“Jiang Wan?”

My entire body froze.

That voice.

Five years had passed, but I still recognized it instantly.

I turned around slowly.

A black car was parked beside the curb.

Standing next to it was Tham Duc Bach.

He looked almost exactly as I remembered.

Dark suit.

Straight posture.

Cold eyes.

Only the sharpness around his face seemed deeper now.

His gaze moved from me…

to the little boy holding my hand.

Then stopped.

Tieu Du was still licking strawberry ice cream.

He looked curiously at the stranger in front of us.

Tham Duc Bach’s face changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for me to see the shock.

His eyes moved over Tieu Du’s eyebrows.

His nose.

His expression.

Then back to me.

“Who is this child?”

I tightened my grip on Tieu Du’s hand.

“My son.”

His throat moved.

“How old?”

I didn’t answer.

That was already an answer.

Tieu Du looked up at me.

“Mom, who is this uncle?”

Tham Duc Bach’s face went completely pale.

Uncle.

He stared at the child who looked almost exactly like him and was being called a stranger.

I bent down.

“Tieu Du, go upstairs first.”

“But Nhu Nhu’s ice cream…”

“I’ll bring it.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Before leaving, he looked at Tham Duc Bach again.

Then smiled politely.

“Goodbye, uncle.”

Tham Duc Bach stood motionless until the boy disappeared inside the building.

Then he turned toward me.

“Five years old?”

“Yes.”

His voice became hoarse.

“You were pregnant when we divorced.”

“Yes.”

That single word seemed to hit him harder than any accusation.

He remembered.

Of course he remembered.

Me bending over outside the Civil Affairs Department.

Vomiting.

Pale.

Barely standing.

And his words:

It’s a bit late to pretend to be pitiful now.

He closed his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I almost laughed.

“I was going to.”

His eyes opened.

“But?”

“You told me seeing me made you feel disgusted.”

Silence.

“You thought I was acting.”

Another silence.

“So I stopped explaining.”

He stepped closer.

“Jiang Wan, that was my child.”

I looked at him calmly.

“He still is.”

His expression changed.

“But being his biological father doesn’t erase five years.”

Before he could answer, my phone rang.

The hospital.

My heart tightened instantly.

I answered.

The nurse’s voice was urgent.

“Miss Jiang, Nhu Nhu’s latest blood results aren’t ideal. The doctor would like you to bring her back tomorrow morning.”

My fingers went cold.

“I understand.”

I hung up.

Tham Duc Bach had heard the name.

“Nhu Nhu?”

I looked away.

He caught the detail immediately.

“You have another child?”

For a moment, I said nothing.

Then the building entrance opened.

Our neighbor came rushing downstairs carrying a little girl.

“Jiang Wan!”

My heart stopped.

Nhu Nhu was wrapped in a small yellow jacket.

Her face was pale.

Her body was much smaller than Tieu Du’s.

The neighbor looked worried.

“She felt dizzy again and kept asking for you.”

I immediately took her into my arms.

“Nhu Nhu.”

The little girl opened her eyes.

“Mom…”

Then she noticed Tham Duc Bach.

She stared at him with the same dark eyes as her brother.

His dark eyes.

Tham Duc Bach looked as though someone had taken all the air out of his lungs.

“Twins?”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t need to.

He walked closer slowly.

His hand lifted, then stopped in midair.

“What’s wrong with her?”

I hugged Nhu Nhu tighter.

“She has a chronic blood disorder. The doctors have been treating her for years.”

His face changed.

“How serious?”

“Serious enough that I don’t have time to discuss our past on the sidewalk.”

I turned toward the building.

He followed.

“Which hospital?”

“No.”

“Jiang Wan.”

I stopped.

His voice cracked.

“Please.”

That word surprised me.

Tham Duc Bach had never begged me for anything.

Five years ago, he had looked at me as if removing me from his life was a relief.

Now he was looking at the little girl in my arms like he was terrified she might disappear.

I said:

“You can come tomorrow.”

He nodded immediately.

The next morning, he was already waiting outside the hospital when we arrived.

For the first time in my life, I saw Tham Duc Bach without an assistant, driver, or secretary.

Just a man carrying two bags of breakfast he clearly didn’t know whether the children would eat.

Tieu Du recognized him.

“Uncle!”

Tham Duc Bach almost smiled.

Then looked at me.

I didn’t correct Tieu Du.

Not yet.

Inside, the doctor explained Nhu Nhu’s condition and the need for further tests to determine the best long-term treatment plan.

Tham Duc Bach listened to every word.

Then asked:

“Do you need information from the biological father?”

The doctor nodded.

“If available, family medical history may be useful.”

He answered immediately.

“I’m the father.”

Tieu Du dropped his toy.

The room became silent.

He looked at me.

Then at Tham Duc Bach.

Then back at me.

“Mom?”

I crouched in front of him.

“Yes.”

His little face became confused.

“So he isn’t uncle?”

“No.”

Tham Duc Bach’s eyes turned red.

Tieu Du stared at him for a long time.

Then asked the question I had feared.

“Where were you before?”

Tham Duc Bach couldn’t answer.

Five years of boardrooms, negotiations, billions in business decisions…

and one five-year-old child left him speechless.

Finally, he said:

“I didn’t know you existed.”

Tieu Du frowned.

“Why?”

His eyes moved to me.

Then lowered.

“Because I made a very big mistake with your mother.”

That was the first time I heard him admit it without excuses.

Over the following weeks, he cooperated with every medical request.

He paid nothing without asking me first.

He made no decisions over my head.

He simply showed up.

Appointments.

Tests.

School pickup when I allowed it.

He learned that Tieu Du hated carrots.

That Nhu Nhu slept holding a rabbit-shaped pillow.

That both children called me when they had nightmares.

None of those things were in a DNA report.

They had to be learned.

One evening, after the children fell asleep, Tham Duc Bach stood in my small living room.

His eyes moved over the worn sofa.

The children’s drawings.

My illustration tablet.

“You lived like this for five years?”

I looked at him.

“We lived well.”

“I don’t mean…”

He stopped.

Then whispered:

“You really didn’t take anything from me.”

I almost smiled.

“You made sure of that.”

His face tightened.

Five years earlier, our prenuptial agreement had protected everything belonging to the Tham family.

At the time, he believed I married him for money.

So when we divorced, he watched me leave with nothing.

He had never once checked whether I was safe afterward.

He said:

“I thought you wanted the Tham name.”

“I wanted you.”

That hurt him more.

I continued:

“Unfortunately, I eventually learned the name was easier to lose.”

He sat down.

“What happened to us?”

I looked at him for a long time.

The answer was complicated.

His family had never accepted me.

Rumors had spread that I married him for status.

Every misunderstanding became evidence against me.

And Tham Duc Bach had always trusted his own judgment more than my explanations.

Eventually, love became exhausting.

“I kept explaining.”

I said quietly.

“You kept deciding what the truth was before I finished.”

He lowered his eyes.

“And the day we divorced…”

“You decided my nausea was manipulation.”

His hands tightened.

“I remember.”

“I know.”

Months passed.

Nhu Nhu’s treatment stabilized.

The doctors remained cautiously optimistic.

That mattered more to me than anything else.

Tham Duc Bach gradually became part of the children’s lives.

But not mine.

At least, not in the way he wanted.

One night, after putting Nhu Nhu to bed, he stopped me near the door.

“Jiang Wan.”

“Yes?”

“Can we start again?”

I knew this question would come eventually.

I looked at the man I had once loved enough to lose myself.

Then at the two children sleeping down the hall.

“No.”

His face went still.

I continued before he misunderstood.

“You can be their father.”

“I want you to be.”

His eyes reddened.

“But I’m not going to become your wife again just because you regret what happened.”

He swallowed.

“What if I wait?”

“That is your choice.”

A sad smile appeared on my face.

“But don’t turn waiting into another debt you expect me to repay.”

He nodded slowly.

This time, he understood.

Two years later, Tieu Du finally stopped calling him “Uncle” by accident.

Nhu Nhu became stronger.

I published my first illustrated children’s book under my own name.

At the launch, both children sat in the front row.

Tham Duc Bach sat several seats behind them.

Not beside me.

Not claiming anything.

Just applauding.

Afterward, he handed me a copy.

“Will you sign it?”

I laughed.

“For you?”

“Yes.”

I wrote:

To Tham Duc Bach—thank you for learning that love is not ownership.

He read it.

Then looked at me.

“Still no chance?”

I smiled.

“Whatever happens later, let it happen naturally.”

For once, he didn’t push.

He simply nodded.

Five years earlier, I had left the Civil Affairs Department believing the only thing I carried from my marriage was an unborn child.

I had been wrong.

I carried two.

And I carried something else too.

A life that had not ended just because one man decided I was unworthy of staying beside him.

Tham Duc Bach eventually became a good father.

Whether he would ever become anything more again was no longer a decision made by guilt, blood, or regret.

It would have to be earned.

Slowly.

Honestly.

And this time,

I was the one who got to decide.