By dawn, I had called Chu Khai eighteen times.

Not once did he answer.

I saved every call record.

Every message.

And both recordings from the hotel.

At six in the morning, my father-in-law finally woke in the monitoring room.

The first thing he asked was:

“Did Tieu Khai call back?”

I forced a smile.

“Not yet. He’s probably still busy.”

He closed his eyes.

I could see the disappointment even though he tried to hide it.

For the next two days, I stayed at the hospital almost without leaving.

Chu Khai sent only two messages.

The first:

“Very busy these days.”

The second:

“I’ll be back Saturday.”

He never once asked why I had called so many times.

Never asked about his father.

That was when I stopped trying.

On the third night, while my father-in-law slept, I opened the automatic recordings from the hotel.

I had never listened to them before.

The first was exactly as I remembered.

My voice.

Hua Man’s voice.

Then, after I hung up, the recording continued for another few seconds because the hotel line had not disconnected immediately.

I heard Hua Man laugh softly.

Then a man’s voice.

Chu Khai.

“Who called?”

My whole body froze.

Hua Man answered casually:

“Your wife. She said something happened at home.”

“What happened?”

“Your father isn’t feeling well.”

There was a short silence.

Then Chu Khai said:

“If it’s serious, she’ll handle it. We’re signing the contract tomorrow.”

My fingers went numb.

He had been there.

Right beside her.

He had heard enough to know I was calling.

And still chose not to answer.

I opened the second recording.

Again, after I hung up, Hua Man spoke.

“She called again. This time she sounded angry.”

Chu Khai sighed.

“What does she want?”

“She said your father has an acute myocardial infarction and is undergoing surgery.”

Silence.

Longer this time.

I waited for panic.

For him to grab the phone.

Instead, he said:

“The surgery has already started?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can’t change anything by calling now.”

Hua Man laughed awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t you at least call her?”

“Later.”

Later.

That single word ended nine years of marriage for me.

I forwarded both recordings to my lawyer.

Then I sent one message:

“Prepare the divorce agreement.”

Eight days after Chu Khai left, the front door opened.

He walked in dragging his suitcase, suntanned and irritated.

Hua Man’s car was still parked downstairs.

The first thing he saw was the hospital wristband on the table.

His expression changed.

Then he shouted:

“My father was hospitalized and you didn’t tell me?”

I looked at him calmly.

For several seconds, I couldn’t believe this was the same man I had once waited up for every night.

I opened a folder.

Placed eighteen call records on the table.

Then the screenshots.

Then the hotel call logs.

“I called you eighteen times.”

Chu Khai stared at them.

His face stiffened.

“I was working.”

“Every time, Hua Man said you were busy.”

“She was helping me filter calls because—”

I pressed play.

His own voice filled the living room.

“If it’s serious, she’ll handle it.”

Chu Khai stopped breathing.

The recording continued.

Then came the second one.

“The surgery has already started? Then I can’t change anything by calling now.”

The room became completely silent.

His lips moved.

“Tham Ninh…”

I looked at him.

“You knew.”

“No. Hua Man didn’t explain clearly.”

I almost laughed.

“You just heard yourself saying it.”

“She summarized the situation wrong.”

“So now the recording is lying too?”

He became irritated.

“Why did you record private conversations?”

“I didn’t.”

I pushed the hotel confirmation toward him.

“You gave me the number yourself.”

His face changed again.

He finally understood.

The recordings weren’t something I had secretly planned.

They existed because I had desperately tried to reach him while his father was fighting for his life.

At that moment, the bedroom door opened.

My father-in-law slowly walked out.

Chu Khai froze.

“Dad?”

His father looked thinner than eight days earlier.

There was still a hospital bracelet around his wrist.

Chu Khai rushed forward.

“Why are you already home?”

His father didn’t answer.

Instead, he asked:

“Did you really know I was having surgery?”

Chu Khai looked at me.

That hesitation answered everything.

The old man stepped back.

For the first time, I saw genuine shame on Chu Khai’s face.

“Dad, listen to me—”

His father raised a hand.

“Don’t.”

Then he looked toward the suitcase.

“Go back to whoever was more important than your family.”

Chu Khai’s face turned red.

“This has nothing to do with Hua Man!”

I stood.

“Good.”

I pulled another envelope from the drawer.

“Then she also has nothing to do with this.”

I placed the divorce agreement in front of him.

His eyes widened.

“What is this?”

“You once said whoever has time should handle family matters.”

I looked straight at him.

“So I’ve handled this one too.”

He grabbed the papers.

“You want a divorce because I missed some calls?”

“No.”

I picked up my bag.

“I want a divorce because when your father was on an operating table, you knew—and still decided that calling us back could wait.”

Chu Khai’s face went white.

But just as I reached the door, his phone rang.

Hua Man.

He hesitated.

Then answered.

Her panicked voice came through loudly enough for all three of us to hear.

“General Manager Chu, something happened.”

“What?”

“The client from Sanya is asking why the company reimbursement includes a double room under both our names.”

I stopped.

Chu Khai went completely still.

And slowly, I turned back toward him.
:::