The photos of her travels stretched on, constantly updated to her friends on social media. Looking at the pictures and the accompanying captions, one could tell how many places she'd visited, indirectly suggesting that her family was well-off. After posting the photos, she'd glued her eyes to the screen, waiting for a response. It wasn't difficult to receive easy compliments from those far away, but her husband, who was close by, kept his distance. Whenever she raised her phone to take a selfie, he'd move away; when she earnestly wanted to be in a picture with him, he'd smile brightly, put his arm around her waist, and then quickly dissuade her: "Don't post it on Facebook."

She became a grandmother at just over fifty, and she was overjoyed, constantly showing off her grandchild on Facebook, as if displaying her happiness to the world; in return, she received countless compliments like flowers dedicated to grandmother and grandchild. She posted photos of her grandmother hugging and kissing her grandchild, smiling broadly, along with some self-composed poems:

In the past, we carried our babies; now, we cradle our grandchildren.

A lifetime of "fighting," tiring but joyful.

There were sounds of children crying and laughing inside the house.

May life be long and prosperity flourish.

Many people thought her long "battle" with diapers and baby formula was fierce, praising and encouraging her with shouts like "Hooray for Grandma!" and "Keep going, Grandma!". In reality, her struggles with her grandchild were fleeting. From the beginning, she had firmly maintained the principle of "playing with the child, not holding him"; she entrusted the care of the little one entirely to the nanny, and the moments Grandma appeared on camera with the child were brief. Yet, she proudly accepted the comments, which were more than praise, and quickly responded with "hearts" or loving words... Her husband, seeing her radiant joy, said in a gentle, roundabout way, "Those compliments are for the nanny..." Ignoring her husband's subtle criticism, she smiled brightly, accepting the compliments.

The couple's relationship soured again when she started doing charity work and promoting it on Facebook. A few bundles of used clothes for poor students in flood-affected areas, along with boxes of instant noodles, or other times books, school bags, and raincoats bearing the names of sponsoring businesses… were enough for her to get pictures and share her story far and wide. Photos of her sitting in a boat or wading through mud in the rain, giving gifts to victims or hugging barefoot, ragged children, along with heartfelt comments, flooded Facebook; receiving effusive praise like "absolutely wonderful"; "we appreciate your golden heart"; "I love you so much, sister"…

His wife beamed as she read the comments, while he ignored her. Waiting for her excitement to subside, he whispered softly, almost in her ear, "Doing charity is valuable, but is it really worth it to publicize it so loudly?" Responding to his hesitant expression, she quickly replied, "Good deeds need to be multiplied, love needs to spread." He said, "That's true. But it's better to let good deeds speak for themselves." She paused thoughtfully, then continued, "The media always praises good deeds. Aren't you afraid that those who share their good deeds will feel hurt by what you say?" He lowered his voice, "I'm not criticizing others in this matter, but you see, many people do charity quietly; while many givers like to show off to gain a reputation for compassion, but in reality… who are they truly caring for?" The unexpected, ambiguous question left her flustered and speechless.

After her long journey, she returned home, surrounded by images of her parents. Both of her parents were nearly ninety years old and unable to care for themselves, so the four sisters took turns caring for them in their hometown. The other three quietly stayed by their parents' side, preparing meals, bathing them, and attending to their hygiene, day after day, unnoticed by most except for neighbors. She differed from them in that she frequently shared images of herself with her parents, from feeding them porridge to massaging them and helping them walk with trembling steps. She even posted clips showing her filial devotion, patiently coaxing her parents to eat spoonfuls of porridge like a baby, gently stroking their chests to suppress coughs, and cracking jokes to cheer them up. She even posted poems expressing her feelings as a daughter in the twilight years of her parents' lives.

As the children's hair turns gray, so do the parents' hair.

But I'm so glad we're still close.

My heart trembles with sorrow.

Because I feel the day we part is drawing near.

As usual, her post was met with praise and sympathy from friends everywhere. She quickly scrolled through, counting the "likes," then frantically typed replies or heart emojis on her keyboard, while he remained indifferent, like an outsider. She read aloud the comments she liked, hoping for more compliments from her husband, but no, when she looked up, he was no longer beside her.

The fact that her husband bought a folding hammock and a massage machine as gifts for her father became a topic of conversation for her. He was busy instructing the old man on how to use the handheld massage machine, then turned to assemble the hammock, so he didn't notice his wife filming and posting it online with the caption: "A precious gift from the son-in-law to his father-in-law, isn't it wonderful?" The question, asked in broad daylight, seemed to prompt others to chime in. She seemed excited by the echoing comments, immediately turning the screen to her husband, her face beaming, anticipating the joy to multiply.

He stopped, stared intently at the phone, then frowned and shook his head. His voice suddenly turned cold and commanding: "Take it down immediately." She was taken aback, staring at him without blinking. The request was repeated sharply: "Delete it immediately!" Seeing her smirking, he glared at her and raised his voice: "Did you hear me?" She awkwardly complied.

After assembling the hammock, he brushed his hands, turned to his wife, and said softly, "Showing off a small gift from our child to your parents is more like seeking praise than showing it off to the recipient..." She lowered her head, seemingly embarrassed.

Nguyen Trong Hoat

Source: https://huengaynay.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/tac-gia-tac-pham/sau-nhung-se-chia-157639.html