It was a scorching afternoon in the village.
I—Hanh—was squatting, gathering dry branches to light the fire. In the doorway, my ten-year-old son looked at me with his innocent eyes. “Mom, why don’t I have a dad, like my friends?” I couldn’t answer. Ten years have passed, and I still haven’t found the answer to that question.
Years of mockery and humiliation
When I became pregnant, rumors began to spread throughout the village:
“What a disgrace! Pregnant without a husband! A disgrace to her parents!”
I gritted my teeth and endured it all. With my belly growing ever larger, I worked wherever I could: weeding, harvesting rice, washing dishes in a small restaurant. Some threw trash in front of my house, others spoke loudly as they passed me:
“The father of your child must have run away… who would want to bear such shame?”
They didn’t know that the man I loved had been overjoyed to learn he was expecting a child. He told me he would return home to speak with his parents and ask for their blessing on our marriage. I believed him with all my heart. But the next day, he vanished without a trace. From that day on, I waited for him every morning, every night, in vain. The years passed, and I raised my son alone. There were nights when I hated him for the pain he reminded me of; others when I wept, praying that his father was still alive… even though he had long since forgotten me.
Ten Years of Struggle
To send my son to school, I worked tirelessly. I saved every penny, swallowed every tear. When the other children mocked him for not having a father, I would hug him and say,
“You have your mother, my son. And that’s all you need.”
But people’s words were like knives, piercing my heart again and again. At night, while he slept, I would sit by the lamp, thinking of the man I had loved—his smile, his sweet eyes—and weep silently.
The Day Luxury Cars Pulled Up in Front of My House
One rainy morning, I was mending my son’s clothes when I heard the deafening roar of several engines. The neighbors came out, intrigued. In front of my modest house, several black cars, clean and shiny, lined up; clearly from the city. The murmurs began:
“My God! Those cars are worth millions!”
Trembling, I took my son’s hand and went outside. A car door opened. An elderly man with white hair, dressed in a black suit, got out. His eyes were filled with tears. He looked at me for a long time and then, before I could say a word, he knelt in the mud. I froze. “Please, get up! What are you doing?” He took my hand, his voice trembling:
“Ten years… Ten years searching for you, you and my grandson.”
The whole town froze. “My… grandson?” I murmured, my voice breaking. He pulled out an old photograph: the face of the man I had loved. It was him. Exactly the same. Tears streamed down my face, impossible to hold back. The old man then told me: the day I announced my pregnancy, his son had been overjoyed and rushed off to get his parents’ blessing and prepare for the wedding. But on the way back… he was in a car accident. And he died that very day. For ten years, his father had searched tirelessly for me. And only by consulting old hospital records had he found my name. He had crossed several provinces to find our house.
The truth that made the whole town weep.
The old man turned toward the cars. A driver got out and opened a door. On the side of the vehicle, the logo of the Lâm Gia Group, the largest company in the country, was visible. People were stunned.
“My God… that child is President Lâm’s only grandson!” the neighbors whispered.
The old man approached my son, took his hand, and, with tears in his eyes, said:
“From today on, my boy, you will never suffer again. You are Lâm blood.”
I stood there, weeping, feeling the weight of those years slowly melt away. The looks that had once scorned me now lowered. Some neighbors even knelt to beg my forgiveness.
Epilogue
When my son and I left the village, the rain began to fall again, just as it had ten years before. But this time, I no longer saw it as a curse. Now I know that even if the world despises you, if you remain faithful and strong, the truth always triumphs in the end. I, the mother whom everyone had ridiculed in the past, walk today with my head held high, holding my son’s hand, with a peaceful smile on my lips.
