Being your wife for three years, I fainted several times on the day you died. Yet when the lawyer read the will, I discovered that all the houses in the family were left to another woman…

The funeral band played mournfully for three days, and my house was packed with people coming to pay respects. My husband – Hùng – had died suddenly in a traffic accident, leaving me with our two-year-old daughter. I collapsed the moment I received the terrible news. During the funeral, I cried until I fainted several times, my eyes swollen, my head spinning. The whole village pitied me: “The young wife is suffering too much.”

Relatives and family members gathered in full. Everyone thought I was the rightful wife, the one deserving to shoulder the family’s inheritance. But I wasn’t thinking that far. At that time, I only wished my husband were still alive, so that my child could still have a father, and I could still lean on his shoulder.

On the last day after the funeral, while people were still clearing away the wreaths, my husband’s lawyer appeared. He carried a folder and spoke in a solemn voice:
— “According to Mr. Hùng’s wishes, today I will announce the will.”

The living room instantly fell silent. I sat in the middle, trembling, clutching my child. My sisters-in-law sat opposite, their eyes as sharp as knives.

The lawyer opened the will and read it clearly:
— “All of my houses, land, and property I leave to… Trần Thu Uyên.”

The whole room erupted in whispers. I was frozen. “Thu Uyên” — a strange name. I had never once heard my husband mention her.

Hùng’s eldest sister slapped her thigh loudly:
— “See, I told you! My brother was brilliant, but foolish for women. Who would have thought he’d give everything to some unknown woman?”

I couldn’t breathe, my heart pounding wildly. People looked at me with every kind of gaze: pity, curiosity, even gloating.

I asked the lawyer with a trembling voice:
— Sir, who… is Thu Uyên?

The lawyer hesitated:
— She is a woman Mr. Hùng knew, living in the same city. My responsibility is only to read the will.

My daughter burst into tears:
— Mommy, then where will we live?

I hugged her tightly, feeling as though the entire sky had collapsed. All those years my husband and I worked hard together: from a small one-story house to a spacious three-story home, from empty hands to a 200-square-meter plot of land. And now, all of it had been turned over to another woman’s name.

Relatives whispered among themselves. An old uncle muttered:
— Probably a mistress. That’s life!

Some aunts murmured:
— Men… only after they die do you find out all their secrets.

Hearing this, I felt fire burning in my chest—shame, humiliation, anger, all mixed together.

4. The Confrontation

The next day, I went to the lawyer’s office and demanded to meet this woman named Thu Uyên. I needed an answer.

And then, before me appeared a woman in her thirties, slender, gentle-faced, carrying a little boy about four years old. The boy’s eyes… looked exactly like my husband’s.

I froze. Uyên lowered her head and softly said:
— Sister… I’m sorry. Hùng promised he would arrange things properly, but he left too suddenly.

I clenched my jaw:
— Arrange? By stealing everything that belonged to my family?

Uyên clutched her son, her eyes red with tears:
— I don’t want to fight. But he left a will. I… only want my son to have something to lean on.

I trembled with fury. So my husband had an illegitimate child—and even legitimized it through the will. My marriage of more than ten years had been nothing but a play to hide the truth.

News that “my husband had a child out of wedlock” spread quickly among the relatives. My sisters-in-law came, some blaming, some mocking:
— What kind of wife are you, that your husband had to keep a mistress?
— This house is as good as lost.
— Better focus on raising your daughter, don’t dream too much.

I felt both pain and rage. But strangely, in all the chaos, my in-laws stayed silent. My mother-in-law, usually harsh, only sighed:
— What’s done is done. It was his mistake to bear. As for you… do your best to hold on to your daughter and raise her well.

I broke down in tears. After all the years I had spent as a daughter-in-law, carrying every burden, that was all I had left from her.

6. The Decision

For weeks I was devastated, living like a shadow. But seeing my daughter growing pale and weary, I awakened. I could not collapse forever.

I went to the lawyer, asking to review the will again. He confirmed: yes, Hùng left all property to Thu Uyên, but he had also left behind a significant life insurance policy — and the beneficiaries were me and my daughter.

That money was enough for us to rent a place and cover schooling. Not as much as the estate, but we weren’t left with nothing.

I took a deep breath and decided: “Fine. I will start over. I don’t need to cling to that treacherous house anymore.”

7. The Truth Behind It

One afternoon, Uyên came to find me. She placed a folder in front of me: a savings account book in my daughter’s name.

— This is the money Hùng saved separately for you and your child. He said that no matter what, he would never let you suffer. That will… was only to give my son some security, so he wouldn’t be scorned by the family later. I know I was wrong, but I hope you understand…

I looked at her, then at the innocent boy. My heart was torn — hatred, yet also pity. Finally, I only said:
— What’s between us, time will answer. But I only ask that you never appear before my daughter. She doesn’t need to know about this tragedy.

Uyên nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

8. The Ending

A year later, my daughter and I moved into a small apartment near her school. I opened a small grocery shop — hard at first, but it gradually stabilized. My daughter studied well and behaved.

Relatives still gossiped from time to time, but I no longer cared. I understood that the most precious thing I still had was not property or reputation, but the child by my side.

As for Thu Uyên, I sometimes heard she was still raising her son in the suburbs. I never sought her out again. Each of us had chosen a path, carrying our own pain.

Before she passed away, my mother-in-law sent a final message: “I owe you an apology.” When I heard it, tears fell, but my heart felt lighter.

I stood on the balcony, the wind rushing against me. In my eyes, the old house, the will, the inheritance… all of it was now the past. I had fainted countless times at my husband’s funeral, but today, I could finally smile. Because at last, I understood: what remains after everything is the strength to rise again, and the bond between mother and child that nothing can replace.