The day Mai got married, the whole neighborhood praised her for being lucky to marry Hoang – a gentle, hard-working man with disciplined parents. But it was only a short time later that she realized that discipline meant strict rules, especially when it came to money. Mrs. Luu, her mother in law, was famous throughout the market for her thriftiness, even washing and re-washing plastic bags for use. Her kitchen had plenty of food, but rarely anything “luxurious”. Mai, who grew up in a comfortable family, sometimes felt suffocated.

Every morning, Mrs. Luu’s slippers clattered across the yard, her hand holding a notebook recording her expenses. “Yesterday, we spent fifteen thousand on vegetables and thirty thousand on meat. Today, it’s reduced. Eating dried fish is fine, to save money,” she muttered. Mai could only smile awkwardly, not daring to open her mouth. Hoang felt sorry for his wife, and many times he whispered, “Just bear with it, Mom’s used to it.” But that statement only made Mai feel more hurt, as if her discomfort was never fully understood.

During her pregnancy, Mai’s body became unusually sensitive, sometimes even the smell of food made her nauseous. One afternoon, passing by a shop, the smell of tamarind-fried shrimp wafted up in the wind, making her stomach churn. She stood there for a long time, her eyes drawn to the pan of red, greasy shrimp, her mouth watering as she listened to the sizzling sound. “How much is a box?” she asked in a trembling voice. “One hundred and eighty, dear,” the seller replied cheerfully.

The amount was not small, but Mai could not resist her craving, she bought a box to take home. Sitting in the kitchen, opening the lid of the box, the sweet and sour aroma wafted up, making her inhale and smile. While preparing to pick up some, the door creaked, Mrs. Luu walked in. Her eyes darkened when she saw the box of shrimp, her voice stern: “Where did you get the money to spend so much? It’s a waste to eat such a luxurious dish while pregnant.” The chopsticks in Mai’s hand fell to the ground, her heart empty.

She hesitated: “I… just craved a little, I’ll just buy it this time.” But Mrs. Luu didn’t listen, continuing to nag: “Pregnant women can eat anything, as long as it’s nutritious. There’s no need to be expensive. When you give birth, there are a hundred things that require money, not just whatever you like.” Her words were like a knife cutting into her heart, Mai bit her lip tightly, forced: “Yes, I know.” After saying that, she turned away, tears streaming down, silently swallowing them.

That night, Hoang hugged his wife and gently comforted her: “I know you’re craving it, I’ll find something else for you tomorrow.” Mai shook her head, her voice choked: “No, no, I don’t want Mom to be sad. I can handle it.” The words sounded like a lie, because her stomach was full of unquenchable cravings. But Mai no longer had the strength to argue, she just wanted peace, no more conflict. Her thin back trembled, making Hoang sigh helplessly.

In the following days, Mai still quietly fulfilled her duty, going to the market with her mother in law. Every time she passed a seafood stall, the vendor’s cries made her stop. “Fresh prawns, delicious salmon, anyone want to buy?” Mai turned away, her eyes glued to the basket, trying to hide her desire. But in her hazy gaze, Mrs. Luu quietly realized something.

One morning, when the mother and daughter went to the market, Mai stopped in front of a salmon stall. The seller said warmly: “You should buy it, today it’s a few tens of thousands cheaper.” Mai shook her head slightly: “No, another day.” But her eyes were still filled with tears, clinging tightly to the fresh salmon. Mrs. Luu stood beside her, silently observing, her heart suddenly aching.

That afternoon, Mai was tired and lay down to rest in her room. Mrs. Luu leaned on her cane to go to the market, walking to the same salmon stall as in the morning. Her hands trembled as she opened her wallet, counting each old bill, her lips pressed tightly together. “Get me half a kilo of salmon,” she said quickly, afraid she would change her mind. The vendor’s eyes widened: “Mrs. Luu also eats salmon?” She just nodded slightly, her eyes looking far away.

When she got home, she quietly went into the kitchen and showed off her cooking skills. The smell of salmon sauteed with butter and pepper wafted throughout the house. Mai woke up, walked out, and was surprised to see her mother in law serving a dish that had never been seen before in the house. “Mom… you’re cooking salmon?” she stammered. Mrs. Luu didn’t look at her, just whispered, “Eat it, it’s good for your pregnancy. If you crave it, eat it, just don’t overdo it.”

Mai’s eyes filled with tears, she quickly turned away to hide them. Sitting down at the table, she picked up a piece of fish, feeling the fat melt, both delicious and choking. “Thank you, Mom,” Mai said softly, her voice trembling. Mrs. Luu remained silent, but her hand paused for a moment when she saw a tear rolling down her daughter-in-law’s cheek. In her heart, a layer of old ice suddenly melted.

Since then, the atmosphere in the house gradually changed. Mrs. Luu was no longer strict with every penny, and occasionally took the initiative to ask: “Mai, if you’re craving something these days, tell me, I’ll see if I can handle it.” Mai was grateful, but she was no longer indulgent, always thinking before speaking. She often whispered: “Mom, as long as the food is delicious, I’m happy.” Mrs. Luu heard that, her heart felt warm, she nodded and smiled gently.

Hoang was happier when he saw his wife and mother gradually getting along. He often teased: “It seems that salmon is the miracle that heals mother and daughter.” Mai laughed, while Mrs. Luu pretended to be serious: “You talk too much, eat.” But the way the two women looked at each other was different, no longer confrontational, but sharing. Every meal became joyful, laughter rang out instead of the heavy silences before.

Late at night, Mai lay holding her pregnant belly, remembering those initial tears of sadness. Now, she could smile because she understood that her mother in law, though strict, also had a loving heart. She learned to be patient, to wait, and to be moderate. As for Mrs. Luu, she realized that sometimes love does not lie in saving money, but in giving what people really need. Two women, two generations, found common ground in silence.

The day Mai gave birth, Mrs. Luu ran around the hallway, as worried as Hoang. When she heard the baby crying, she burst into tears, holding her son’s hand tightly: “I’m so happy, thank God.” Mai hugged the baby, looked up at her mother in law, and saw her eyes filled with love. All the resentment from years ago had disappeared, leaving only a strange bond. A small family, now with another life, filled with love.

From then on, the kitchen no longer only had simple vegetables, but sometimes special dishes appeared. Mai no longer secretly craved, because she knew her mother was willing to share. Mrs. Luu was no longer rigid, because she understood that family happiness was more valuable than a few pennies saved. Hoang looked at the two most important women in his life, his heart was relieved and filled with gratitude. All those little things contributed to creating a home full of love.