From a poor rural village, a 12-year-old boy left for the city to work. For 17 years, his father searched across construction sites and brick kilns to find him. One day, at a building site, the father was stunned when he encountered a man…

That father was born and raised in a poor riverside village, where the soil was barren and the rice fields were parched year-round. His whole life revolved around a small garden, a flock of chickens, and his only son. Each day, he woke before the roosters crowed, lit the fire to cook cold rice, then called his son to get ready for school. The boy would always laugh brightly, hugging his father tightly before leaving home. Those simple moments were the greatest happiness of his life.

Then tragedy struck on a summer morning. Returning from cutting grass in the fields, he found the small house empty. His son’s schoolbag was gone, and on the table sat only a half-eaten bowl of rice. He ran around the village to ask, only to learn that some friends had coaxed his boy into going to the city to find work. People said the children were just following a fad and would be back in no time. But a father’s instinct crushed him, as if an invisible hand had just torn away his very breath.

On the first day, he sat at the district bus station, waiting in hope that the small figure would return. On the second day, he took what little money he had and went from place to place, asking if anyone had seen a group of children recently arrive. Most shook their heads; some even laughed and said, “If kids run away, let them come back on their own—why worry?” But he couldn’t. He had only that one child. How could he sit still? That night, he sat alone on the porch, the oil lamp flickering, his heart breaking with every beat.

From then on, the journey to find his son began—long and endless, like a dream without escape. He went from one construction site to another, clutching an old photograph of his boy from sixth grade. A child in a white shirt, smiling innocently—he cherished the photo like a treasure. Each time, he held it out and asked with desperate hope: “Have you seen this boy? His name is Tuấn, twelve years old.” Most replies were only sorrowful shakes of the head.

Many nights, he curled up at bus stations, using his jacket against the wind and rain, drowning in despair. Sometimes he thought—perhaps his son had truly abandoned him, no longer wanting to return. But then, in fleeting moments, he would see again that small figure running after him on the dike, calling out: “Father, wait for me!” That memory kept him going, pushing his weary body forward. He would not allow himself to give up—because if he stopped, no one else would keep searching for his son.

Seventeen years passed. His hair turned completely white, his back bent, his skin wrinkled. Some in the village pitied him, while others mocked: “That boy must have long become a stranger—why keep searching?” He remained silent, never arguing, only working odd jobs to save enough for the next journey. His rubber sandals were worn thin, his feet calloused, yet he kept walking—through brick kilns, through labor markets. Each time someone said “I don’t know,” he swallowed his tears, bowed politely, and moved on to ask again.

The greatest pain for him was not hunger or cold, but the emptiness each time he thought of his son suffering somewhere out there. He imagined the boy carrying heavy loads, sleeping under bridges, or even getting entangled in bad things. Every thought was like a knife twisting into his heart, leaving him sleepless night after night. Some nights, he sat under the moonlight, whispering to himself: “My son, if you are still alive, just let me see you once more.” The night wind carried the sound of insects, like a silent, sorrowful reply.

Then fate struck on a stormy afternoon. He stopped at a large construction site, taking shelter under the eaves from the rain. The sound of hammers, concrete mixers, and workers shouting filled his ears like a haunting symphony. In that bustling crowd, he suddenly noticed a tall figure in a white shirt, holding blueprints and giving firm instructions. At that moment, his heart stopped beating, his legs trembling too hard to move.

He looked closely at the man’s face—more mature now, yet still carrying traces of the boy he once knew. The deep eyes, the determined gaze, the straight nose… all brought back the image of the twelve-year-old child. His throat tightened, words barely escaping: “Tuấn… is that you, my son?” The trembling voice seemed to come from a dream.

The young engineer turned at the sound, startled by the sight of a frail old man, drenched in rain.
“Sir… were you calling me?” he asked politely, though a little hesitant. The father’s tears streamed down as he stretched out his trembling hands. “You… are you Tuấn, my son?” he choked out, breathing hard as if one second too late would make everything vanish.

The young man widened his eyes, forcing a faint smile. “I think you’ve mistaken me.” But his wavering gaze betrayed the storm within.

In that instant, blurred memories flooded back into the young man’s mind. He saw himself riding on his father’s back in the rice fields, saw those thin hands picking out the best piece of dried fish for him. For years he had buried those images to survive, but now they broke free. Tears welled up uncontrollably, his lips quivering: “Father… is it really you?”

The old man burst into sobs, nodding over and over, no longer able to contain himself.
The young man collapsed to his knees, clinging to his father’s frail legs. “Father, I’m sorry! I left… I was wrong…” His broken cries silenced the entire construction site, many unable to hold back their tears. The father’s hands shook as he stroked his son’s head, crying both in reproach and in overwhelming joy. Seventeen years of suffering dissolved in the miracle of reunion.

The father asked between sobs: “You won’t leave again, will you? Will you come home with me?”
The son hugged him tighter, nodding firmly: “I will never leave you again. All these years I tried to forget, but my heart never stopped missing you.” Their tear-stained faces pressed together, erasing all guilt and distance. The whole site looked on, deeply moved.

The father gazed at his son, trembling hands caressing his grown-up face. “You’re so thin… you must have suffered a lot.” The young man bit his lip and nodded faintly: “I went through much, but nothing hurt more than missing you. I wanted to come back, but I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me. Now, seeing you again, I feel as small as I once was.” The old man held his son tightly, trembling as if afraid of losing him once more.

The two of them sat together under the eaves, rain soaking their clothes. The father spoke of the 17 years of searching—every place he had been, every dream of hearing his son cry out “Father!” The son listened, choked with guilt, each word cutting into his heart. “You grew old because of me… I don’t deserve it,” he whispered. The father only shook his head, clutching his son’s hand as if it were the last treasure he had left in this life.