On his third year at university, my son met a girl. She came from a wealthy family—luxury cars, vacations, designer everything. I didn’t think she was right for him. He was studying to be a physics teacher, living modestly. I warned him: “Girls like that need salons, resorts, restaurants. She’ll leave you.”
But he didn’t listen. He proposed.
Turns out, her parents were just as against it. They didn’t attend the wedding. They cut her off financially—no more support, no more privileges. Only her car remained.
Two years passed. They lived quietly, lovingly. Then tragedy struck: my younger daughter was diagnosed with cancer. We needed money for surgery—urgently.
And that girl I doubted? She sold her car. No one asked her to. She found a buyer, handled everything herself, and handed me the money. I was stunned. I told her I couldn’t repay her, not quickly, maybe not ever.
She smiled and said, “We’re family now. Family helps each other. There’s nothing to return.”
My daughter had the surgery. She’s recovering well. And my daughter-in-law—who now rides the metro—never changed. She’s still cheerful, still kind. Her love for my son and respect for me never wavered.
I’m ashamed I couldn’t see her heart sooner. And grateful my son chose love over judgment.
