It was a hot afternoon in the village.

I—Hanh—was crouching down, gathering dry branches to light the fire.

At the door, my ten-year-old son watched me with his innocent eyes.

“Mom, why don’t I have a father like my classmates?”

I couldn’t answer. Ten years have passed, and I still can’t find an answer to that question.

Years of Mockery and Humiliation

When I got pregnant, rumors began to spread throughout the village:

“Shame on you! Pregnant without a husband! A disgrace to your parents!”

I gritted my teeth and endured it all.

With my belly growing ever larger, I worked wherever I could: weeding, harvesting rice, washing dishes at a diner.
Some threw garbage in front of my house, others spoke loudly as I passed by:

“The father of your child must have fled… who would want to bear such a shame?”

They didn’t know that the man I loved was overjoyed when he learned I was expecting a child.

He told me he would return home to speak with his parents and ask for their blessing to marry.

I believed him with all my heart.

But the next day, he disappeared without a trace.

From then on, I waited for him every day: no news, no messages.

Years passed, and I raised my son alone.

There were nights when I hated him for the pain he reminded me of; others when I cried and prayed that his father was still alive… even though he had already forgotten me.

Ten Years of Struggle

To send my son to school, I worked tirelessly.

I saved every coin, swallowed every tear.

When other children mocked him for not having a father, I hugged him tightly and said,

“You have your mother, son. And that’s enough.”

But people’s words were knives that repeatedly pierced my heart.
At night, while he slept, I gazed into the lamplight and remembered the man I loved—his smile, his warm eyes—and wept silently.

The Day the Luxury Cars Stopped in Front of My House