My husband passed away, I was alone for 10 years to take care of my in-laws, but unexpectedly, one day soon, they told me to leave a ‘gift’ to me.

My husband died when we had been married for exactly 1.5 years, before we had children. A work accident. He passed away in the middle of the lean season, leaving me with a few debts from the wedding, and my elderly parents in the countryside, weak and without anyone to help.

My whole family looked at me with regret. Someone hinted:
“What’s the point of living now? Her husband died before she could have children. She should remarry and be done with it.”

But I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know if it was because I loved my husband, my parents-in-law, or because of the title of “good daughter-in-law” that I kept myself single, worked day and night, and took care of everything from food to medicine.

I worked in the fields, worked as a construction worker in the summer, and sold vegetables at the district market in the winter. At night, I washed clothes, boiled water, and massaged my grandparents’ hands and feet.
For 10 years, I never had a day off, and I never dared to think about myself. When people asked me why I didn’t remarry, I just smiled:
“I still have my in-laws, and I still have a duty to this family.”

My grandparents also love me. They always say:

– “When I’m old, the property I leave behind will only be for my children. No outsider can compare. You are my child.”

I listened and was both moved and told myself: “I will try harder, just a few more years.”

In the 10th year, my mother-in-law was very weak, and my father-in-law was bedridden. One night in December, she called me in, tremblingly shoved a wooden box into my hand, and tried to say:

– “This is a gift my wife and I left for you… keep it and take care of yourself in the future…”

I burst into tears, hugging her as tears continued to flow. It had been ten years since I had seen my efforts recognized.

That night, waiting for my grandparents to fall asleep, I quietly opened the box.

Inside was an  old folded piece of paper , a  tarnished black plated necklace , and a  red piece of paper with a few lines written on it .

I open it.

The first piece of paper was…  A land transfer paper  – but the recipient’s name wasn’t mine, but a  complete stranger ‘s .

The second piece of paper was in the mother-in-law’s handwriting, scribbled:

“The gift is your husband’s death certificate. From now on you are free to do whatever you want.”

I was speechless.

It turns out  there was no land left for me. The so-called “gift” was an ironic way of saying it.  The red paper was…  a wedding invitation  from  my husband’s cousin – the one who said he loved me unrequitedly after my husband died.

I don’t understand how my grandparents could be so… cruel. I gave them my youth, my health, my life. And all I got in return was a vicious mockery.

On the day they died, many relatives came. But I did not cry anymore. I only wore mourning clothes for three days, then quietly  left that house, without looking back .

I rented a small room in town and started working again. No one knew I was once the “widow of the Nguyen family”. I lived my life, peacefully.

Five years later, the nephew came to me and said he wanted to see me. I sat still and listened to him say:

– “In the past, she said if I married someone else, she would give me the house, but if I married you, she would disown me. I’m sorry… I didn’t know they were so cruel.”

I just smiled, not answering. Then I stood up and said softly:

– “No one can make me regret again. Enough.”

Some people are born to be wives. Some are born to be mothers. As for me – perhaps I was born to learn how to let go. But that’s okay. Once you let go, you feel light. And living with a light heart – is also a form of happiness.