I asked for a divorce because I couldn’t stand it anymore. My husband smiled and nodded, with one condition: I would leave empty-handed. He sneered but I agreed immediately. After signing the divorce papers, he gave me 500,000 VND for the bus fare, and I immediately went to the lottery shop…
“Divorce.”
“Yes, but I have to leave empty-handed.”
He smiled.
I nodded. Also smiled.
Everyone thought I was losing. But they haven’t seen the card I’m about to draw…

Ngoc walked out of the gate of the District 5 courthouse on a hot April afternoon, holding a stack of signed divorce papers and… Five hundred thousand dong had just been thrown into her hand as if giving to a beggar.

He – Trung – used to be the person she loved all her youth. The man she once believed would be a refuge for the rest of her life. But it was he who cornered her with years of coldness, mental violence, and finally a ruthless knockout: “Leave empty-handed.”

Ngoc didn’t cry. She just smiled softly—a smile that she herself couldn’t tell if it was pain or relief. Ten years of marriage, all she received in return was a divorce paper and five hundred thousand “send-offs”.

No home. No money. No assets. Even his 6-year-old daughter – baby Han – was retained by Trung, on the grounds that “he has better economic conditions”.

Ngoc took a bus to the old hostel of a close friend – Thao – the only one who remained silently on her side during that ruined marriage. But on the way, the bus stopped near a small lottery ticket shop at the corner of Tran Phu – Nguyen Duy Duong intersection.

She stood in front of the ticket booth, looking at the man selling lottery tickets sitting quietly under the old faded umbrella. Something inside Jade urged. Perhaps the desperation to cling to the last glimmer of hope.

– “I gave you 5 lottery tickets. Which sheet is a little beautiful, uncle.”

The old man looked at her with a slightly surprised look, and then handed out a stack of tickets:
“Hey, it just came out this morning. If a girl buys a lottery ticket, she will definitely be stuck.”

Ngoc smiled faintly. “Hen” has been a luxury for her for a long time.

She didn’t want to be rich. She just wanted enough money to start over—to pick up her daughter, to live a life where she didn’t have to bow down to anyone.

That night, Ngoc slept thanks to Thao’s house. The motel room was narrow but cozy, with the sound of people, the smell of rice soup, and the sincere attention that she had not felt for many years.

Thao is a former high school classmate, working as a garment worker in Tan Tao industrial park. She is always a straightforward person and loves her friends like flesh and blood.

– “You’re so crazy, what do you do accepting the condition of empty-handedness? You have to win custody of your child!” – Thao shouted when he heard the story.

– “I’m tired. I know I have nothing in my hands. Winning is just winning to prolong suffering.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Ngoc was silent. In the bag, there is only right… 20 thousand.
She has no job in hand, she quit her job as a small accountant at her ex-husband’s company three months ago after discovering that he was having an affair with her own secretary.

She opened the squeeze and pulled out the lottery tickets that still smelled of squid.

– “Maybe you’re sharing a room with the future billionaire.” – Ngoc laughed teasingly, but there was a hint of ambiguity in her eyes.

Thao snatched the ticket from her hand:
“Look at it, Grandma! The lottery results this afternoon are here. Let me look it up!”

Thao opened the phone. They both looked at the screen as each number flashed.

Eighth prize… did not hit.
Seventh Prize… also not.
Fourth prize… no more.
Ngoc sighed, about to laugh over, then… Thao shouted.

– “Hit!!”

– “What?” – Ngoc opened her eyes.

– “Special prize! Six numbers always! This sheet! Oh my God, Ngoc!! You’ve won!!”

Ngoc couldn’t believe his eyes. She picked up the ticket and compared each number. Matching. Not a single one is wrong.

Two billion VND.

A long silence covered the small room. Ngoc burst into tears.

Not for money. But because for the first time in many years, fate smiled on her – even if only once.

Three days later, Ngoc took the cash to the bank to deposit and opened a separate account. She hired a good lawyer and applied for a change in custody. With the reason: Trung is often away from home, handing over baby Han to the maid to watch. She – now with economic conditions, a stable place to live and a new job commitment – deserves to raise her children.

She rented a small apartment in Binh Thanh, went back to study financial accounting to prepare for an official job. Thao is still her best friend, supporting her in all aspects.

The second court hearing took place after nearly two months. Trung – this time there was no more smirking. He opened his eyes when he saw lawyer Ngoc presenting a copy of the two-billion savings book, a lease contract, an accounting admission certificate and… photo of baby Han crying because she misses her mother.

Verdict: Child custody belongs to Ngoc.

Ngoc doesn’t know what to call the current stage. Is it freedom? Is it rebirth? Or was it simply the first time in her life that she could live as herself?

In the morning, she got up early to take Han to a kindergarten near her home. She had the same eyes as her mother, but her eyes were sharper and more vibrant than before. Maybe because now, every hug, every meal, every night tells a story before bedtime… are all things that the mother and daughter have sacrificed a long way to get.

Ngoc rented a small but bright apartment in an old apartment in Binh Thanh. For many people, that place is only temporary. For Ngoc, it is a “home” – something she has never had in her ten years as a wife.

After winning the lottery, the first thing she did was not to shop or brag, but to make a life plan. Poverty taught her one thing: Money is only valuable when you know how to use it at the right time and in the right way.

She used 300 million to buy life insurance for her mother and daughter. Another is long-term savings. The remaining 500 million, she invested in learning more international accounting certificates, and at the same time spent a part of opening a small café – a dream that was once ridiculed by Trung: “You also ask for business?”

Thao is still a companion. She quit her job as a worker, helped Ngoc open a shop in alley 96 D2, near Hutech University. The shop was named: “Leaf of the End of the Season” – a name Ngoc chose on a rainy night, when looking at the last leaf still clinging to the dry branches.

She said:
“The last leaf does not mean the end. Maybe it’s a new sprout that is about to come out.”

The shop is small, not luxurious, but there is a reading corner, a few pots of orchids, and some gentle Trinh music. Students come to study, the elderly come to relax, office workers come to work. Ngoc made coffee, checked books, and practiced English majoring in accounting.

In the evening, she came home early to pick up Han. Mother and daughter go to the market to cook rice, watch cartoons, and then read books before going to bed. She began to love the most ordinary things, because in the past, that ordinariness was also a luxury.

One afternoon, while clearing the table, Thao asked:

– “Ngoc, have you thought about falling in love again?”

Ngoc looked up from the cup of coffee she was cleaning and smiled:

– “I haven’t forgotten the old pain, but I don’t lock the door of my heart because of that. I’m just… It’s not in a hurry.”

Thao winked:

– “Look at who there is, right?”

Ngoc shook her head, but her heart trembled slightly. Recently, there is a regular customer – Mr. Minh – who usually comes to the restaurant on Wednesdays and Fridays, at 3 pm. He works as a graphic designer, or brings a laptop to work. Quiet, polite, quiet but smiling. He never flirted with her, only asked a few gentle questions:
“My shop chooses so good music.”
– “The coffee where you roast is strong, I like to drink it very much.”
– “Baby Han is your child? So clever, draw the cat just like the real thing.”

She didn’t think much. But every time I see his figure passing through the door, my heart beats… extraordinary.

One day, it rained, the restaurant was empty. Minh sat in a familiar corner. Ngoc brought him a cup of milk coffee, not iced – just the way he liked. When she put down the glass, she saw that he was looking at a logo design with the words: “Leaves of the Season”.

“I did this…” she pointed to the screen.

– “Give it to me. This shop is special, just like you.” – Minh said lightly.

Ngoc was surprised. She never talked much about the past. But there are people who understand intuitively without listening.

– “What do you think… special?” – she asked, in a low voice.

– “Because no one can get up from a puddle of mud and then bloom a flower. Except for those who are really strong.”

Ngoc turned her face away, not letting him see her eyes red.

Three months later, the shop began to have stable profits. Ngoc completed the advanced accounting course. A foreign company offered to invite her to work as a financial manager with three times the salary in the past.

But she refused.
She chose to stay with the café.

Because this place is not just a livelihood – it is a place where she is reborn. It is proof that a woman who was once forced to leave empty-handed, can still build a world of her own.

One morning at the end of the year, Ngoc took Han to school. She wore a white shirt, a long beige skirt, her hair in a high bun, and her eyes were gentle but confident. Trung – her ex-husband – stood waiting at the gate, saying she wanted to see her child.

He was dressed well, but his face was different: there was no longer a palanquin, but a kind of… quietly disappointed.

– “I live a good life.” – Trung said, avoiding her gaze.

Ngoc only nodded, but did not answer.

He watched Han hug his mother tightly, then got into the car, without saying anything more. Perhaps, that was the first time he understood: A person who leaves empty-handed does not mean a loser.

In the evening, Minh waited for Ngoc at the door of the restaurant. He carried a small cake box, inside of which was the “Leaves of the End of the Season” logo carved in exquisite wood.

– “I want to remake the sign outside the shop. Be more decent.”

Ngoc looked at him, looked at the board. Then look back at herself in the door glass: No longer the sullen woman who left the courthouse, but the one who overcame all the shatters to stand firm, and… ready to fall in love again – not anyone else, but yourself.

She nodded.

– “Yes. Let’s do it again. Everything is new, isn’t it?”