After fifteen years of marriage, Hanh thought she would be able to keep that home, even though it was as shaky as a bamboo bridge over a small canal. Tam - her husband - was not a bad man. It was just that he carried within him an anger that no one could predict. On drunken nights, his words were as sharp as knives, cutting into Hanh's heart. She endured, for the sake of her two children, for the dream of a complete family that she had drawn when she was young. But then, there were days when Hanh looked at herself in the mirror, saw her sunken eyes, and could no longer recognize herself. "Who do I live for?", that question kept lingering, like a stranded fish, struggling and unable to escape.
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The day Hanh signed the divorce papers, she trembled, not because of fear, but because of the strange feeling of choosing herself for the first time. Tam looked at her, his eyes half angry, half surprised. "Do you think you can raise two children?" - he asked, his voice full of challenge. Hanh did not answer. She just silently hugged her two children - ten-year-old Ti and seven-year-old Na - to her chest. "I can do it", she said, not to Tam, but to herself.
On the day of the trial, people looked at Hanh as if she were a reckless person. “A forty-year-old woman, leaving her husband, raising a child alone, how can she do it?” - the neighbors whispered. Hanh just smiled faintly. She knew that the path she had chosen was not paved with roses. But she also knew that staying in a marriage where love had run out, leaving only arguments and tears, was the cruelest thing for both her and her children.
Hanh opened a small grocery store by the river. In the morning, she woke up early, cooked for her two children, drove them to school, and then busied herself with purchasing and selling goods. There were nights when she was so tired that she just wanted to lie down on her old bed, but the laughter of Ti and Na from the corner of the house pulled her up. Ti was nimble, helping his mother set up the store, while little Na liked to sit next to her mother, telling her stories about school. Those moments were small but warm, like sunlight filtering through the leaves, soothing the scars in Hanh's heart.
She remembered one time, Na asked: “Mom, why don’t you live with Dad anymore?” Hanh stopped and looked at her. Na’s clear eyes made her choke up. “Mom and Dad used to love each other, but sometimes, loving each other without understanding each other only hurts both of us. Mom chose to stay with me and Ti, so that we could grow up in a house full of laughter,” she said. Na nodded, as if she understood, as if she didn’t. But from then on, she hugged her mother more, as if she was afraid that her mother would disappear.
The life of the three of them was not rich. The money from the grocery store was just enough to cover living expenses and buy books for the children. But she was content. She no longer had to live in fear, no longer had to count the sleepless nights because of harsh words. She learned to grow vegetables behind the house, and made her own fish sauce to sell. Every afternoon, she sat looking at the river, feeling her heart as light as the clouds. The river still flowed, like her life, never stopping, no matter how many storms there were.
One day, Ti brought home a certificate of merit from school. He stood before his mother, shy: “Mom, I am a good student. When I grow up, I want to open a big store for you.” Hanh smiled and patted her head: “Mom just wants you and your brother to live happily and well. That is my biggest store.” That night, she sat down to write in her diary, something she had started doing since her divorce. “Hanh, you did it. You not only raised your children, but also raised their dreams.”
The riverside neighborhood gradually got used to the image of Hanh being strong. People no longer gossiped, but started asking her how to make fish sauce and grow vegetables. A neighbor girl even said: “Sister Hanh, I really admire you. You are so strong all by yourself.” Hanh just smiled. She did not see herself as strong, she only saw herself as living true to her heart.
The river still flows, carrying the old days, the old pain. Hanh stands on the porch, watching her two children play. She knows that divorce is not the end. It is a beginning, a path she chooses to keep peace in her heart and smiles on her children's lips.
TRAM AN
Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/van-hoa/sang-tac/202506/dong-song-van-chay-1811d6d/
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