The Envelope Before Goodbye

For the past ten years, Mrs. Hoa has been an indispensable part of my home. She was not just a housemaid but like family: caring for my children from meals to sleep, tending to every corner of the house, and, more importantly, witnessing the joys and sorrows of our family.

My husband, Minh, was a businessman who had once been quite successful in the construction industry. On our wedding day, he promised, “I’ll provide you with a comfortable life, so you won’t have to worry about anything.” I believed him and lived in that trust for many years. But life rarely goes as perfectly as planned.

In the past two years, his company faced continuous difficulties. Projects stalled, partners reneged, and bank debts piled up. I saw him stay up many nights, his eyes hollow, hands trembling as he answered collection calls. He tried to hide it from me, but I couldn’t not notice.

Then one day, he came home with a heavy expression:
– “I… went bankrupt. The company has to be dissolved. From now on, we probably have to start over from scratch.”

I was stunned. Everything we had built over nearly 15 years of marriage had collapsed. Our savings were gone, and even our house was mortgaged.

Among all these worries, one decision pierced my heart the most: letting Mrs. Hoa go. Not because she had done anything wrong, but because I could no longer afford to pay her salary.

That night, after the children were asleep, I sat across from her in the living room. My heart was pounding, my throat tight.
– “Mrs. Hoa… you probably already know our situation. I… really can’t keep you anymore. I’m sorry.”

She was silent, her gentle eyes on me, then she nodded slightly.
– “Miss, I understand. For the past ten years here, I’ve treated your family as my own. But everyone faces hardship; don’t feel guilty.”

I broke down. I had never felt so helpless.

The next morning, Mrs. Hoa packed her things. Only a small, worn suitcase, so tiny that I wondered what she had kept for herself after ten years living here.

Before leaving, she came to me, held my hands, and placed a thick envelope in them.
– “Take this. It’s a little money I’ve saved. I know you’re in difficulty now. Consider it my way of repaying the ten years I’ve spent in this house, being loved like family.”

I froze, my hands trembling as I opened the envelope. Inside was over 50 million VND — a huge sum compared to her modest monthly salary. I stammered:
– “Oh my God… how did you save this? Why didn’t you keep it for yourself instead of giving it to me?”

She just smiled, a gentle smile that made my heart ache:
– “I have no children, and no relatives left. You and the kids are my family. I know you need it more than I do now. Take it, don’t refuse.”

I burst into tears, hugging her tightly. Never had I felt so small and humiliated: the homeowner ruined, and the housemaid became our pillar of support.

The days that followed were full of challenges. I had to learn to budget every penny, sell many household items, and even consider taking a job outside. Minh wandered from job to job, once a proud director, now a low-level employee in a small company. He was frustrated, demoralized, and often wanted to give up.

Once, during an argument, he snapped:
– “If it weren’t for you insisting on hiring a maid and spending recklessly, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

I was speechless. So, in his mind, Mrs. Hoa was just an “expense,” not family. I looked him straight in the eye:
– “Do you know that when our family was at its lowest, it was Mrs. Hoa who gave me money to hold on? The person you call an ‘expense’ actually considers us as family. You should be ashamed!”

He was stunned, unable to say another word. From that day on, he began to change, setting aside his pride, working harder, and humbly learning from those who had once been his subordinates.

One year later.

Our family couldn’t return to the way it was, but at least we were gradually stabilizing. I opened a small grocery store in front of our house for some income. Minh secured a stable job at a new company. More importantly, he had stopped complaining and learned to cherish every meal and every person around him.

On our youngest daughter’s birthday, I was surprised to see Mrs. Hoa at the door, holding a small gift box. Still in her simple clothes, still wearing that gentle smile.

The children ran to hug her, excited as if seeing their grandmother. I choked up:
– “Mrs. Hoa… how have you been all this time?”
– “I went to work for another family. But whenever I’m free, I check in to see how your family is doing. Seeing you both hold on until today makes me very happy.”

That day, she sat beside us at the party, eating while telling stories. In that moment, I realized that family is not just about blood relations, but also about those who bond and love us wholeheartedly.

I still kept that envelope from years ago as a keepsake, a reminder. One day, when life stabilized, I returned it to her. But she just smiled, waving her hand:
– “When I give, I give sincerely. If you want to repay me, do it by living with integrity, loving your husband and children, so our bond wasn’t in vain.”

I hugged her, tears falling. In that moment, I understood that a housemaid is not just an employee; she can become a confidante, a support, and sometimes the one who illuminates the humanity in our family.

The End

Life can sweep away wealth and fame, but what remains are those who know how to love and share. I lost many things after bankruptcy, but I gained something far more precious: connection, gratitude, and faith in humanity.

And in that journey, Mrs. Hoa — the maid of ten years — was the “family member” I was lucky to have.