I stared at Chu Chi Vien’s post for several seconds.

“The best love is the best care.”

Interesting.

When An An had pneumonia at four years old, he complained that the private ward cost too much.

When she needed braces, he said children’s teeth would “sort themselves out.”

When the school requested 480 yuan for uniforms, he sent me half a page explaining why the expense was unreasonable.

But now, for Tran Hieu Man, he had reserved a postpartum suite that cost 9,800 yuan a day.

Using my card.

I took a screenshot.

Then another.

And closed the app.

The following Tuesday, I received the first verification request from My Phu Nhi Hospital at 8:42 a.m.

VIP prenatal examination package: 12,800 yuan.

I pressed:

REJECT.

Thirty seconds later:

Non-invasive genetic screening: 6,600 yuan.

REJECT.

Then:

Premium 4D ultrasound: 3,880 yuan.

REJECT.

At 8:47, my phone started ringing.

Chu Chi Vien.

I let it ring.

Again.

Again.

Then a message appeared.

What did you do to the card?

I smiled.

Another:

The hospital says every payment requires your confirmation now.

Then:

Approve it quickly. Hieu Man hasn’t eaten since last night because of the examination.

I replied with one sentence.

Then pay for your girlfriend yourself.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Why are you being petty? There’s still plenty of money on the card.

I stared at the screen.

The audacity was almost impressive.

My money.

His answer came:

We bought that card when we were married.

I typed:

No. I bought it with the compensation my company gave me after childbirth. The account is under my name.

He stopped responding.

For ten minutes.

Then the hospital called.

“Ms. Lac, I’m sorry to disturb you. There appears to be a disagreement regarding your membership card.”

“No disagreement.”

I stood and picked up my handbag.

“I’m coming over.”

When I reached the VIP prenatal center, I heard Tran Hieu Man before I saw her.

“What kind of hospital embarrasses pregnant women over money?”

The receptionist was trying to remain professional.

“Ms. Tran, the registered cardholder rejected the transaction.”

Chu Chi Vien slammed his hand against the counter.

“She’s my ex-wife. I know the password.”

“That does not make you the account holder.”

He turned—

and saw me.

His expression changed instantly.

“You actually came?”

“Yes.”

Hieu Man placed one hand protectively over her stomach.

“Ms. Lac, if you have an issue with me, you don’t have to involve the baby.”

I looked at her.

“I didn’t.”

Then I looked at Chu Chi Vien.

“The baby’s father made a reservation he couldn’t afford.”

Several people in the waiting area turned toward us.

His face reddened.

“I can afford it.”

“Excellent.”

I gestured toward the payment terminal.

“Pay.”

Silence.

Hieu Man looked at him.

“Chi Vien?”

He lowered his voice.

“I didn’t bring the card connected to my business account.”

I nearly laughed.

“You posted online that you booked the most expensive package.”

He clenched his jaw.

“I was going to reimburse you.”

“When?”

He didn’t answer.

The nurse called from the counter.

“Number 36, Tran Hieu Man.”

She immediately stood.

Then the receptionist checked the system.

“Please wait. The appointment has been canceled because payment authorization failed.”

Hieu Man froze.

“What?”

Her face flushed.

“Do you know who my boyfriend is?”

I looked away.

That sentence had apparently survived every social class.

Then another announcement sounded over the speaker.

“VIP member number 7209, Ms. Lac Minh Chau, please proceed to the membership desk for identity verification.”

The entire waiting area became quiet.

Chu Chi Vien’s face went stiff.

The receptionist looked at me.

“Ms. Lac?”

I stepped forward.

“Yes.”

The supervisor came out personally.

She bowed slightly.

“Your remaining prepaid balance is 63,540 yuan. Would you like to retain the account?”

“No.”

Chu Chi Vien suddenly stepped toward me.

“Wait.”

I ignored him.

“Refund the entire remaining balance to the original payment account.”

The supervisor nodded.

“Of course.”

His face changed.

“Lac Minh Chau, what are you doing?”

“Taking back my money.”

“That card is supposed to be for medical expenses.”

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“For me and my daughter.”

Hieu Man stared at him.

“You told me this was your membership.”

He said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You said you had prepaid more than eighty thousand because you wanted the best care for your family.”

I almost admired how quickly his lie had returned to punish him.

“He did pay for his family,” I said.

Both of them looked at me.

“I was pregnant with An An when I opened the card.”

Hieu Man’s face slowly changed.

“You used the card from your first wife’s pregnancy for me?”

Chu Chi Vien snapped:

“Don’t listen to her.”

But she had already understood.

The VIP room.

The prenatal package.

The expensive tests.

None of it represented his generosity.

He had simply found money that already existed.

And tried to spend it.

I signed the refund request.

Then left.

I thought that would be the end.

It wasn’t.

Two weeks later, Chu Chi Vien called from a different number.

“Minh Chau, An An’s school tuition is due.”

“I paid it.”

“I mean you should send me the receipt.”

“Why?”

He hesitated.

“My parents asked how much I contribute.”

I laughed.

There it was.

Image.

Always image.

He wanted to post photographs of expensive prenatal care.

He wanted his parents to believe he supported An An.

He wanted to appear generous without actually paying.

“No.”

His voice hardened.

“I’m her father.”

“Then act like one.”

I sent him a spreadsheet instead.

Every expense from the previous twelve months.

School.

Insurance.

Dentist.

Clothing.

Food.

Activities.

At the bottom:

Father’s contribution: 2,760 yuan.

Mother’s contribution: 68,420 yuan.

He called immediately.

I declined.

Then I sent one final message:

If you want credit for supporting your daughter, start supporting her.

Three months later, Hieu Man gave birth.

I knew because An An came home after visiting her father and said:

“Mom, Dad’s new baby is cute.”

I smiled.

“Did you have fun?”

She nodded.

Then hesitated.

“Dad said babies cost a lot.”

I almost laughed.

Reality had finally arrived.

The relationship between Chu Chi Vien and Tran Hieu Man didn’t last long afterward.

Apparently, once the borrowed luxury disappeared, so did much of the romance.

She discovered debts he had hidden.

He discovered that she expected the lifestyle he had advertised.

Neither problem concerned me.

I had already used the refunded VIP balance for something far more useful.

I opened a medical savings account under An An’s name.

The first time she needed dental treatment afterward, I didn’t call anyone.

I didn’t argue about prices.

I didn’t ask whether her father thought it was “necessary.”

I simply paid.

One evening, while we walked home from school, An An suddenly asked:

“Mom, are we rich?”

I laughed.

“No.”

She thought carefully.

“Then why can we pay for things now?”

I held her little hand.

“Because having enough isn’t always about earning more.”

“Sometimes it’s about stopping other people from spending what belongs to you.”

She didn’t completely understand.

That was fine.

One day she would.

As for Chu Chi Vien, he once accused me of embarrassing him at the hospital.

Maybe I did.

But I had spent years watching him count every yuan when it came to his own daughter, only to become generous the moment someone else was watching.

So no, I didn’t regret canceling those appointments.

He wanted to use my VIP card to prove he could give his new family the best.

Instead, the hospital reminded everyone that even his generosity still belonged to his ex-wife.