Lately, I always felt an inexplicable foul odor coming from underneath my husband. Even after changing the bedsheet seven (7) times, washing the blanket and mattress, and applying essential oil to remove the smell, the strange odor still wouldn’t go away; instead, it intensified. A bad premonition pushed me to wait for him to leave for a business trip, and personally dismantle and inspect the mattress.
And at that very moment, I sank to my knees on the floor – because its contents not only caused me fear, but also unveiled a painful truth I had long been avoiding.
Trí and I have been married for eight years. He is a business manager, so he often travels for work. Married life wasn’t always sweet, but we tried to maintain respect and kindness towards each other. Or… so I thought.
For the past three months, every night I sensed an unpleasant smell. It wasn’t ordinary body odor, but like the smell of mold, mixed with a foul, fishy odor, clinging to the blanket, the bedsheet, and especially under Trí’s spot. I repeatedly changed the bedsheet, and I even took the mattress out to sunbathe. But every night he lay down, the smell returned. When I questioned him, he simply brushed me off: “You’re too sensitive. I don’t smell anything.” But I knew I wasn’t imagining things.
What was stranger: every time I tried to thoroughly clean the part of the bed where he lay, Trí got angry, and sometimes he would suddenly get angry for no reason. “Don’t touch my things. Just leave the bed alone!” He shouted one night when he saw me removing the bedsheet. He had never reacted like that. I started to worry. I was extremely worried. And then everything reached a climax when the odor became so intense it caused me insomnia. I felt that this was not just a smell, but a warning. That night, Trí announced he would be leaving for a 3-day business trip.
When he closed the door and left, my premonition became very strong, and my hands were even shaking. I stood and looked at the door for a while, then I returned to the bedroom and pulled the entire mattress into the middle of the floor. “Something is not right. I need to know the truth,” I told myself. I took a paper cutter, took a deep breath, and made the first cut into the mattress fabric. As the fabric opened, a blast of intense smell hit my face, leaving me stunned. I had to cover my nose, and I bent over to cough loudly. My chest ached. It couldn’t be… that there was such a smell inside the mattress.
I continued to cut a larger opening. And I froze.
Inside the mattress, in the middle of the carved-out foam, was a large, dark wooden box, deeply embedded and stuffed with rotten rubber pieces. The box had no lock. I opened the lid… and at that very moment, my legs went weak, and I sank to my knees on the floor.
The contents of the box were not scary in the way I had feared. But it caused pain in my heart in a different way. Inside the box were:
Many unopened letters, all addressed to me
An old photo album, covered in dust
And a brown notebook with a torn corner on the cover
I trembling opened the letters. They were from my mother – who passed away five years ago due to a serious illness. Each letter was sent while she was still alive, and all were sent to our house.
Each envelope was marked “received.” I had never seen these letters. My hands went numb. I picked up the photo album. Inside were pictures of my mother in the hospital, pictures where she was trying to smile, and notes: “For Hà.” “Hope the child isn’t sad because I look thin.” “For my dear daughter.”
I stopped. I missed my mother terribly, but I had never seen these photos. I opened the notebook. It was Trí’s handwriting.
“I hid everything. Because I was afraid that if Hà knew her mother was sending letters while seriously ill, she would only hurt more. Her mother asked me to give them to her when she was gone, but… I didn’t have the heart. Hà is too fragile. She always hurts whenever her mother is mentioned. I don’t want her to know how much her mother suffered in her last years.”
“I was wrong. But I just wanted to protect her. Hiding everything… so she wouldn’t suffer additional pain. I know the smell from the mattress is getting worse because I’ve been hiding it for so long. I’m afraid Hà will find out. I don’t dare to throw it away, either, because that would be like betraying my last promise to her mother.”
I hugged the notebook, crying like a child. This wasn’t a dark truth. This wasn’t a terrible secret.
But a truth that… was agonizing. Trí didn’t hide everything out of betrayal, but because he loved me, because he thought I wasn’t strong enough. The unpleasant smell I had long feared… was simply the smell of mold and time, trapped inside a sealed wooden box for years. I knelt in remorse. I suspected him, was cold to him, and even thought he was hiding something dirty.
I cleaned everything, dried the letters, and wiped the photo album. That night, I sat and read every page, every word my mother left, and soaked the notebook with tears.
When Trí returned home, before he could even take off his shoes, I rushed and hugged him tightly.
“I know everything…” – I whispered while crying. Trí froze, then hugged me back just as tightly. He also cried. “I’m sorry… I just wanted you to hurt less…” I shook my head, pressing my face into his shoulder: “You’re silly… but you’re the kind of silly that… I can’t leave.” That night, we stayed together for a long time, in the middle of the room with a faint scent of lavender essential oil – for the first time in months, there was no strange odor. Because the most frightening thing… wasn’t the bad smell. But the truth I tried to avoid: I always loved him. And he always loved me, in the most clumsy way.