When I was seven months pregnant, my world came crashing down—I discovered that my husband was having an affair. The shock and pain were unbearable, and I ended up in the hospital. While I lay there, hooked to an IV and crying my heart out, he packed his things and left to be with his mistress.
As I lay in that sterile hospital room, drowning in grief, my mother-in-law suddenly walked in. She quietly sat on the edge of my bed and said, “Lena, I’ve never really liked you, and our relationship hasn’t been the best. But what my son did to you is unforgivable. I’m sorry—I failed in raising him right. We may never be close, but you’re carrying my grandchild, and I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
Her words stunned me. There was no drama, no pity—just sincerity. She had brought me a clean nightgown, slippers, a mug, and a homemade meal. When I was discharged, she came to pick me and my baby up from the maternity hospital herself. My parents were no longer alive, and she didn’t let me face motherhood alone.
Now, my daughter and I live in her apartment because I can’t afford rent like before. She helps me every day—with the baby, the cooking, the sleepless nights. I never expected kindness from her, but she became my greatest support when I needed it most. I will always be deeply grateful for her compassion and strength.