The next day, I discovered something terrible…

My husband Hùng and I had been married for over a year. Our marriage wasn’t exactly sweet, but I kept trying to believe that with love and patience, everything would be fine. Hùng was a quiet man, while my mother-in-law, Mrs. Tư, was extremely strict. She always wanted to control everything in the house — from meals to when we would have children.

Two months ago, I found out I was pregnant. Tears of joy fell from my eyes because I had been waiting for this baby for nearly a year. But Hùng didn’t seem very happy. He just gave a cold nod:
— “Yeah, that’s good.”

Instead of congratulating me or holding me, he kept his eyes glued to his phone. I felt disappointed but convinced myself that men are often less expressive with their emotions.

At my first prenatal check-up, my mother-in-law insisted on going with me. She firmly said:
— “I have to see if my grandchild is healthy. These days, so many daughters-in-law are weak and only give birth to girls.”

I could only give a strained smile. I didn’t dare react because ever since moving in, she had treated me like a servant.

We went to a private clinic. When the doctor called my name, I entered with her. The doctor performed an ultrasound and then asked my mother-in-law to step out for a while to run some additional tests. As the door closed, a young nurse beside me suddenly stepped closer and whispered:
— “Are you… are you Hùng’s wife?”

Startled, I replied:
— “Yes… how do you know?”

She glanced around nervously, then lowered her trembling voice:
— “I’m telling you this as a warning… get a divorce. Run while you still can.”

My mind went blank. My heart pounded violently.
— “What are you talking about? Why are you saying this?”

She only shook her head, her eyes flickering with fear:
— “I can’t say much… but that man… he’s not a good person. Please be careful.”

Then she quickly turned away as if afraid someone would overhear. I sat frozen, my heart aching. A chill ran down my spine.

On the way home, I didn’t dare say anything to my mother-in-law. She happily held the ultrasound printout, saying loudly:
— “I hope my grandchild is a boy!”

That evening when Hùng came home, I tried to observe him. But his eyes were as indifferent as ever, showing no concern for how I was feeling. From that day on, my heart filled with suspicion. I began watching everything around me closely — and then I discovered something that left me shattered.

One night, Hùng left his phone in the living room. The screen lit up with a message from someone named “Thảo My”:
“Don’t worry, today’s results are fine. I’m pregnant.”

I froze. My whole body trembled. I opened the message thread, and there were dozens of texts filled with implications: “Once she gives birth, just do a DNA test,” “My baby is your real child.”

My world collapsed. I finally understood why he was so cold to me, and why my mother-in-law insisted on coming to the clinic — she was afraid I would give birth to “a child that isn’t truly her grandchild.”

I bit my lip until it bled but stayed silent. The next morning, I quietly returned to the clinic. I found the same nurse and, trying to keep my composure, asked:
— “Could you tell me… what do you know about my husband?”

She looked at me with eyes full of sorrow.
— “He brought another woman here before, also claiming she was his wife. They did a pregnancy test with the doctor in the other room. That woman… she’s over a month pregnant.”

It felt as if someone had gripped my heart and squeezed it. The nurse held my hand tightly and said softly:
— “I’m sorry for interfering in your private matters, but I didn’t want you to be deceived. That man is truly terrible.”

I wandered like a lost soul. All day I roamed the streets, my belly heavy. The baby inside me kept growing day by day, but its father had betrayed its mother at the very moment she needed him most.

That afternoon, I returned home. My mother-in-law was sitting in the living room. Seeing me, she frowned:
— “Where have you been? Hùng said tonight he’s taking me to dinner with his business partners. You stay home and cook.”

I looked at her and calmly said:
— “I won’t cook. Starting tomorrow, I’m moving out.”

She froze.
— “What did you say?”

I took out a stack of screenshots from my bag. She grabbed them, her face turning pale. My voice trembled:
— “I can’t continue living in a house where my husband and his mother treat me like this. I just want my child to be born in peace.”

She was shaking, stammering without words. As for me, for the first time in my life, I felt strangely light. I wasn’t afraid anymore.

That night, I rented a small room near the hospital. The nurse from the clinic came to visit, bringing some milk and nutritious porridge. She held my hand and smiled:
— “You’re so strong. This baby needs a mother like you.”

I hugged her, tears streaming down my face. Perhaps she was right — sometimes leaving is the only way to protect yourself and your child.

And I swore, even if I had to do it alone, I would give birth, raise my child, and love them with everything a mother can give.