Love Finds Its Way Back
John had always been a quiet, familiar customer—until I mentioned my trip to Vietnam. His face changed. “I was there,” he whispered. “During Saigon’s fall. I helped get orphans on planes.”
I told him I was adopted from Vietnam. His eyes filled. “Then I might have held you.”
Later, he revealed more. He’d fallen in love with a woman named Linh. They had a son. In the chaos, he lost them. “No trace,” he said, showing me a faded photo.
I offered to help.
In Vietnam, I connected with archivists. Weeks later, I found Bao—Linh’s son. Same jawline as John. Same eyes as the photo. “Your father never stopped looking,” I told him.
When John arrived, he and Bao stood face to face, then embraced—father and son, reunited after nearly 50 years.
Over coffee, John held Linh’s recent photo. “I never stopped loving her.”
As I left, they planned Bao’s first visit to America. And I carried with me one truth:
Love, no matter how lost, always finds a way.
