The door closed between us.
For the first time in four years, I was the one deciding whether Luc Trach Xuyen could enter my life.
Not him.
Not his schedule.
Not his dreams.
Me.
Behind the door, the voices of reporters slowly faded.
Niem An was still holding my hand.
The little boy looked up at me.
“Mom.”
I knelt down.
“What happened?”
He pointed toward the door.
“That uncle knows my name.”
My heart tightened.
I brushed his hair gently.
“He does.”
“Who is he?”
I was silent for a moment.
Because how could I explain to a three-year-old that the man outside was his father?
A man who existed only in photos.
A man whose voice he had never heard.
A man who had chosen a dream over being there for his first steps, his first words, his first fever, and every night he cried for someone who never came.
Finally, I answered softly.
“He is someone from Mom’s past.”
Niem An tilted his head.
“Is he your friend?”
I looked toward the closed door.
“No.”
The word came out naturally.
“He was.”
That night, I thought Luc Trach Xuyen would leave.
But he didn’t.
He stayed outside.
For three hours.
The reporters eventually left.
Hua Vy also left with her team.
But Luc remained standing in front of the house.
A man who could face thousands of people on a world stage.
A man who could stand under endless cameras.
But now he was standing in front of one closed door, unable to take a single step.
The next morning, I opened the curtains.
He was still there.
His medal was gone.
The confident expression was gone.
He looked exhausted.
Almost like he had finally realized that victory did not mean he had won everything.
When I opened the door to throw away the trash, his eyes immediately lifted.
“Tham Nguyet.”
I stopped.
“What?”
His voice was lower than yesterday.
“I want to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
His expression changed.
“You don’t think I deserve an explanation?”
I looked at him.
“Four years ago, when you left, did you give me one?”
He froze.
The question was simple.
But he had no answer.
Because he knew.
Back then, he had already decided everything.
The training program.
The future.
The glory.
He had told me:
“Wait for me.”
As if my life would pause while his continued.
As if my pregnancy was just a small obstacle before his return.
“I thought about you every day,” he said.
I smiled faintly.
“That is easy.”
His eyebrows tightened.
“What?”
“Thinking about someone is easy.”
“Being there is the difficult part.”
His face became pale.
I continued:
“When Niem An had a fever at midnight, did you think about him?”
“When I was alone in the hospital, did you think about him?”
“When I learned his first word was not ‘Dad’ because he had no one to call that?”
Every sentence became quieter.
But every word hurt more.
Luc lowered his head.
For the first time, he looked like someone who understood he had lost something.
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You didn’t ask.”
Silence.
Then he whispered:
“I thought you understood.”
I almost laughed.
Because that was exactly the problem.
Everyone always expected women to understand.
Understand dreams.
Understand sacrifices.
Understand absences.
But nobody asked who would understand us.
A few days later, the news exploded.
The headlines were everywhere.
“Champion Coach Returns Home After Four Years Abroad.”
“Luc Trach Xuyen’s Mysterious Family Life Becomes Topic Online.”
But the comments changed quickly.
Because people started noticing something.
The child at the door.
The way he called Luc “uncle.”
The way I refused to let him enter.
People began asking questions.
And then someone discovered the truth.
The famous coach had a son.
A son he had never publicly mentioned.
A son who did not recognize him.
Luc’s team immediately tried to control the situation.
But it was too late.
For four years, he had controlled every interview.
Every image.
Every story.
Now, the truth was speaking for itself.
That afternoon, Luc came again.
This time, he came alone.
No cameras.
No reporters.
No Hua Vy.
Just him.
“I want to see Niem An.”
I stood at the doorway.
“You can’t just appear and ask to be his father.”
His eyes turned red.
“I know.”
That answer surprised me.
“I know I missed everything.”
He looked toward the living room where Niem An was playing with toys.
“I missed four years.”
A pause.
“But I want to start now.”
I watched him carefully.
Because part of me remembered the young man I loved.
The man who carried me home when I was sick.
The man who promised me a future.
But another part remembered the empty chair beside me during every important moment.
“I can’t erase those four years for you.”
“I know.”
“You can’t expect him to call you Dad.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
“Then what do you want?”
Luc looked at me.
“For him to know I regret it.”
Before I could answer, a small voice came from behind me.
“Mom.”
I turned.
Niem An was standing there.
He looked at Luc.
The two stared at each other.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Niem An asked:
“Are you the uncle from the picture?”
Luc’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Why do you look sad?”
That question broke something in him.
Because a child who barely knew him could see what he had spent years ignoring.
Luc knelt down.
“I made a mistake.”
Niem An looked confused.
“What mistake?”
Luc opened his mouth.
But no words came.
Because how could he explain abandoning a child?
How could he explain choosing a medal over a family?
Finally, he only said:
“I wasn’t there when I should have been.”
Niem An thought for a moment.
Then he looked at me.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Can he come inside?”
My heart trembled.
Not because everything was forgiven.
It wasn’t.
But because my son was kinder than the adults who had hurt him.
I looked at Luc.
“Only for ten minutes.”
His eyes lowered.
“Thank you.”
But neither of us knew that this was only the beginning.
Because the moment Luc Trach Xuyen returned, another secret from those four years was about to be revealed.
A secret involving Hua Vy.
A secret that would explain why Luc chose that training program…
And why he never once came home.
read the entire Part 3 below.
