Why block him?

I wanted to watch.

I wanted to see exactly how long their perfect little family could survive without the woman they had called useless.

Trieu Cuong’s post showed a photograph of an expensive dinner spread across the dining table.

In the center sat Lam Uyen Nhi, wearing a pale silk dress and smiling sweetly at the camera.

The caption read:

“Some people bring darkness into a home. Others bring warmth. Mom finally knows what happiness feels like.”

I stared at the picture for three seconds.

Then I laughed.

Because behind Uyen Nhi’s shoulder, barely visible in the photograph, was my mother-in-law.

Her hair was messy.

Her blouse was stained.

And judging from the furious look on her face, she was not enjoying “happiness” at all.

I put down my phone and continued applying cream to my cracked hands.

Dau Dau was doing homework beside me.

“Mom, why are you smiling?”

“Because someone bought a beautiful box without checking what was inside.”

She tilted her head, confused.

I kissed her forehead.

“Finish your homework.”

Three days later, the box exploded.

At 5:17 in the morning, my phone began ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Five times.

I finally answered.

Before I could speak, Uyen Nhi’s hysterical voice burst through the speaker.

“Lin Xuan! What did you do to her?”

I sat up slowly.

“To whom?”

“Mother!”

Behind her came the sound of something crashing.

Then my former mother-in-law screamed:

“You useless fox! Get out! Get out of my house!”

I almost smiled.

Apparently, the angel had lost her halo.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She refuses to take her medicine! She threw breakfast at me! She scratched my arm!”

“Then call Trieu Cuong.”

“He went to work!”

“So?”

There was silence.

Uyen Nhi’s voice dropped.

“You took care of her for years. Tell me how to calm her down.”

I looked at Dau Dau sleeping peacefully beside me.

For five years, nobody had asked how I managed.

They only criticized.

The porridge was too thick.

The water was too hot.

The medicine was five minutes late.

The sheets were not soft enough.

If my mother-in-law behaved, they said she was easy to care for.

If she became violent, they said I had provoked her.

Now, suddenly, my experience had value.

“I thought you were ten thousand times better than me.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Don’t be petty.”

“I’m not.”

I hung up.

That evening, Trieu Cuong called.

This time, he did not shout immediately.

“Lin Xuan.”

I kept scrubbing the glass door of an empty apartment.

“What?”

“Come back for a few days.”

I stopped.

Not because I was tempted.

Because I wanted to hear him say it again.

“What did you say?”

“Mother hasn’t adapted to Uyen Nhi yet. You know her habits. Come back temporarily until things stabilize.”

“And Dau Dau?”

Another pause.

“She can come too.”

I laughed.

Only two weeks earlier, my daughter had been a “burden.”

Now we were suddenly welcome.

“You told me your new woman could take care of your mother ten thousand times better.”

“Why do you always remember unnecessary things?”

“Because those unnecessary things were the last words my husband said before throwing me away.”

His breathing grew heavier.

“Name your price.”

That sentence erased the last trace of softness inside me.

To him, everything was still a transaction.

My labor.

My dignity.

My years.

Even my return.

“I’m busy.”

“Cleaning houses?” he sneered. “You’d rather kneel on strangers’ floors than come back to a comfortable home?”

I looked at my blistered hands.

“Yes.”

Then I hung up.

For the first time, I understood something.

These hands were ugly now.

But they belonged to me.

The next morning, Mr. Truong handed me an unusual assignment.

“Luxury villa. Owner just renovated. Pays eight hundred for one day because they need it finished tonight.”

Eight hundred.

Nearly three days of ordinary work.

“I’ll take it.”

The villa stood in the wealthiest district in the city.

Marble floors.

Floor-to-ceiling windows.

A garden larger than our entire old apartment.

I arrived in worn sneakers and cheap work clothes, carrying my cleaning tools.

A middle-aged man opened the door.

The moment he saw my face, he froze.

“Lin Xuan?”

My fingers tightened around the bucket.

I recognized him too.

Mr. Zhou.

Years ago, before I married Trieu Cuong, he had worked with my father.

Before my father’s company collapsed.

Before my parents died.

Before everyone disappeared from my life.

Mr. Zhou stared at me as if he had seen a ghost.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Working.”

His eyes moved to my damaged hands.

Something in his expression changed.

“Does Trieu Cuong know?”

“We’re divorced.”

His face darkened.

Then he stepped aside.

“Come in.”

For several hours, he said nothing else.

I worked.

At noon, while I was removing glue from the kitchen tiles, he placed an envelope beside me.

“I found something belonging to your father.”

I looked up.

My heart suddenly began pounding.

“What?”

He sat opposite me.

“Your father’s company did not collapse naturally.”

My scraper slipped from my hand.

Mr. Zhou continued quietly.

“Someone transferred its most valuable assets before bankruptcy.”

I felt cold.

“Who?”

He pushed the envelope toward me.

Inside were photocopies of old contracts.

Bank transfers.

Company seals.

And one name repeated across several pages.

Trieu Mingde.

My former father-in-law.

My hands began trembling.

“That’s impossible.”

“It gets worse.”

Mr. Zhou pulled out one final document.

“This property transfer happened three months before you married Trieu Cuong.”

I stared at the signature.

My signature.

Perfectly copied.

But I had never signed it.

That evening, I returned to the basement carrying the envelope against my chest.

Dau Dau ran toward me.

“Mom!”

I hugged her tightly.

Then my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I answered.

A weak, trembling voice came through.

My former mother-in-law.

“Lin Xuan…”

I said nothing.

For the first time in five years, she sounded afraid.

“Don’t trust Zhou.”

My blood turned cold.

“How did you know I met him?”

She began breathing rapidly.

Then she whispered five words that made me stand completely still.

“Your father left something here.”

Before I could ask what she meant, I heard a door opening on her side.

Trieu Cuong’s voice sounded in the background.

“Mom, who are you calling?”

The line went dead.