Six years ago, I had met Co Tham at the smallest hospital in the city.

At that time, he wasn’t General Manager Co.

He was simply a young doctor working in the emergency department.

His white coat was always wrinkled, his shoes were cheap, and he often stayed after his shift to treat patients who couldn’t afford the fees.

I remembered one night when my father collapsed outside the hospital.

Co Tham was the doctor who operated on him.

He stayed beside my father for twelve hours.

When the operation ended, he was exhausted.

He leaned against the wall and smiled at me.

—Don’t worry. Your father is safe.

That was the first time I trusted a man who didn’t know my surname.

Later, when he discovered who I really was, he refused my family’s money.

—If I marry you, people will say I married the Song family’s fortune.

So I signed a prenuptial agreement.

I gave him a career.

He gave me what I thought was love.

Six years later, Tran Van had locked my bank cards and taken my son.

I finally understood something.

The man I married had changed.

Or perhaps I had simply stopped making excuses for him.

I called my lawyer.

—Find my son.

He nodded.

—Already working on it.

—And prepare another document.

—The divorce agreement?

I looked through the window.

—No.

I smiled coldly.

—The termination of every financial arrangement between the Song family and Co Tham.

That afternoon, my lawyer called.

—Miss Song, we’ve located the kindergarten.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

—Where?

He gave me the address.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived.

A teacher brought my son outside.

The moment he saw me, he ran into my arms.

—Mommy!

I hugged him tightly.

—Did they scare you?

He shook his head.

Then whispered:

—The auntie said Daddy doesn’t want you anymore.

My heart went cold.

I didn’t ask him anything else.

I carried him into the car.

Before leaving, my lawyer handed me another file.

Inside were photographs of Tran Van entering a hotel with Co Tham.

Three months of records.

Not rumors.

Not suspicion.

Evidence.

The last photograph was taken only two nights earlier.

Co Tham was holding her hand.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because everything finally made sense.

The assistant hadn’t acted alone.

She had been following his instructions.

The cards.

The house.

My son’s school.

My employees.

Every single decision.

That night, I returned to the Song family’s main residence.

For the first time in six years, I used the master key.

The door opened.

Tran Van was sitting on my sofa.

She looked up in shock.

—Madam?

I placed my handbag on the table.

—Don’t call me that.

She stood.

—General Manager Co told me—

—I know.

I smiled.

—That’s why I’m here.

Behind me, the family lawyer entered carrying a thick folder.

Tran Van’s face slowly lost its color.

I opened the first page.

—Tomorrow morning, the Song Group will announce that Co Tham no longer has any authority over the family’s assets.

I turned the page.

—And the hospital where he built his reputation will also receive evidence that he used company funds for personal expenses.

Her lips trembled.

—You can’t—

—I can.

I looked directly into her eyes.

—Because you spent two months pretending to be the mistress of my house.

I picked up my phone.

—Now you’ll learn who actually owns it.

At that moment, the front door opened.

Co Tham walked in.

He froze when he saw me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he whispered:

—Why are you here?

I smiled.

—Because, husband…

I placed the divorce papers on the table.

—It’s time for the real owner of this family to come home.