Everyone—my husband and his entire family—thought I had the easiest life.
When I stayed home full-time to raise our child, they said, “Your husband works so hard while you’re just watching the baby all day. So of course, the housework is all yours.”
Then, when I went back to work, they said, “Your poor mother-in-law is exhausted taking care of the kid. You only go to the office and sit all day. So when you get home, you take over.”
Fine. If this is what they call an “easy life,” then maybe… maybe I no longer want to live it.
My husband loved to say, “I’m the one supporting this whole family.”
When our son turned two, I came down with a high fever and asked him to take care of the baby just once. He refused—and went out to enjoy his night instead.
I told myself to hang on. “It’ll get better once the baby is older.”
But when he did get older, and I returned to work, nothing changed. In my in-laws’ eyes, I wasn’t really working—I was just “escaping my duties.” No matter how late I came home, I still had to handle everything: the cooking, the cleaning, the childcare. Because my mother-in-law had been “tired all day,” and my husband had been “working all day,” and I—well, I’d been out “resting.”
And he never forgot to remind me, “You earn less than me.”
Every argument ended the same:
“I make the money. I feed this family. Without me, would you even be living this comfortable life?”
Over time, disappointment hardened into numbness. I stayed—not out of love, but for the sake of my son. I wanted him to have a “complete” family.
One night, I came home late from overtime. My son gave me a hateful glare because I made him study. My husband and mother-in-law, using his mood as an excuse, took him out to dinner and left me behind.
I looked around the messy house—dirty laundry, grease-stained dishes in the sink. All of it left for “the one with the easy life.”
In that moment, I finally understood why my husband changed after I gave birth: he knew I had nowhere else to go. Besides the roof he provided, I had nothing—no one to turn to.
And yet, I stayed. Because I had a child. I couldn’t afford to raise him alone. So I lived on, suffocating inside this so-called home.
Once, my son used to say, “Mommy, you’re the best in the world.” But as years passed, I became the mother he resented. Because I was strict about his studies. While I drilled him on homework, my husband became the “fun dad” who whisked him away to play. I banned junk food—my mother-in-law snuck it to him. I banned screen time—she gave him the phone in secret.
Little by little, I became the “bad mom.” And the ones who spoiled and neglected him? They became the “good ones.” My son started to despise me.
I couldn’t go on.
If I didn’t start loving myself, no one else ever would. All my sacrifices were just a one-woman tragedy. I would become nothing more than a bitter woman—and my son, like his father, would only point his finger in blame.
I had to save myself.
So I texted my husband:
“I want a divorce. Starting tomorrow, you take care of our child.”
Then I wheeled my suitcase out of the house.
The next morning, he called.
“Aren’t you taking him to school?”
“I told you—I want a divorce. He’s your responsibility now,” I replied.
He laughed, mocking me.
“Just come home and take him to school, and let’s pretend this never happened. You think threatening me with divorce will work? Dream on.”
I hung up. Calmly got ready for work. And began drafting the divorce agreement.
While touring a small apartment, my phone rang again.
“You’re an irresponsible mother! He didn’t even get breakfast this morning. You want a divorce? Fine! But why punish your child?”
I chuckled.
“Didn’t you say I didn’t know how to raise him? Now you’re upset he missed a meal—and blaming me? You’re his father. If that’s normal to you, then… I guess it’s normal.”
He realized then that using our son to guilt me wouldn’t work. Furious, he shouted:
“Fine! Divorce? You’ll never win custody!”
I smiled. “I don’t want custody.”
A few days later, he called again, panicking—our son was sick. The doctor asked about medical history, and he had no clue. I rushed to the hospital.
My boy lay pale and sweating. The moment he saw me, his eyes welled up. My mother-in-law scolded him for eating junk food. He reached for me, sobbing:
“Mommy, I miss you. Please stay.”
I stroked his head gently.
“Listen to Grandma and Daddy, okay? They love you more than anyone in the world. You’ll be just fine.”
Only when he experienced their neglect firsthand would he begin to see the truth. And when that day came, I’d bring him home.
Eventually, my husband signed the papers. He didn’t want to—but he did.
I was finally free. A weight lifted. I could finally live life on my own terms.
But I hadn’t yet repaired the bond with my son.
According to the agreement, he’d stay with me on weekends. But the first weekend I came to pick him up, he pushed me away.
“Grandma said you’re bad. You abandoned me. I don’t want you anymore!”
I stood outside, heart breaking, but I smiled gently.
“Okay. I’ll go. If you ever want to see me, call me.”
They hadn’t expected me to walk away so easily. My son, Chu Diep, burst into tears. His grandmother slammed the door and shouted,
“Cry all you want. Your mother doesn’t want you!”
I walked away, leaving his cries behind me.
Sure enough, my ex called soon after.
“So you’re not a mother anymore just because we’re divorced? His grades are tanking! You’re destroying him with your selfishness!”
As usual—he blamed everything on me.
But this time, I was done. I answered like a man would:
“Your mother taught him I’m a terrible mom. He doesn’t want to see me. What can I do?”
Then I hung up.
That weekend, when I came again, my son didn’t resist. But he barely spoke.
Back at my tiny apartment, he explored the garden, fed the cat, and then, as we sat down for dinner, he broke into tears.
“Mom… I was wrong. Can I live with you? Grandma yells at me all the time. Daddy’s never home. Nobody wants me! Why did you even have me?”
I pulled him close and whispered:
“I didn’t abandon you. You abandoned me.”
He cried harder, begging for forgiveness, promising to be good. I stayed calm on the outside, but inside—I finally breathed.
I asked my ex-husband to change the custody agreement. He agreed without hesitation. Rumor had it he wanted to remarry—and our son was just an inconvenient burden.
Soon, everything was settled.
I set up a little room for my son in my cozy home. He jumped on the bed, yelling,
“Mommy, you’re amazing!”
That night, we made three promises to each other.
“I have my own career,” I told him. “I won’t prioritize you like I used to. Your studies are your responsibility. From now on, you do your part.”
He nodded. We high-fived.
From that day on, he changed. He finished homework on time. Woke up with his alarm. Cleaned up after the cat without a word.
And I—finally—felt peace.
I learned something important:
Love isn’t earned by sacrifice alone. You need value too.
All the resentment I’d once felt slowly melted away.
My marriage had once seemed like salvation. In the end, it nearly buried me.
But I crawled out of the grave—and from those ashes, I bloomed.
Now, my son and I walk only on roads paved with flowers.
