Critique on this short story (story, structure, character, dialogue, plot twist, arc etc.): "
The scent of banh chung (sticky rice cakes), and thit kho tau (braised pork with duck eggs) fills the cosy living room. Hiền, a petite old lady sat in a plush armchair, a contented smile gracing her lips. 
Her daughter, Nguyệt, knelt beside her, carefully adjusting the silk ao dai (a traditional Vietnamese long dress), that flowed over Hiền’s wrinkled frame. Nguyệt’s husband, Cường, wrestled with their two young children, Minh and Nhi, who giggled uncontrollably as they wriggled free from his grasp.
“Don’t be such monkeys,” Nguyệt chided playfully, her voice laced with amusement.
Minh, the older of the two, with his shock of black hair that mirrored his father’s, shot his sister a mischievous grin before darting towards the towering apricot blossom tree that occupied a corner of the room. Nhi, a wisp of a girl with her mother’s dark eyes, toddled after him, her tiny hand clutching a red envelope.
Laughter erupted once more as Minh fumbled with a red envelope perched precariously on a branch, finally managing to snag it. He tore it open with a flourish, revealing nothing inside. Nhi squealed with delight, her chubby fingers clutching at a similar envelope that her father dangled in front of her.
“Careful, darling,” Hiền cautioned.
The sound of children’s laughter echoes through the room. Her gaze kept landing on the children.
Suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted slightly, lips parted as if to speak but no words came out.
The doorbell’s chime cut through the air, momentarily silencing the room. Cường rose and hurried towards the doorway. A chorus of greetings filled the air as Hiền’s son, Thái, and his wife, Vân, entered, ushering in a wave of warm hugs and excited chatter.
Thái, tall and broad-shouldered, knelt before Hiền. He extended a small, beautifully wrapped box towards her. His eyes held a warmth, a mirror image of his late father's.
Hiền, upon seeing the warmth in Thái's eyes, her chest rose and fell, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“Happy Tet, Mama,” he said, emotions thickening his voice.
Her face beamed, wrinkles deepening as she smiled.
“Happy Tet, my dear son. Gifts or no, having you here is more than enough.”
Thái chuckled, shaking his head slightly, “It’s Tet, Ma.”
As the evening wore on, the house overflowed with joy. Bowls of stuffed bitter melon soup, dishes of pickled leeks and shallots and spring rolls, were passed around the table. Stories were exchanged, memories recounted, and plans for the coming year made.
 - Later -
The children are asleep on the sofa. The adults lingered around the table, sipping steaming cups of green tea. The conversation turned nostalgic.
Hiền’s eyes twinkled as she recounted a particularly chaotic Tet from her childhood.  “Your uncle Quang once set off a firecracker inside the house. Nearly scared the life out of your poor grandma.”
A wave of amused chuckles swept across the table. As the night deepened, drowsiness began to claim them. One by one, they bid farewell and make their way out, leaving behind a lingering warmth and the promise of another gathering soon.
Hiền, however, remained seated long after the last guest had departed. A lone tear traced a path down her wrinkled cheek. The once vibrant scene had faded, replaced by the stark silence of her empty living room.
She looked down at her lap, her fingers clutching the worn red envelope nestled in her hands. A wave of disorientation washed over her. Where’s everyone? Why am I alone?
Suddenly, a gentle hand rested on her shoulder. A young woman with a kind smile stood beside her.
“It’s time for bed, Grandma,” the woman said softly.
Hiền looked up at her, a frown creasing her brow. “Who are you?” she questioned, her voice laced with confusion.
The young woman gently smiled. “I’m Nhi, your cute, little, beloved grandchild.”
 “Nhi?” she echoed.
The room fell into a sudden hush, the air thick with anticipation. The blue daffodil in the vase by the window swayed gently as if acknowledging the wind’s presence.
Her eyes darted around, searching for something just out of reach. The name, a whisper on her lips, flitted away like a butterfly. The faces of her loved ones were like pieces of a puzzle, jumbling and falling away before they could form a complete picture. Her hands shook subtly.
The young woman helped the old lady to her feet. As Hiền rose, her gaze fell upon the doorway.
There lay a jumble of shoes.
Hiền stared silently at the footwear.  
The young woman noticed the change in Hiền’s demeanour. She knelt down, gathering the two bright pink sandals that had been scattered. With care, she returned them to their familiar place beneath Hiền’s bed—a silent reminder of family, laughter, and a life the lady could only glimpse through the hazy veil of her dementia.
An embroidery on the young woman’s scrub top shows her name: “Trần Ngọc Thuỷ Tiên”.
Outside, the neon sign of the building flickered brightly under the dark, cloudless sky: “Vĩnh Tâm Care Centre.”"