You were there to bid him farewell, but could not wait for his return.

The country had entered a time of peace, yet the scars of the past lingered within these walls.

The small living room, with its now yellowed wooden walls, evoked memories of unforgettable years. The altar for Quyết was mounted high, crafted from wood, bearing his portrait. Though the image had faded, his radiant smile remained unchanged. You grew older while he remained forever youthful, a reminder of the days when you and him first married.

Beneath the altar, the old wooden cabinet held Quyết’s relics and the death certificate. Though the paper had yellowed with time, it remained heavy with the weight of sacrifice and loss. Whenever sunlight streamed through the window, its feeble rays cast patterns on the wall, reflecting the tranquility yet profound silence of the house.

When Bình returned from school, dusty and wounded, exhaustion etched across his face, his eyes still shone with a resilient strength, as if inheriting the very spirit of Quyết. Bình, like his father, maintained a steadfast courage and an unyielding spirit.

Bình quickly entered the house, muttering to himself, his teeth clenched as he recounted:

“Today, they picked on me again. They talked badly about dad and said that without him, I was an orphan.”

But then he smiled proudly, saying:

“But I fought back. I told them that dad fought to bring peace. Even though he’s no longer here, he remains a hero in my eyes.”