Living with My Son-in-Law and Daughter for Two Years, I Overheard Their Conversation One Night — The Next Day, I Left 200 Million and Quietly Returned to My Hometown/th

One night, I woke up to use the bathroom. As I passed by the living room, I accidentally overheard a conversation between my children that felt like a dagger to the heart.

I am now 70 years old. After my husband passed away early, I raised my daughter on my own. Our life wasn’t wealthy, but I did my best to give her a good upbringing and a bright future. She studied hard, graduated from university, got married, and settled down in the city.

When I retired, I was still healthy and able to take care of myself. But my daughter always worried about me. She often said, “Living alone will be lonely for you, Mom. Come stay with us so we can be together.” After some hesitation, I agreed, hoping to be close to my family, take care of my grandchild, and enjoy old age with my loved ones.

My son-in-law is a polite man who works for a tech company. He doesn’t talk much but has always treated me respectfully. We lived together for two years, and I never felt like I was a burden. On the contrary, I felt useful — helping with house chores, cooking, and looking after my grandchild. However, over time, I began to feel like a free babysitter in my son-in-law’s eyes, which made me uncomfortable, though I didn’t know how to express it.

Then, that night came. While heading to the bathroom, I overheard my daughter saying, “Mom is getting older and not as strong as before. We should hire someone to help so she doesn’t have to work too hard.”

My son-in-law was silent for a moment and then replied, “Haven’t we already been taking good care of her all this time? Now you want to hire help? I can’t afford that. And it’s not like she’s doing anything exhausting. She has 200 million in savings, but since moving in, she hasn’t helped us financially at all.”

That sentence felt like a slap to my face. I was stunned and couldn’t believe my ears.

My daughter gently replied, “Mom’s money is hers. How she uses it is her business. Why are you being so calculating?”

But my son-in-law sneered and said, “It’s not like your mom can take it with her when she’s gone.”

I stood frozen, feeling as if my heart was shattering into pieces. I never imagined I would hear such words from the very people I had cared for all these years.

The next morning, I still made breakfast as usual, without saying a word about the conversation I had overheard the night before. After the meal, I said nothing to anyone. I quietly went to my room, took out some clothes and my savings book, then wrote a short letter to my daughter.

The letter left on the dining table contained only a few lines:

“Thảo, I’ve thought this through. I don’t want to be a burden to you. I’ll return to the countryside to live with my old friends. There’s 200 million in this savings book, I’m leaving it to you. The password is your birthdate. Thank you for taking care of me all this time.”

After that, I packed my things and quietly left the house without saying goodbye. I decided to return to my hometown — the place where I was born and raised. There, I have friends, people who share my circumstances, and I no longer have to face cold calculations or words that make me feel like a burden.

Life back home has been peaceful — no noise, no judgment. I have friends to talk to, I can enjoy card games, do light exercise, and, most importantly, I no longer feel like I’m a burden to anyone. Though my daughter visits from time to time, I always smile and tell her I don’t regret my decision.

Once, Thảo came to visit with red, tearful eyes:

“Mom, how could you leave like that?”

I just smiled and gently patted her hand:

“I’m old. I don’t want to hear people calculating whether I’m worth the money or not. I just want to live in peace.”

She cried and apologized. I shook my head and said:

“I don’t blame you. I just wanted to give you an easier choice.”

In old age, what I fear is not poverty, but the feeling of becoming a burden to others. Money can buy many things, but dignity and self-respect are priceless. People’s hearts can change quickly, and when I decided to leave, all I wanted was peace of mind.