The man I used to call my husband—the head of my household for four years, the father of my child—was tenderly embracing another woman outside the door of an old motel room. His hand still held a carton of prenatal milk. In that moment, my entire world turned cold… But I didn’t start a fight. I got back into the car and slowly drove away. That night, he learned that lightning had struck him again…
My name is Huong, 28 years old, living in Hanoi. Four years ago, I met Minh—a man with a pleasant face, a good speaker, working as an accountant at a construction company. We courted for almost two years and then got married, not too noisy, not a dream. When I was pregnant with baby Bong, I quit my job at the bank and stayed home to take care of our child. Minh said: “Just stay home and care for the children, let me take care of the money.” I believed him.
Four years passed, and I fulfilled the roles of a wife and mother. I woke up early in the morning to cook, cleaned the house, and waited for my husband to come home to eat dinner. Sometimes, Minh came home late, I just waited, not daring to bother him. He said he was busy entertaining guests and working, and I nodded in belief. They say, smart women don’t snoop through their husbands’ phones. I was that kind of woman, thinking that trust was the foundation of marriage.
Until one day, I accidentally saw a supermarket bill in his pant pocket—a bill for prenatal milk, tonics, women’s clothes in size L. I wasn’t pregnant. He didn’t have any close younger sisters either. Women’s hunches are never wrong.
I started watching quietly. A few times when he lied about going on a business trip, I hired a motorcycle taxi to follow him. Finally, I found the address of the room he regularly visited every weekend.
One afternoon, when Bong was at kindergarten, I went to that place. The hostel was located in the Dinh Cong area, down a small, sagging alley. I didn’t knock on the door, I just stood behind a nearby tree. The door opened, Minh got off his motorcycle, carrying a carton of prenatal milk and a bag of fruit. He knocked on the door, and a young woman—about twenty-five years old, with a bulging belly—came out.
Minh bowed and kissed her lightly on the forehead. They laughed with each other. He stroked her belly, whispered something, and then the two of them went inside the house. I clearly heard the door click shut. My heart felt like it was splitting in half. I was furious but… I didn’t rush in. I didn’t make a scene like the jealousy scenes on the internet. I just stood there, my hands gripping the handlebars, and quietly drove the car around.
When I got home, I opened the safe, took out all my savings—the money I had quietly set aside in case of an incident. I texted my close friend group: “Let’s eat, drink, and get our hair done tonight. My treat. I need to be beautiful. You need to wake me up.”
No one in the group asked much. We ate seafood, drank cocktails, laughed like crazy. I washed my hair, blow-dried my hair, did my nails, massaged my shoulders and neck. Every time the staff asked: “What’s the occasion?”, I just laughed: “Beauty to prepare for a new life.”
That night, I hugged my son to sleep, and I could hear the sound of his breathing evenly. This child was the only reason I didn’t get angry. I couldn’t let his mother be distraught.
Two days later, I booked an airplane ticket to Da Nang – my son and I. The trip was unexpected, nothing was communicated. I planned to think everything over by the beach, to decide: keep or let go.
But that night, while I was folding clothes, my phone rang. Minh’s number. I hesitated and picked up the phone. His voice sighed: “Huong… Where are you? Sister… I beg you to come home immediately. Something happened…” I answered coldly: “What’s the problem? I’m not free.” “Linh… that spirit… is gone… In the afternoon, while sleeping. The doctor said she had acute preeclampsia. I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect…”
I stood up bewildered. Linh – his mistress – was dead; the child was not saved. Minh was crying like a child. In my mind, the image of him caring for her 48 hours earlier emerged.
I didn’t know if this was revenge or fate. All I knew was that what made me struggle to face the truth more fiercely had come to an end. That night, I sat in the dark, still holding the phone in my hand, my heart beating chaotically. On the other end, Minh was silently crying. I didn’t know whether to be angry, pitiful, or sad that God had helped me “solve” that woman. The loss of human life, whether worthy or not, is the end of a living being. Linh – my husband’s mistress – died of preeclampsia. Two days ago, I saw her stroking her belly and smiling at Minh, and now she was lying in the morgue. I didn’t ask any more questions. Hung up the phone.
I didn’t go to the funeral. Didn’t send wreaths. Didn’t cry. I just hugged my son and went to the airport as planned – my mother and daughter still went to Da Nang. But that journey was no longer a relaxing trip. It was an escape.
Minh called me several times. I didn’t answer the phone. After three days, he sent me a long message, begging me to come home. “I have nothing left. Linh’s family vented everything on his head. They told him to force her to get pregnant and then abandon her, refusing to marry, not bringing her back. They sued him. The company also knew, he was suspended. “Please come back, Huong…”
I read every word, my heart not warming. In the past, I always thought that men had affairs because of weakness, because their wives were too busy, because of heavy responsibilities… But now I see clearly: you have a choice. He chose to cheat, chose to raise his mistress, chose to betray. Now he has to pay the price. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear his voice pleading.
I took my son out for five days. Bong was still young, he didn’t understand. But he hugged me more, or asked: “Mommy, why don’t you laugh anymore?” I smiled hesitantly: “I’m growing up. It hurts a little when you grow up, and then it will be okay.”
Back in Hanoi, I rented a small apartment in Cau Giay. The house we left with Minh – considered to be returning the place that was once home, was now a bad memory. I applied for work again. Fortunately, a friend introduced me to an in-house accountant position at a cosmetics company. The work was not too tiring, the salary was just enough to support the mother and child. I started to return to life.
Passing every day was not easy. Sometimes, lying in the middle of the night, I recalled the wedding day, recalled his eyes looking at me under the white chiffon scarf, my heart ached. But I didn’t let myself be weak for long. Because I was meek before, I was resigned—and that resignation gave him the opportunity to betray.
Minh still tried to contact me. Sending alimony, sending gifts to my son, sometimes standing in front of the gate just to watch my son from afar. I am no longer the 24-year-old Ai-Ai. I am the fragrance of the present – a mother, a woman who came out of the darkness with her own two feet.
One day, Minh stood in front of my house all morning, when I just brought my son home from school. He was thin, emaciated, and his clothes were wrinkled. He asked: “Can you forgive me?” I looked at him, and then calmly said: “I can forgive, but I won’t return.” “I’ve lost everything, only you and I…” I laughed – a sad but genuine smile: “Then hold on to me. I’m no longer in the ‘mine’.”
After a year, I gradually got things sorted out. Bong was bigger, studied well, nimble. I joined single mothers groups, learned more financial skills, and opened an online cosmetics store. Life was still hard, but free and fresh.
I told myself, women don’t need men to be happy. Moreover, the betrayer doesn’t need to return to “correct the mistake.”
One afternoon, while I was packing, I received a message from an anonymous account: “Can you marry Linh? If Linh were still alive… I would have had a wedding.” I was quiet. It was Ming. Maybe he was still pushing. He was still obsessed with the death of his mistress. But that was his choice. And I – I chose my own path. Happiness doesn’t depend on being taken care of by people. Happiness depends on knowing when to let go to save yourself. I was betrayed before. It hurt so much I wanted to scream. But I went through it. Not because I was strong – but because I had no choice but to be strong. And I – now – am happy in my own way.