I placed the last bank statement into the folder and zipped it shut.

Behind me, Ha Canh Hanh was still standing motionless at the bedroom door.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but perhaps he simply couldn’t find a sentence capable of turning months of lies into a misunderstanding.

“Where are you going?”

“My mother’s house.”

“You can’t just leave like this.”

I slowly turned around.

“I can.”

“You’re pregnant.”

There it was again.

As if my pregnancy were a chain.

As if carrying his child meant I had to tolerate anything he did.

I picked up my suitcase.

“Precisely because I’m pregnant, I don’t want to keep living in a house where I have to check bank statements to find out what kind of husband I have.”

Ha Canh Hanh blocked the doorway.

“I’m not letting you leave until we talk.”

I took out my phone.

“Move.”

His eyes fell to the screen.

The emergency number was already typed in.

After several seconds, he finally stepped aside.

As I passed him, I heard his voice behind me.

“Have you already made an appointment for… that?”

He didn’t need to say what he meant.

“Tomorrow at nine, I’m going to the hospital for the preliminary evaluation.”

Something hit the floor behind me.

His phone.

For the first time since I discovered Duong Kieu, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“You can’t.”

“We’ve already discussed this.”

“Lenh Nghi.”

It was the first time that night he had said my name without anger.

“We can fix this.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’ll stop seeing her.”

I kept walking.

“I’ll transfer her to another department.”

I put on my shoes.

“I’ll even ask her to leave the company.”

I opened the door.

Then he said the sentence that destroyed whatever doubt I might still have had.

“I can even recover part of the money I spent on her.”

I turned around.

“Part?”

His expression changed.

He realized too late.

“What do you mean by ‘part’?”

“Nothing.”

“Ha Canh Hanh, how much money have you actually given her?”

Silence.

I knew about the 120,000 yuan apartment rent.

The 28,000 yuan ski pass.

The bracelet.

Several trips.

But from the look on his face, I suddenly understood that those were only the expenses I had managed to uncover.

“Tomorrow my lawyer will formally request the complete records of our accounts.”

His face went pale.

That single second of panic told me there was something much worse still hidden.

That night, I slept at my mother’s house.

Or at least I tried to.

At 2:17 in the morning, my phone began vibrating.

Ha Canh Hanh.

I didn’t answer.

He called again.

Then the messages started arriving.

“Come home.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Don’t make any decisions before seeing me.”

Then:

“Duong Kieu and I don’t have the kind of relationship you think we do.”

I stared at that sentence for several seconds.

Another message arrived.

“She needed me.”

I smiled bitterly.

Maybe that was the explanation every unfaithful man used once he could no longer deny the evidence.

I didn’t respond.

At seven in the morning, I received a different message.

It was from my lawyer.

“Lenh Nghi, we found something. Call me when you’re awake.”

I called immediately.

“What happened?”

“Last night I ran a preliminary review of the transfers you sent me.”

I heard papers moving on the other end.

“There’s one account that appears several times.”

“Duong Kieu’s?”

“Not directly.”

I sat upright in bed.

“Then whose?”

“A company called Qiao Yue Consulting.”

I had never heard that name before.

“Over the last eleven months, four transfers were made from your joint account to that company.”

My fingers turned cold.

“How much?”

My lawyer paused.

“One million four hundred and sixty thousand yuan.”

I went completely still.

“That’s impossible.”

“I have the receipts in front of me.”

“I would have noticed that much money disappearing.”

“The transfers weren’t made all at once. Some were disguised among investment payments and transfers into different funds.”

I breathed slowly.

“Who owns the company?”

“We’re investigating.”

I looked down at my stomach.

The money we had saved for years.

The money meant for a new house.

Part of my own savings.

All of it could have ended up inside a company I had never even heard of.

“Do something for me,” I said. “Request immediate preservation of all marital assets.”

“I’m already preparing the filing.”

“And find out who is behind that company.”

I hung up.

At 8:20, I left for the hospital.

I hadn’t expected Ha Canh Hanh to be there.

He was standing outside the entrance wearing the same clothes from the night before.

Red eyes.

Messy hair.

When he saw me, he immediately approached.

“Lenh Nghi.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Just five minutes.”

I kept walking.

He didn’t dare touch me.

“I made mistakes.”

I didn’t stop.

“But the baby is innocent.”

That made me turn around.

“So am I.”

His expression froze.

“And yet for months, I’ve been the one paying the price for your decisions.”

I entered the building.

Ha Canh Hanh tried to follow, but a nurse stopped him because the evaluation area only allowed patients inside.

While I waited, I received a photograph.

Unknown number.

It was from Duong Kieu.

The picture showed a pregnancy test.

Two lines.

Below it was a message.

“Sister Lenh Nghi, I think we should talk before you do something you might regret.”

My heart slammed against my chest.

Before I could respond, a second photograph appeared.

This time it was a banking document.

At the top was the name of the company my lawyer had just mentioned.

Qiao Yue Consulting.

And below it, the name of its legal representative.

Duong Kieu.

I stared at the screen.

So this wasn’t only an affair.

There was money involved.

A massive amount of money.

And she wanted me to know that she knew.

My phone vibrated again.

My lawyer.

I answered immediately.

“I just found out who is behind Qiao Yue.”

“So did I.”

“No, Lenh Nghi. That isn’t the worst part.”

His voice sounded completely different now.

“I just reviewed the document Ha Canh Hanh used to authorize the latest transfer.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“What document?”

Silence.

Then he said:

“The authorization carries your signature.”

I stopped breathing.

“I never signed anything.”

“I know.”

I heard him turn a page.

“That’s why you need to listen carefully. Don’t sign anything, don’t go back home, and don’t speak to him alone.”

“Why?”

His next sentence made me automatically look toward the hospital’s glass doors.

Ha Canh Hanh was still standing outside.

Watching me.

“Because the signature isn’t just an ordinary forgery. It was notarized as if you had personally appeared before the notary.”