I felt sorry for the mute orphan girl so I decided to take her home as my wife, but unexpectedly, right after giving birth to our first child, she immediately said something that made me shudder…

I met Lanh on a business trip to the highlands. She was a mute girl, orphaned since childhood, living by working for a roadside restaurant. She was thin and hard-working, but her eyes haunted me forever. Lanh could not speak, but always looked straight at the person opposite as if she was trying to listen to the whole world with her eyes.

I don’t know why, but I felt so sorry for her. Because of this, I argued with my whole family. My mother was visibly upset:

“A mute person, without parents, with unknown origins… why marry? People marry to have children, to share, not to add to their karma!”

I ignored it. I believed that as long as I lived a good life, everything would be fine.

I married Lanh. Even though she couldn’t speak, she was a good wife: she got up early to cook, took care of her in-laws, did the laundry and did the dishes without any complaints. Gradually, my parents’ prejudices lessened.

Then Lanh got pregnant. The whole family changed. My mother bragged to the neighbors:

“Although she is mute, she is skillful and very lucky. Getting pregnant in the first year is a good omen!”

I thought life was peaceful.

Until the day I gave birth — and uttered my first words.

The day she went into labor, I was terrified. Because I couldn’t speak, all the pain and signals were just her trying to use her hand to grab my shirt to signal. I held her hand all the way from the waiting room until the nurse brought out the baby – a boy.

I was in tears, kissing her forehead, then suddenly…

“Brother, it… it’s not like you…”

I was stunned. Did you just speak?

No one could believe their ears. The nurse, my mother, and even the doctor in the room turned around, stunned.

And her next words  shattered everything :

“He is my cousin’s son.”

It all comes crashing down — and the mute wife’s heartbreaking past is exposed.

I was stunned. She burst into tears. Her voice was hoarse and trembling. For years she had pretended to be mute — not because of a defect, but because of  an immense fear .

My mother turned pale. I roared, forcing her to say each word clearly. Lanh shouted:

“The day you brought me home, I was one month pregnant… I planned to have an abortion, but the doctor said if I had another abortion, I wouldn’t be able to have children anymore. I didn’t dare say… didn’t dare say…”

It turned out that  my cousin , who also went to the highlands with me that year, had forced himself on her. She had gone to the orphanage, asked to be accepted, and had been pretending to be mute ever since — because after that incident,  every time she opened her mouth, she would have a panic attack and choke.

I sat down on the chair, my whole body was exhausted. My mother cried like she had never cried before. My whole family felt like they had just exploded.

I was going to file for divorce… but then the unexpected happened.

I took my child for a DNA test.  The results were exactly as you said.

I coldly wrote the divorce papers and put them on the table. But that night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought back to the past three years — a mute, resigned woman, silently taking care of the whole family, enduring so many strange looks, never uttering a word of demand.

It’s your fault. But I can’t deny: if I hadn’t brought you back, you wouldn’t have had to bear this pain alone.

The next morning, I went into her room and found her writing a letter by hand. She cried, put the paper on the table and took her baby away. In the letter, she wrote:

“I’m sorry for ruining everything. I only wished for a family. But I don’t deserve it, so I’m leaving. The child is my fault. I don’t dare ask for forgiveness… I just hope you live well.”

6 Months Later, I Saw You in the Street — and the Final Twist

I accidentally saw Lanh holding her child standing in front of a small restaurant, asking for a job. She was skinny, her face was haggard. I held her, she recognized me right away —  and for the first time called me “dad”.

I didn’t cry, just silently held her hand. I said:

“It’s not your fault. It’s me who didn’t protect you from your own family.”

We went back and started over. That child — even though he wasn’t my flesh and blood, for the rest of his life, I would never let him grow up feeling the way his mother did:  abandoned, voiceless, unable to be human.