Before Dũng could say anything, Tí pulled out an old silver bracelet from his pocket and placed it in Hiền’s hand: “This is the only thing my mother left me.”

The afternoon sun cast a pale golden light over the small village road. Hiền, a gentle woman, was on her way home from the market, carrying a bag of vegetables. Along the way, she came across two beggar children, a boy and a girl. Their clothes were tattered, their faces smeared with dirt, but their eyes were as clear as morning dew. The older boy, about ten years old, held tightly onto his little sister’s hand as they timidly asked passersby for a few coins. Moved with pity, Hiền stopped to ask about them. The boy was named Tí, his sister Mén. They were orphans, wandering the streets for months. Hearing their story, Hiền’s heart ached. She couldn’t bear to leave them hungry, so she decided to bring them home, even though she knew her husband, Dũng, was strict and disliked strangers.

At home, Hiền cooked a hot meal—braised pork, boiled vegetables, and a fragrant bowl of soup. The children devoured it with sparkling eyes full of joy. Hiền smiled, though in her heart she worried that her husband would not approve. Sure enough, when Dũng returned from work and saw the strange children inside, his brows furrowed. His voice was cold: “Why did you bring strangers home? We don’t have extra to spare!”

Hiền gently explained, but Dũng remained upset. That night, after the children had left, Hiền discovered that the metal box containing fifty million đồng—their savings for years, meant to repair the house—had vanished. Dũng was furious, certain the children had stolen it. Hiền was shocked, but deep inside she could not believe that those children with such pure eyes could do such a thing.

The next morning, Dũng decided to search for them and demand the money back. Hiền begged to go with him. They searched the village and finally found Tí and Mén huddled beneath a banyan tree. Trembling, Tí pulled out a small cloth bundle from his shirt pocket. Inside was the metal box, intact with all fifty million đồng. In a low voice, he said, “I saw you left it on the table. I was afraid it would get lost, so I kept it safe. I planned to return it this morning, but I didn’t know where your house was…”

Before Dũng could respond, Tí reached into his pocket and placed an old silver bracelet into Hiền’s hand: “This is the only thing my mother left me. I want to give it to you, to thank you for the best meal we’ve ever had.” Tí’s eyes brimmed with tears, while little Mén clung to Hiền’s leg and chirped, “Auntie, your food tastes just like Mom’s!”

Dũng stood frozen, his doubts melting away. He turned aside to hide the tears in his eyes. Hiền hugged the children close and softly said, “From now on, you are my children. Come home with me.”

The four of them returned together in the golden glow of dusk. Hiền carefully placed the old silver bracelet on the family altar, as a reminder of faith and compassion. From then on, the little house not only had a repaired roof but was also filled with the laughter of two children who were once orphans.