"Mai, pour me another cup of tea, will you?" I said, without taking my eyes off the laptop.

Numbers were flashing on the screen — daily revenue from my store. A beautiful figure. Very good. Five years ago, I couldn’t even dream of seeing numbers like these. Back then, I was just a poor student, living day to day on scraps and handouts.

"You’re working late again, Linh," said Mai — my husband — as he placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me. "You should get some rest."

I closed the laptop and looked at him. Mai looked exhausted. Lately, both of us felt drained — not from work, but from the constant conversations about… money. More precisely, about whom I should help and how much I should give.

"Do you remember how we first met?" I asked.

Mai smiled.

"You were a lost freshman, standing in the department office, crying because you couldn’t afford the dorm."

"And you came up to me and said, ‘Don’t cry — everything will be okay.’ And it was. You took me in, married me, gave me the chance to study."

"I did the right thing," Mai said softly. "I loved you."

"I love you," I corrected him. "Not loved — love."

He nodded, but there was something uncertain in his eyes. We both knew what this conversation was really about.

"My mom called today," he said after a pause.

I sighed. Aunt Lan — his mother — had been calling almost daily for a week.

"What does the family want this time?"

"Don’t say it like that, Linh..."

"How should I say it, Mai? Your brother Long took out a bank loan to buy furniture worth more than my entire first-year salary after graduation. He didn’t ask anyone. Just bought it — and now he can’t pay. And somehow, I’m supposed to help?"

Mai clenched his fists.

"They’re family, Linh. Have you forgotten who helped you once?"

"I haven’t. I never will. But helping and being taken advantage of are two different things."

Just then, my phone rang. "Long" appeared on the screen. I looked at Mai — he nodded, as if saying, “Answer it.”

"I’m listening."

"Linh! Hey!" Long’s voice was overly cheerful. "How are you? Business going well?"

"Fine."

"So… remember the loan I mentioned?"

"I remember."

"The bank called today. Said they’d start repossessing stuff tomorrow if I don’t pay. Can you believe it?"

I could. And I knew exactly where this was going.

"Long, I’m not giving you money."

Silence. Then:

"What do you mean, not giving me money?"

"I mean exactly that. You’re an adult with a job. Handle your own debt."

"Linh, are you crazy? You make tons of money! What’s a little help for a relative?"

"It’s not just a little help. I’ve spent years cleaning up your messes."

Long’s voice rose, laced with bitterness:

"But back when you lived off us, you didn’t say that!"

There it was — the sentence I knew was coming.

"Long," I said calmly, "when I ‘lived off you,’ I was your brother’s wife, a broke student. Now you’re the adult who chose to get into debt — expecting me to clean it up."

"How dare you—"

"It’s simple. Goodbye."

I hung up. My hands trembled — not from fear, but from rage. Mai looked at me, stunned.

"Linh, what did you just do?"

"What I should’ve done a long time ago."

"But if he doesn’t pay..."

"Then he’ll learn the consequences. Adults take responsibility."

Mai shook his head.

"You’ve changed."

"No. I’ve grown. There’s a difference."

---

That was the beginning of what I silently called 'the family war.'

The next day, my mother-in-law called, sounding as if I had murdered her son.

"Linh, what’s wrong with you? How can you abandon Long like this?"

"Aunt Lan, I’m not abandoning him. I’m just refusing to solve problems he created."

"But we took you in, fed you, gave you clothes—"

"And I’m forever grateful. But that doesn’t mean I must support the whole family forever."

"How could you say that!" She was nearly in tears. "We loved you like a daughter!"

"And I love you. But love isn’t an unlimited bank account."

"So you really won’t help?"

"I won’t."

She hung up. An hour later, my father-in-law showed up. Sat quietly in the kitchen before finally speaking in a low, heavy voice:

"Linh, dear… what are you doing? You’re tearing this family apart over money."

"Uncle Phong, I’m not tearing anything apart. What’s tearing this family apart is how I’m treated like an ATM."

"What ATM? We love you!"

"Do you love me, or do you love my income?"

He sighed.

"You’re right to be angry. Long’s irresponsible. But he’s still family..."

"And because he’s family, I won’t let him keep living like a spoiled teenager."

He left, with nothing resolved. I thought that might be the end — but that evening, Long himself showed up. Face flushed, eyes twitchy.

"Can I come in?" he asked, already pushing his way inside.

We sat in the living room. Long paced nervously, then snapped:

"What do you mean you won’t give me money?! Do you understand what could happen?"

"I do."

"The bank will take the furniture! My credit will be ruined!"

"I know."

"And still, you won’t help?"

"I won’t."

Long collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands.

"You’ve changed. You used to be kind. Now… money’s ruined you."

"No, Long. Money ruined you. You stopped thinking about consequences — because I was always there to fix everything."

"But we did so much for you!"

"You did. And I’m thankful. But that doesn’t mean I owe you forever."

He glared at me with such hatred I flinched.

"So, you used us, and now you’re tossing us like garbage?"

"No, Long. I’m trying to save what’s left of us. Before we become nothing but creditor and debtor."

He stormed to the door.

"Fine. Just remember this. When you have problems — don’t expect help from us."

"I’m not expecting it," I said quietly.

The door slammed.

I cried. Not from sadness — but from relief. I’d finally said what I had held in for so long.

---

A week passed.

Then Long called. His voice was different — not angry, but tired.

"Linh… I wanted to say sorry for what I said."

"I’m listening."

"I sold the car. Paid off most of the loan. Made a plan for the rest with the bank. Found a part-time evening job."

"That’s the right thing to do."

"You were right. I’d stopped managing my money. I just assumed I could always ask for help."

I said nothing. My heart ached a bit — but I stayed silent.

"Can I come over? I’d like to talk properly."

"Come."

That evening, Long showed up — thinner, paler, but something had changed. His eyes had a weight they hadn’t before.

"You know," he said, stirring his tea slowly, "at first I hated you. Wanted to scream. Then I sat down and — for the first time in years — looked honestly at my income and expenses."

"And what did you find?"

"That I was spending like a millionaire. Buying whatever I wanted, then wondering why I had no money."

"And now?"

"Now I’m learning to live within my means. Smaller apartment. No car. Part-time job. Like normal people."

I looked at him and saw it — my harsh lesson had worked. Not right away. Not without pain. But it worked.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "For saying you used us. I was wrong."

"No need to apologize. You weren’t evil — just… used to being rescued."

That night, for the first time in years, we talked like real siblings — not a beggar and benefactor.

---

A month later, Aunt Lan called.

"Linh, can I visit? I want to talk."

She brought her homemade pies. We sat in silence. Then she said:

"You were right, dear."

"About what?"

"About Long. We spoiled him. First me and his father, then Mai, then you. We solved his problems all his life."

"Not just him. We all got used to it."

"Yes… and we took your help for granted. That was wrong."

I took her hand.

"Aunt Lan, I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just realized — it couldn’t go on like this."

"You were right to stop. You know, Long is different now. Responsible. Comes over, helps with chores, takes care of us in small ways."

"That’s good."

"And we thought you hated us."

"I don’t hate anyone. I just wanted us to have healthy relationships."

We made peace. Slowly, not perfectly — but genuinely. Mai stopped being angry when he saw how much his brother had changed.

Our family didn’t fall apart. In fact, it became stronger — no longer based on financial dependence, but mutual respect.

And I learned something valuable:
**Sometimes, the greatest gift you can give a loved one… is to say “