Late at night, I stayed over at my fiancée’s house—and after hearing one sentence from her mother, I nearly broke down…

I’m 30 years old this year and about to become a father. This story began on a night of unexpected rain and ended with a decision that shocked both sides of our families: I voluntarily chose to live with my in-laws.

My wife and I had been dating for nearly a year when we received unexpected news. She told me through a text message: “I think I might be pregnant…” When I read it, I felt a mix of joy and anxiety. I was happy because we had originally planned to get married next year, and now that the baby was coming sooner, I believed it was fate. But I was also worried because my wife had a fragile body. She had previously been at risk of miscarriage at just five weeks pregnant. Both our families urged us to get married early to avoid stressing her out.

We planned to have a simple wedding in three months. During the preparations, I continued living at my parents’ house, while my fiancée—just over two months pregnant—was living with her mother. Her father had passed away when she was in middle school. My wife was having a terrible time with morning sickness. She had lost several pounds and looked pale all the time. Every morning before work, I would buy her crackers and yogurt to help ease her nausea. I was worried, but to be honest, I still didn’t fully grasp what a pregnant woman had to endure—until that rainy night.

That night changed everything.

That night, rain poured down heavily over Hanoi. I got off work late, and the streets were flooded. My parents’ house was more than ten kilometers away, while my fiancée’s home was only a few minutes’ ride. I called her:

— “Are you asleep yet? Can I come over?”

She answered wearily:

— “I’m still awake, and so is Mom. Come over, it’s raining hard.”

When I arrived, I was soaked through, the smell of rain and damp earth clinging to my clothes. My future mother-in-law handed me a big towel and insisted I change out of my wet clothes. My fiancée was slumped in a chair, holding her belly, looking exhausted but still smiling. Her mother looked at her and urged:

— “Go lie down, sweetheart. Sitting like that will hurt your back.”

I pulled out my phone to scroll through the internet while waiting for the rain to ease. My mother-in-law went to the kitchen to cook a bowl of plain rice porridge, saying it would help her daughter fight off late-night hunger. I was surprised—it was already past 11 p.m. She scooped the porridge into a small bowl, blew on it to cool it down, then gently handed it to her daughter, coaxing her like a child. At that moment, I felt a lump in my throat. I had always thought pregnancy was just a bit of morning sickness that would pass—I never realized it could be this draining and fragile. The rain kept pouring, thunder flashing outside the window. My mother-in-law brought out another blanket and said to me:

“Go sleep in the other room for now, son. Once the rain lets up in the morning, you can head home.”

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Truthfully, I was completely exhausted. But that night, I didn’t fall asleep right away. I lay there listening to the sound of the rain, to the sound of my wife’s breathing in the room next door. From time to time, I heard my mother-in-law’s footsteps quietly passing by, as if afraid to wake someone.

Around 1 AM, I heard her whisper through the door:

“Sweetheart, if you’re feeling unwell, tell me. I’ll know what to cook to help you digest.”

My wife, her voice hoarse—probably from throwing up—replied:

“I’m okay, Mom.”

Then, I heard my mother-in-law say something I’ll never forget:

“You don’t know a mother’s heart until you have a daughter who’s pregnant. If your father were still here, he’d probably be just as worried about you as I am right now…”

Her voice trembled with emotion. I lay there in the room, and suddenly my eyes welled up. I had never thought that my mother-in-law—a petite woman with graying hair—had to endure so much while caring for her pregnant daughter.

The next morning, the rain had stopped. I got up early and saw my mother-in-law quietly cooking porridge, the stove crackling. My wife was leaning against the couch, her hair messy, dark circles under her eyes.

Looking at them, I realized: if she had lived separately from her mom right after our wedding, I feared I wouldn’t have been delicate or patient enough to care for her properly.

On the way to work, I sent my mother-in-law a message:

“Mom, maybe… I’d like to live with you in the future. So my wife can have you by her side.”

She called me back, her voice trembling:

“It doesn’t matter where you live, as long as you’re happy. But I’m glad you understand.”

When my wife heard, she cried right away. She said:

“I was so scared you’d feel ashamed of what people might say.”

I smiled and replied:

“I only worry about you having a hard time. If I’m at work and Mom’s at home to help, I’ll feel more at ease.”

Since that day, I started learning how to cook porridge, how to buy oranges and cut them into small pieces so my wife could eat more easily. My mother-in-law taught me so many things: how to support my wife’s back when it hurts, how to leave snacks by the bedside in case she gets hungry in the middle of the night.

Now my wife is over six months pregnant. Her belly is big, and she walks slowly. She still gets a little nauseous, but her smile is brighter. My mother-in-law jokes:

“Looks like I’ve become your ‘special assistant’ now.”

I just smile, my heart feeling strangely warm. Living with my wife’s family may seem like “being inferior” to some people. But to me, it’s how I protect the woman I love — and the child we’re about to welcome into this world.