1 month after giving birth, I discovered that every night my husband stolemy breast milk and brought it home – secretly following behind, I was shocked to see…

The day my first daughter was born, I thought my life was complete. During the whole month of confinement, my husband – Duy – took good care of his wife and child. He came home early from work, prepared meals, and often woke up in the middle of the night to make milk for the baby. Seeing him hold and comfort the baby, I shed tears of happiness many times.

However, after the first 3 weeks, I began to notice something unusual. Every night around 2-3am, Duy would take milk from the fridge and sneak out. At first, I thought he was making milk for the baby, but when I held the baby, the bottle in his hand was different. The amount of breast milk I kept in the fridge gradually decreased, even though I still expressed regularly.

I was suspicious. Why did he take the milk out? Where did he take it, and to whom? The scary thought flashed through my mind, keeping me up at night. I tried to ask gently:

“Hey, where is the milk I put in the fridge yesterday?”

He just smiled awkwardly:

“Ah… I must have made a mistake, I spilled it.”

That answer was not convincing. My instinct told me something was wrong. The next night, I pretended to sleep, paying attention to every movement. Sure enough, he opened the cupboard, took out several milk bags with carefully labeled dates, and put them in his bag. He quietly left the house, as if afraid to wake me and the baby.

My heart clenched. Anger and fear rushed through me. But I didn’t rush to confront him. I decided to follow him and find out the truth.

That night, I put on a thin shirt, held my 1-month-old baby who was fast asleep and asked my mother to look after him, then followed my husband in the dark. The small alley was quiet, with only the flickering yellow light. He walked quickly, looking hurried. I kept a reasonable distance, my heart pounding.

He didn’t turn onto the main street like I thought, but went straight to his mother’s house – a few hundred meters away from ours. I held my breath, hiding behind a nearby tree. The door opened slightly, my mother-in-law stepped out, her face haggard, her hair disheveled. Duy handed her the milk bag, the two of them whispered a few words before going inside.

I was stunned. It turned out he had been secretly bringing milk home for his mother all these days. But why?

I trembled as I approached, through the half-closed door, I saw a scene that made my heart ache. In the room, my sister-in-law – my husband’s brother’s wife – was sitting huddled up holding a newborn baby. The baby cried hoarsely from hunger. Her face was pale, her eyes were dark. My mother-in-law quickly took a bag of milk, warmed it up and gave it to my sister. The baby took the bottle, sucked it passionately, and the crying gradually stopped.

I was shocked to understand everything. It turned out that my sister-in-law had given birth prematurely, was in poor health, and had no milk to breastfeed her baby. My husband’s brother’s family was poor and did not have enough money to buy formula. To prevent their grandchild from going hungry, my mother-in-law asked Duy to secretly take my milk and bring it home.

Tears welled up in my eyes. At first, I had thought of bad things, suspected my husband of cheating, even having children with another man. But the truth was another tragedy – the helplessness of the whole family in the face of hardship.

I quietly returned home. My heart was in turmoil: I felt sorry for my husband and my baby, but also felt sorry for myself because no one said a word to me. They secretly took my milk, and I unwittingly became the “adoptive mother” of the child without even knowing it.

The next morning, I looked at my husband and said softly,

“I followed you last night… I saw everything.”

He was stunned, then lowered his head. His voice trembled,

“I’m sorry… I don’t want you to be sad. I just thought, you just gave birth, and you’re having a hard time, you shouldn’t worry about your brother too. But seeing the baby crying from hunger, I couldn’t help myself…

I was silent for a moment, then held his hand:

“I don’t blame you. But you were wrong to hide it from me. I can share, as long as I don’t doubt my husband.”

That night, I brought a few more bags of milk and personally delivered them to my sister-in-law. Looking at the baby suckling peacefully in her mother’s arms, my heart ached. My sister-in-law held my hand tightly, tears streaming down her face:

“Thank you… Without you, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

I smiled, but my heart was heavy. I understood that life is not always rosy. There are silent sufferings that we can only fully understand when we see them with our own eyes. And sometimes, love is not only for our children, but also needs to be extended to share with the lives around us.

From that day on, I took the initiative to express milk, carefully dividing it into two parts: one for my daughter, one for my nephew. My husband no longer had to sneak out at night. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, perhaps never having seen his wife so strong and tolerant.

In the small house, amidst hardships, love helped us find peace again. And I understand, sometimes a truth can be “shocking”, but it is that truth that teaches us how to love more fully.