Feeling overwhelmed by my husband because he couldn’t cook rice at 40°C, I signed the application. My mother-in-law asked, “Who are you threatening? I can only leave this house,” I responded with a sentence that made her squirm.
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I got married when I was just 25, believing that marriage would be a happy destiny. However, after just three years, I realized what the biggest mistake of my life was.
That day, I had a fever over 40 degrees. Her body was disintegrating, her mind was spinning, and her limbs were shaking. I just want to stay still and get some rest. But when dinner time came, my husband, Hung, came home from work, and as soon as he entered the house, he frowned:
“Where’s the rice? Why haven’t you cooked it yet?”
I tried to sit up, my voice trailing off:
“I have a fever… I can’t stand it… I’ll give you a day off today, and I’ll make up tomorrow.”
But Hung showed no mercy. His eyes blazed with anger. “What’s the value of a woman at home who eats while clutching the rice cooker and can’t care about anything?” he yelled, then suddenly slapped me like heaven.
My cheeks burned, tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or embarrassment. I tried to scream:
“Hanged… I’m really sick…”
He didn’t bother to listen; he just ran into the room and slammed the door. At that moment, it suddenly hit me: the person my husband had called had never loved me, had never considered me a life partner.
That night, I was left alone, feverish to the point of coma, my heart hurting more than my body. And when I realized it, I decided: I couldn’t continue this marriage anymore.
I drafted the divorce papers, put down the pen to sign, my hands trembling, but my heart was incredibly relieved. Picking up the form and walking into the living room, I said bluntly,
“Hung, let’s get a divorce. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
Before her husband could react, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Lanh, came running out of the kitchen, screaming like thunder:
“What did you just say? Divorce? Who do you think you can threaten? This house isn’t easy for you to go anywhere!”
I clenched the form in my hand, but she still wouldn’t let go. She shouted loudly, pointing directly at me:
“If you leave this house, you’ll only have water to beg for! Don’t think anyone would take a bad wife like you!”
It was like a second slap, but this time it didn’t make me cry. I stood up, looked her straight in the eyes, and replied calmly:
“It’s okay to beg, but at least you won’t have to live in disgrace in this house. And I think it’s easier to beg on the street than to be a mother’s bride.”
Mrs. Lanh was stunned; the whole house was silent. Hung left the room, about to scream, but was stopped by my fierce glare. This is the first time; I’m not afraid anymore.
I was carrying a small suitcase, leaving everything behind. The surrounding neighbors looked on, and many whispered, “Poor her, but she’s also strong.”
In the days that followed, my life, of course, wasn’t easy. I rented a small motel room, went to work, and nursed my wounds. But what makes me smile is that, at least every morning when I wake up, I no longer hear the sound of lead mining, I no longer fear a sudden slap.
A month later, I gradually recovered both my health and my spirit. Work is more convenient, colleagues are helpful, friends are comforting. I realized that happiness doesn’t lie in a superficial home, but in having peace and being respected.
As for my ex-husband and my mother-in-law, I heard they were starting to get into trouble. Outsiders spoke up, saying Hung was a brute and despised his wife. The family’s trading post gradually lost customers because people even shunned Mrs. Lanh’s bossy nature.
As time passed, I became more and more stable. Many times, when I think back, I’m grateful for the very day I had a 104-degree fever: it showed me the true colors of my husband and his family. Then, I was brave enough to step out of the darkness and find myself again.
Someone asked me, “Do you regret getting divorced?” I laughed.
“Regret? No. The only thing I regret is having endured it for so long. If I hadn’t signed the form that day, I’d probably still be a resigned shadow in that house. Now, I’m free, and freedom is the greatest gift.”
