My name is Phương. I’m 33 years old and teach at a kindergarten.
My life used to be peaceful until one rainy September evening when everything changed.
While cleaning the stairs, I slipped from the seventh step. A sharp crack echoed through the house as my head hit the tiles.
When I regained consciousness in the hospital, everything around me was black—thick, endless darkness.
The doctor explained gently,
“Your vision was affected by the head trauma. It might return in weeks or months—it depends on your recovery.”
The words crushed me. I broke down, sobbing into my husband Minh’s chest.
He squeezed my hand and whispered,
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you until you can see again.”
I believed him—just as I had through our seven years of marriage.
Days of blindness turned into weeks. I lived entirely in the dark, relying on him for everything.
He cooked for me, …
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