That day, in the midst of the joyful and bustling atmosphere of the wedding, someone suddenly appeared—leaving the entire hall in stunned silence.

It was my ex-mother-in-law.

My ex-husband and I had been together for 13 years.
He was my first love—and once, the man I believed would walk with me until the end of life.
But life isn’t a fairytale. One harsh slap from reality woke me from that sweet illusion.

The day he got into a car accident, I cried until there were no tears left.
I was terrified, as if the sky was about to collapse.
I even looked up at the heavens and begged, “Take my life instead, just let him live.”
I did everything for him—caring for him, cleaning him, tending to his every need without hesitation.
To me, love at that time meant giving unconditionally—through life and death, side by side.

But then the tragedy began to unfold.
While I was desperately fighting to keep him alive in the hospital room, another woman outside was crying for him too.
And then came the final blow: the day before he was discharged, he insisted on leaving early—just to be with her.
No warning. No apology.

That moment shattered me.
My whole world collapsed.
No matter how many times he begged on his knees, no matter how many tears he shed—I coldly signed the divorce papers.
Just two months after the accident, I endured the kind of pain that cuts to the bone—both physical and emotional.
Turns out, it’s true what they say:
When a man cheats, the wife is always the last to know.

I had played the fool for years without realizing it.
Only when fate struck me with a violent jolt did the truth finally rise to the surface—like a wound too deep to hide.

After the divorce, I rented a small house and lived there with my daughter—lonely, but proud.
I had loved him with all my heart, but he never gave me the love I deserved.
So, I let go—to set myself free.
Even though he and that woman had been sneaking around behind my back the whole time we lived together, I didn’t hate them.
I only felt regret—regret for myself.

Two years later, I met my current husband through social media.
After some time chatting, he took the initiative to meet me in person.
It was on Valentine’s Day when he confessed his feelings.
I simply replied:

“Give me some more time.”

He was patient. He introduced me to his parents, his son, his friends, and his colleagues.
In October, we officially became a couple and began planning our wedding.
In November, I moved out of my rented home and into his.
By the end of the year—exactly two years after my divorce—I finally had the courage to get married again.

That day, in the midst of the vibrant and festive wedding celebration, someone appeared unexpectedly, leaving the entire hall in stunned silence.
It was my former mother-in-law.

She walked in wearing a simple áo dài—nothing flashy, nothing extravagant—but her eyes were filled with warmth and affection.
I trembled at the sight of her—the woman who had once been my mother-in-law for over a decade, who had shared those long-forgotten years with me.

She had once been my rock.
She was the one who raised my daughter to be kind, well-mannered, and mature—nothing like her biological father.
Even after the divorce, I would still call to check in on her from time to time.
But I never expected her to show up here today.

She took my hand, her eyes brimming with tears:

“My daughter is getting married—how could her mother not be here? This is a small gift from me, please accept it.”

I was choked up, trying to politely refuse:

“I can’t accept this, Mom… It wouldn’t be proper. I don’t deserve it.”

But she gently replied—and her words pierced straight into my heart:

“If you don’t accept it, you’ll hurt me. Even if things didn’t work out between you and him, I still see you as my daughter. And when a daughter gets married, her mother has to give her something.”

In that moment, the entire wedding hall fell silent.
Some guests quietly wiped their tears.
Others let out a soft sigh of relief, having feared she might come to cause a scene.

But she didn’t come as a “former mother-in-law.”
She came as a true mother.

I couldn’t hold back my tears.
In my whole life, the only person I had ever called “Mom” was her—my mother-in-law. My birth mother passed away when I was very young.
I thought after the divorce, I’d have no one left to call “Mom.”
But that day, I knew—I still had a mother.

In front of all our friends and relatives, I looked at her, crying, and said:

“Mom… thank you. Thank you for never leaving me.”

In this life, there are certain bonds that defy explanation—connections that can’t be named, nor measured by reason.
Though I had completely cut ties with the man I once loved,
with this mother—I could never let go.

Deep in my heart,
she will always be my mother.
Forever.