It was a hot afternoon in the village. I—Hanh—was crouching down, gathering dry branches to light the fire. At the door, my ten-year-old son watched me with his innocent eyes.
“Mom, why don’t I have a father like my classmates?”
I couldn’t answer.
Ten years have passed, and I still can’t find an answer to that question. Years of Mockery and Humiliation
When I got pregnant, rumors began to spread throughout the village:
“Shame on you!
Pregnant without a husband! A disgrace to your 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 at a diner.
Some threw garbage in front of my house, others spoke loudly as I passed by:
“The father of your child must have fled… who would want to bear such a shame?”
They didn’t know that the man I loved was overjoyed when he learned I was expecting a child. He told me he would return home to speak with his parents and ask for their blessing to marry. I believed him with all my heart.
But the next day, he disappeared without a trace.
From then on, I waited for him every day: no news, no messages. 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 cried and prayed that his father was still alive… even though he had already forgotten me. Ten Years of Struggle
To send my son to school, I worked tirelessly.
I saved every coin, swallowed every tear.
What happened next changed everything…
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