. She still forced me to go to the fields, not allowing me to stay home and take care of my baby. She insisted she could look after the child—until the baby started convulsing and had to be rushed to the hospital.

My child is just over a year old. The weather has been changing these past few days, and the baby has had a persistent high fever, the body burning hot like glowing coal. Worried, I wanted to ask for a day off to stay home and care for the child, but my mother-in-law scowled at me:

—“It’s just a fever. Why make such a fuss? If you don’t work, who will do the chores in the fields? A woman with children should know how to balance both big and small tasks. Don’t use it as an excuse to shirk work!”

I swallowed my tears, left the baby with her, and dragged myself out to the fields. The entire time, my heart burned with worry. I kept picturing my child’s glazed eyes, and my arms and legs went weak. I called home several times, but my mother-in-law snapped:

—“Didn’t I say I could handle it? Just do your work!”

By evening, just as I finished tying up bundles of rice stalks, a neighbor ran breathlessly to the edge of the field and shouted:

—“Hurry home! Your child is convulsing and has to be taken to the hospital!”

I felt my whole body collapse. Dropping the bundles, I ran across the road straight home. Inside the room, my child’s body was purple, eyes rolled back, trembling violently in seizures. My mother-in-law stood there panicking, stammering:

—“I didn’t know… it just suddenly started shaking…”

I grabbed my child and rushed out of the house, tears streaming down my face. My chest felt like it was being torn apart—rage mixed with unbearable sorrow. In the ambulance, holding my fragile child against my chest, I whispered through choking sobs: From now on, I will never let anyone else decide my child’s fate again.

Inside the ambulance, I clutched my child tightly, calling their name in trembling desperation. The heartbeat grew weaker. The doctor kept pressing the oxygen bag while urging:

—“We need to get to the hospital right away. A moment later and it will be life-threatening!”

At the emergency ward, they rushed my child inside. I collapsed on the hallway floor, my whole body cold and numb. At that moment, my husband arrived, panting:

—“What happened? Why is our child like this?”

I looked at him, my eyes red with fury and grief:

—“You’re asking me? The baby had a fever since morning. I begged to stay home, but your mother forced me to work in the fields. Only when the child started convulsing did she agree to take them to the hospital. If anything happens to our child… I swear I’ll never forgive!”

My husband froze, then turned to his mother, who stood awkwardly by the doorway. The doctor came out, his tone stern:

—“You cannot take a child’s high fever lightly. Just a little later, and it would have cost the child’s life. The family must learn from this.”

Hearing that, my husband lowered his head in shame. My mother-in-law trembled, unable to meet my eyes.

The door opened, and a nurse announced that the child had passed the critical stage but needed close monitoring. I burst into tears—relieved yet broken inside. In that moment, I knew: after this, I must stand strong to protect my child, even if it means going against my entire in-law family.