The tenth anniversary celebration of my husband Huy’s company was held at a luxurious five–star hotel in the heart of Saigon.
Music echoed through the grand hall, golden lights reflected off the glass walls, casting the whole space in a glamorous glow.
Meanwhile, I – Linh – was at our small home nearly ten kilometers away. I gently folded the shirt he had altered out of, my heart full of both excitement and pride. Even though I stayed home to take care of our child and the house, I still felt proud of him.
Huy was the head of the sales department and would be giving the representative speech for his division that night.
But that pride faded when I softly asked, “Do you want me to come with you tonight? I’d really like to celebrate this with you.”
Huy paused, then looked away:
“No… better if you stay home with the baby. Everyone there is… well, important.
I don’t want you to feel out of place.”
I blinked. “Out of place? I’m your wife.”
He gave a small, careless laugh:
“You know you don’t really fit that environment.
People will be dressed in designer clothes, talking business. And you… you don’t really have anything nice to wear, do you?”
I fell silent.
Yes. I didn’t have fancy dresses.
For ten years, I saved every penny, controlled the house, cared for our child, supported his studies and career.
My hands had become rough from dish soap and laundry. My hair usually tied up so I could move quickly around the house.
But I never once thought those things made me less until that moment.
At 8 PM, I sat quietly in front of the mirror. My face looked tired, my skin a little dull from sleepless nights and years of responsibility.
I gave a sad, small smile:
Maybe I’m no longer the woman he once adored.
But then a thought struck me:
If I don’t show up tonight… will he still remember that I’m his wife?
I opened the closet and took out a classic blue dress – borrowed long ago from a college friend. It wasn’t expensive. Just a soft, elegant shade of blue that followed the shape of the body.
I tied my hair up, brushed on a thin layer of makeup, and applied a bit of soft rose lipstick. When I looked in the mirror again, I witnessed a different woman – quiet, graceful, composed.
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, put on a mask, and took a taxi to the hotel. I didn’t go there to cause a scene.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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