For 12 years, the small house at the end of Cau Rao village became a symbol of unwavering loyalty. Everyone admired Dung — a woman just over 30 when a sudden accident left her husband, Lam, in a vegetative state.

She quit her job in town, returned to the countryside, and worked as a hired laborer while caring for her husband spoon by spoon, drop by drop. No one ever heard her complain. Her eyes were always red from fatigue, but shone with a strange determination. Villagers would say:

— “Lam must have incredible fortune to marry a woman like her…”

Then came the day Lam passed away.
News of his death spread throughout the village. The entire community showed up—from the elderly to the children—everyone full of sympathy. People brought incense, condolence money, and white flowers, filling the path to her home.

But when they arrived, they were stunned.

No altar. No portrait. No mourning clothes.

Instead, a cold notice was taped to the front door:

“Mr. Lam was cremated overnight. There will be no funeral. Please do not disturb.”

Shock. Outrage. People crowded around, knocking furiously. After a long while, Dung finally opened the door. She looked haggard, but her face was unsettlingly calm. Facing the confused crowd, she spoke softly, each word clear and deliberate:

— “He died 12 years ago. It was only yesterday that I began to live again.”

A relative from Lam’s family, denied entry to pay respects, called the police. And what was discovered inside the house left the entire village shaken:

In the “sickroom,” there was a surveillance camera system — but it wasn’t connected to any medical facility.

Lam had never been in a vegetative state. Medical records showed that just a few months after the accident, he had regained partial consciousness — enough to communicate on a basic level.

Under the bed, inside a locked box, were hundreds of hours of audio recordings — Dung’s monologues to her husband — full of rage, resentment, and tearful outbursts.

One chilling excerpt went:

— “You think I’m stupid? That accident happened because you were driving that girl to a motel! God let you live… Fine. I’ll let you live, too. But how you live — that’s up to me.”

Years ago, Lam had cheated with a young college student. On the night of the accident, he was taking her to a motel when he lost control and crashed into the median. The girl died. Lam survived — but with only partial mobility.

The day everyone thought Dung had “given up everything for her husband” was actually the day she made an unimaginable decision — to punish him in a way no one expected: to care for him for life… like a “living doll.”

She still did the laundry, still fed him, still massaged his limbs — but never once spoke a kind word. Every day she turned the radio up loud, read the news, told stories — but never once asked how he was.

For 12 years, outsiders saw a devoted wife.
But Lam lived under a long, silent punishment — cared for, but never forgiven.

After the incident, the village was divided in opinion:

Some sympathized with Dung, saying she endured pain and chose not to kill, even preserving her husband’s dignity.

Others condemned her as heartless — that she should’ve divorced him, let go.

Dung left the village after that rushed funeral, leaving behind a cold, empty house.

People still say:

“Some houses have no ghosts, but are so cold they can kill the living from the inside.”