In the first three years of marriage, she thought she had chosen the right man to spend the rest of her life with. In the early days of their marriage, he was gentle, caring, and listened to his wife’s small complaints. But then, as his work became more stressful, his temper became irritable and he became easily angered. Each argument was like a smoldering fire, burning the atmosphere in the house. She cried silently many times, but still tried to keep the peace for her two young children.

The fatigue did not come from a big argument, but from the daily repetition of trivialities. He came home late, she blamed him; she complained, he was grumpy. Love was gradually replaced by suffocation and discomfort. One evening, when her eldest daughter asked: “Why do you two always yell at each other?”, she felt her heart sink. She realized that she could not let her child grow up with constant yelling.

Finally, after much discussion, the two decided to separate. Not because they had completely stopped loving each other, but because they were both too exhausted to continue living together. She took her two daughters to her maternal grandparents’ house, so that the fresh air of the countryside could soothe the scars on her soul. He remained silent, did not hold on, only nodded in agreement. That silence was like a knife cutting off her fragile hope.

The time of separation passed day by day, then month by month. She devoted all her attention to taking care of her two children, waking up early in the morning to prepare meals, and tutoring them at night. On rainy days, she drove her children to school alone, her raincoat flapping, her heart aching as she remembered the days when he held an umbrella beside her. But she told herself not to be weak, because now, she was the only support for her two children. She gradually avoided mentioning his name at home.

Surprisingly, her parents-in-law still called regularly to check on her. Each time, her voice was still kind: “Are the children well? If you need anything, just tell me.” She was both grateful and embarrassed, because she thought she had not fulfilled her role as a daughter-in-law. Then one day, she received a transfer of 6 million, clearly written: “From dad to take care of the children.” At first, she refused and returned the money, but the following month the money reappeared.

After much wrangling, she had to accept it, considering it as her grandparents’ kindness towards her grandchild. Every month, on the 5th, she received a text message with a money transfer. The amount was not too large, but it was enough for her to feel secure in taking care of her children’s education and buying them some new clothes. Every time she looked at the words “From Dad”, she felt both grateful and heartbroken. She told her two children to call and thank their grandparents, to maintain the bond with their paternal family.

Seven years of separation passed so quickly that she was startled to realize that her eldest daughter had entered middle school. She had long since stopped thinking about returning to her husband. The old wounds made her afraid to open them again. Whenever someone asked, “When are you planning to get a divorce?”, she just shook her head and answered vaguely, “Not yet, there are still the children…” And so, life continued to pass in that in-between state.

Then two months ago, the bad news came: her father-in-law had a stroke and passed away. On the night of the funeral, she carried her child home, stood silently before the coffin, tears streaming down her face. That kind man who had repeatedly advised her to be patient was now resting in peace. She felt empty and regretful. In her grief, she appreciated even more his care over the years.

After the funeral, she continued to receive 6 million on the 5th. This time, she suddenly felt suspicious: “He’s gone, so who will send the money?” She tried to stay silent and not reply, but the next month, the money still arrived on time. Curiosity made her think about it, until the 49th anniversary of his death approached. That day, she decided to ask her mother in law directly.

In the kitchen filled with incense smoke, she softly said: “Mom, I want to ask you something… Dad has passed away, but for the past two months I’ve been receiving money like before. Who sent it, Mom?” Her mother in law looked at her for a long time, her eyes filled with something. Then she sighed, gently holding her hand: “It’s not your dad… for the past 7 years, it’s Nam who’s been sending you money.” That sentence made her heart clench and choke.

She was stunned, sitting still. “Him? But… why did he ask his parents to be the one to take the title?” She slowly explained: “He was afraid you would refuse. He didn’t want you two to get a divorce, but he didn’t dare face it, so he could only secretly provide for you to raise the children. His parents stood up so you wouldn’t feel guilty.” Her voice was mixed with a sigh, as if it contained years of keeping it a secret.

Her heart was in turmoil. For 7 years, she thought he was irresponsible, leaving her and her child to fend for themselves. But it turned out, he was still there, silently caring. A stream of hot tears flowed down her cheeks. All the bitterness and reproach in her heart suddenly shattered, replaced by an indescribable emotion.

Her mother in law looked at her and gently advised, “It’s been seven years, my dear. Look, he hasn’t abandoned you and your mother. He still hopes to come back one day, just waiting for you to calm down. He’s different now, more mature, more thoughtful. Give him a chance.” Those words entered her heart like raindrops falling on dry land.

That night, she could not sleep. Old memories flooded back: he used to hold her hand and walk on the windy road, used to hold the two children in his arms with a happy smile. But then, he was the one who said those harsh words, hurting her. She was both touched by the truth and afraid of the old scene repeating itself. Her heart was wavering like someone standing between two cliffs.

The next day, he went to his mother’s house, bringing some gifts for the two children. It had been a long time since she had seen him at such a close distance. His face was no longer as young and impulsive as before, but had clearly shown experience. He softly said: “I’m sorry… for making you suffer so much.” His voice trembled, completely different from the grumpy look of the past.

She was silent, not answering. The two children ran out to hug their father, chattering about their studies. Seeing that scene, her eyes stung. He sat down, his eyes following the children, full of love. She realized that no matter how long they were apart, the father-child relationship was still strong.

When the two children ran out to the playground, he hesitantly said, “I don’t want a divorce. I never did. All these years, I’ve waited for the day you would forgive me.” She turned away, trying to hide her tears. In her heart, undercurrents were swirling, between old anger and new emotions.

A few days later, her mother in law called and earnestly advised her to reconsider. She said, “My daughter, life is long, but also short. Outsiders cannot fully understand her heart for you. Try to open your heart again, for the sake of your grandchildren and for yourself.” She listened, her heart choked, unable to say a word.

From then on, she began to observe him more. He was no longer hot-tempered or critical like before. He patiently picked up the children from school, drove his mother in law to the market, and fixed the leaky porch without anyone asking. These changes made her confused, both wanting to believe and afraid to believe. Her heart was like a half-closed door, requiring only a small force to open it.

One evening, after the two children had gone to sleep, she sat on the porch, the night wind caressing her hair. He came over and gently sat down. “I know, the past is hard to let go of. But give me a chance, I won’t let you down again.” She turned around, looked into his eyes, and saw that there was no longer any pride, only sincerity. Her heart trembled, as if she was standing at the final crossroads.