My daughter married a Korean man when she was 21. She hasn’t been home in twelve years, but every year she sends 8 million pesos

My daughter married a Korean man when she was 21. He hasn’t been home in 12 years, but he sends 8 million pesos every year. This Christmas, I decided to visit him myself, and when I opened the front door… I was stunned.

I still can’t clearly forget that morning when I held the plane ticket in my hand, my heart beating strangely. Twelve years. Exactly twelve years have passed.

Since marrying a Korean man, María Luisa hasn’t returned home even once. But every year, she sends exactly 8 million pesos, without losing a single penny.

People are amazed.

You’re very lucky; your son is a good person, and you even married a rich man. But I’m the only mother who knows the pain of receiving money and not seeing your child. You have money, but your son doesn’t; that hurts a lot.

My name is Teresa, and I’m 63 years old. I was widowed young, raising my only daughter, Maria Luisa, on my own so she could go to school. She was intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Everyone said she was going to have a good life. And it turned out to be as good as some might have thought.

At 21, Maria Luisa met Kang Jun, a Korean man almost 20 years her senior. I objected, not because of discrimination, but because of the age difference and because I lived in a foreign country.

But my daughter’s mother is stubborn, I know what I’m doing. In the end, I agreed because of the determination in her eyes.

The wedding was simple. Less than a month later, she followed him to Korea. The day he left the airport, she hugged me and cried. I cried too, but I tried to hide it. I thought I would be going home after a few years.

But it isn’t. One year, two years, three years, up to the fifth, I didn’t dare ask any more questions. Only the money keeps coming.

Every year, exactly 8 million pesos along with a short message: “Mom, always be careful. I’m fine.” That word “fine” is what worries me the most.

The neighbors are whispering. The delivery is big, but it’s not going home; maybe something’s already happening.

I smiled, but I didn’t feel well that night. We had a video call once; she was still beautiful, but she had different eyes, always in a hurry, always distant.

I asked him why he wasn’t coming home; he was quiet before replying that he was very busy with work, Mom.

I didn’t ask any more questions. Sometimes, a mother becomes cowardly because she’s afraid to hear the truth.

As time went on, I grew up, and I got bigger. My house improved thanks to the money he sent. Everyone says I’m lucky. But how can you be happy if you eat alone?

Every Christmas, I still set out a plate and a spoon for him. For years I’ve been cooking his favorite stew, watching the steaming broth with tears welling in my eyes.

Twelve years is a long time. Finally, I decided to do something I’d never considered: go to Korea to visit him. I didn’t tell him. For a 63-year-old woman who had never been on a plane or even left the country, it was a huge decision.

I asked my neighbor for help with the fines and paperwork. There were just over four hours left, and my hands were almost white from gripping the seat.

When I arrived at the airport, I was confused by the number of people and the language I didn’t understand. I took a taxi to the address my son had given me.

May be an image of text

A two-story house in a quiet area. I rang the doorbell and no one answered. The door wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open and went in. The garden was nice but cold, with no human noise and no television sound.

I approached the front door, my hand trembling as I grasped the doorknob. I took a deep breath and slammed the door shut. At that moment, I was stunned.

The room was spacious, clean as if it were almost lifeless. Everything was in order, like a model home, but there was no trace of a man. There were no slippers scattered about, no jackets hanging around, no smell of food or tea—normal things in a house.

I called Mary, but she didn’t answer. The flower on the table was fake, sitting cold on its handle. I went inside. The kitchen was spotless, not a trace of grease, the refrigerator was almost empty, with a few spilled water bottles and some fruit.

I went up to the second floor. There are three doors. The first bedroom only had one bed; the blankets were neatly arranged, there was no sign of two people sleeping there. The living room was full of women’s clothing, not a single men’s garment. My heart began to tremble.

The second bedroom was like an office, tidy but not in constant use. There wasn’t a single photo, not a single object that belonged to Kang Jun. It was as if he had never existed.

I opened the last room and my knees buckled. It was full of stacked boxes. Some were open, and inside were bundles of cash tied together.

On the floor. I nodded, my hand trembling. I know he sends 8 million pesos every year. If there’s so much money here, where does it come from? Why is it hidden in a locked room like a warehouse?

At that moment, I heard a door open downstairs. Weak footsteps. I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest.

Maria Luisa’s voice, but lower, very low, tired. I ran down the stairs. She was standing at the bottom, looking at me. We hadn’t seen each other in twelve years; she was still beautiful but thin, with deep eyes and a heavy air.

We looked at each other for a few seconds. She came closer and gave me a tight hug, not crying, just silent. I’m trembling: Is this what your life is like?

He walks away, looking directly at me.

Không có mô tả ảnh.
Ma’am, you shouldn’t be here.