The golden hoop must be perfect in "episode 2".

"Once a marriage ends, people say it's bad luck, but twice, it's definitely your fault!" That statement is an invisible sentence that societal prejudices impose on women who have experienced failed marriages. Instead of being free to love and support, many enter their second marriage with the mindset of a "defective product," forcing themselves to shoulder the burden of becoming a perfect wife.

Exhausted even before it began.

In the sweltering midday sun, Thuy (36 years old, a pharmacist in Hanoi ) sat quietly behind a small glass counter at her pharmacy. Her gaze was fixed on the stream of traffic, carrying an unease that had lingered for weeks, ever since Tú proposed. .

Four years ago, the breakdown of her first marriage took away all of Thuy's self-esteem. Her ex-husband's hurtful words, calling her "a worthless, boring woman who can't keep the flame alive," were deeply ingrained in her mind, making her feel insecure. On the day of the trial, due to financial ruin, she had to grit her teeth and leave her 12-year-old eldest son at his paternal grandparents' house, taking only her 8-year-old youngest daughter with her. The guilt of being a mother "separated" from her two biological children gnawed at her every day. .

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Then Mr. Tú appeared. He is a kind, gentle middle school math teacher who is also divorced and raising two young sons alone. The mutual understanding between two single souls drew them closer together. Anh Tú is warm and kind; he wants to build a complete new home with her, a place where they can move in together and form a model family: with parents and three children. Economically, both of them are perfectly capable of managing their finances. .

However, the very vision of a "perfect family of five" that Tú painted inadvertently became a tremendous pressure weighing heavily on Thùy's mind. She put herself through a harsh mental struggle, fearing she wasn't capable enough to play the role of a complete mother in episode two. She looked at Mr. Tú's sons, then looked at herself and panicked at the thought: How perfect do I have to be to love my husband's children as if they were my own, so that people won't pry into the "stepmother-stepchild" relationship? ?

She looked at her daughter again, fearing that with just a little conflict or favoritism in that house with three men, that "perfect" home would instantly turn into hell for the child. Even more terrifying is the gnawing feeling of guilt. Every time Thuy saw Tu attentively caring for the children, a bitter question arose in her heart: What right did she have to build a flawless, happy family, to cook delicious meals for other people's children, while her own flesh and blood were suffering from a lack of maternal love at her husband's home? ?

Thùy confined herself within the mindset that she was already a "defective product." If we move on to episode two, she'll have to create a perfect happy ending to prove to the world that she wasn't wrong. The pressure of "success is the only option, failure is not an option" exhausted Thuy even before she began. Afraid of not being able to shoulder the burden of a seemingly flawless, makeshift family, she chose to avoid the situation, even considering letting go of the decent man to return to a solitary life consumed by her own guilt. .

Trying too hard to be… perfect

While Thuy hesitated to step through the door of marriage, Thanh's story (41 years old, an editor in Ho Chi Minh City) is a different tragedy: collapsing from trying too hard to be perfect.

After divorcing her abusive first husband, Thanh raised her child alone for five years before meeting Nam, a construction engineer who had never been married. On the day of their engagement, her future mother-in-law's sigh, "Nam is a bachelor. Since you've already had a failed marriage, try to be a good wife and don't let people laugh at you," felt like a tight noose around her neck. Thanh entered her second marriage with the mindset of someone seeking "atonement."

She set an ironclad rule for herself: to be a perfect wife, an outstanding daughter-in-law. Thanh's day began at 5 a.m. preparing a hearty breakfast for her husband, then she rushed off to work. In the evening, she would throw herself into cooking and cleaning without rest. She refused to hire a maid because she was afraid of being labeled lazy.

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The most intense pressure came when she gave birth to a baby girl with Nam. To avoid being accused of favoritism towards her own child, Thanh always forced her eldest son to give in to his younger sister in every situation. Once, when the boy accidentally made his sister fall, without even knowing who was at fault, Thanh slapped him fiercely in front of her mother-in-law to prove that she wasn't protecting her stepchild. That night, looking at the mark on her sleeping son's cheek, Thanh hugged him and sobbed. She realized she had become a cruel mother just to serve her "perfect" image in the eyes of others.

In her relationship with her husband, Thanh never dared to show anger or weariness. Whenever Nam was thoughtless, she chose to swallow her tears and smile. She feared that even a sigh or a small argument would be an excuse for others to judge: "See, with that kind of temperament, no wonder she left him after the first marriage."

After three years of forcing herself to live under someone else's mask, Thanh fell into depression. One evening, close to Tet (Lunar New Year), after exhausting herself preparing the New Year's Eve feast, she collapsed onto the kitchen floor and sobbed uncontrollably. When Nam rushed in to help her, she could only shake her head and choke back tears: "I'm so tired! Let's get a divorce!" Nam was stunned, because in his eyes and everyone else's, Thanh had always been a wonderful wife, and their family had always been harmonious. He had no idea that the label of "having to be perfect" was slowly killing his wife's soul.

Society often has a very unfair double standard: divorced men who remarry are congratulated for "finding a new haven," while women who remarry are scrutinized and judged as "rehabilitated." These judgmental eyes push women into an exhausting race, where they deprive themselves of the right to make mistakes.

Divorce is not a character failure; it's simply a past mistake that has been corrected. To free themselves, women who remarry need to understand that no one is a "defective product," and no marriage is absolutely perfect. The courage of a single mother doesn't lie in creating a family where there are no storms, but in daring to give herself and her children time to adapt, the right to make mistakes, and the opportunity to correct them.

The husband "splurges" on fame and fortune, but "counts his money" when shopping at the market with his wife and children.

Source: https://phunuvietnam.vn/vong-kim-co-phai-hoan-hao-o-tap-2-238260525213207179.htm