needs to come at the right time, be tolerant enough, so I know that I deserve to be loved.

The fifth Living Well Writing Contest was held to encourage people to write about noble actions that have helped individuals or communities. This year, the contest focused on praising individuals or groups that have performed acts of kindness, bringing hope to those in difficult circumstances.

The highlight is the new environmental award category, honoring works that inspire and encourage action for a green, clean living environment. Through this, the Organizing Committee hopes to raise public awareness in protecting the planet for future generations.

The contest has diverse categories and prize structure, including:

Article categories: Journalism, reportage, notes or short stories, no more than 1,600 words for articles and 2,500 words for short stories.

Articles, reports, notes:

- 1 first prize: 30,000,000 VND

- 2 second prizes: 15,000,000 VND

- 3 third prizes: 10,000,000 VND

- 5 consolation prizes: 3,000,000 VND

Short story:

- 1 first prize: 30,000,000 VND

- 1 second prize: 20,000,000 VND

- 2 third prizes: 10,000,000 VND

- 4 consolation prizes: 5,000,000 VND

Photo category: Submit a photo series of at least 5 photos related to volunteer activities or environmental protection, along with the name of the photo series and a short description.

- 1 first prize: 10,000,000 VND

- 1 second prize: 5,000,000 VND

- 1 third prize: 3,000,000 VND

- 5 consolation prizes: 2,000,000 VND

Most Popular Prize: 5,000,000 VND

Prize for Excellent Essay on Environmental Topic: 5,000,000 VND

Honored Character Award: 30,000,000 VND

The deadline for submissions is October 16, 2025. The works will be evaluated through the preliminary and final rounds with the participation of a jury of famous names. The organizing committee will announce the list of winners on the "Beautiful Life" page. See detailed rules at thanhnien.vn .

Organizing Committee of the Beautiful Living Contest

Flowers Bloom in the Dark - Short story by Le Ngoc Son - Photo 2.