The knocking continued for almost five minutes.

At first, Luc Trach Xuyen called my name angrily.

Then his voice lowered.

Finally, there was only silence.

I didn’t open the door.

Niem An stood beside me, clutching the hem of my shirt.

“Mom, is that uncle angry?”

I looked down at him.

“No.”

“Then why is he shouting?”

I hesitated.

Because I didn’t know how to explain to a three-year-old that sometimes adults became angry when they discovered the world had continued without them.

“He probably thought he could come inside.”

Niem An considered that seriously.

“But you said strangers can’t come inside.”

I smiled faintly.

“Yes.”

“So don’t let him in.”

Such a simple answer.

Children sometimes understood boundaries better than adults.

Outside, the reporters gradually dispersed.

Half an hour later, my phone began vibrating.

Luc Trach Xuyen.

Once.

Twice.

Seven times.

I ignored every call.

Then a message appeared.

“We need to talk about our son.”

I stared at those words.

Our son.

Four years ago, when I told him I was pregnant, he had touched my stomach and promised he would return before the baby could recognize faces.

Then one month became six.

Six months became a year.

The training program was extended.

Then came competitions.

International camps.

Hua Vy’s qualification tournaments.

Every time I asked when he would return, his answer was almost identical.

“Just a little longer.”

“Nobody gets this opportunity twice.”

“Think about our future.”

Eventually, I stopped asking.

Because while he was building our future, I was living our present alone.

Niem An’s first fever.

His first tooth.

His first word.

His first step.

The first day he asked why other children had fathers waiting outside kindergarten.

Luc Trach Xuyen missed all of them.

And now he wanted to talk about “our son.”

I turned off the phone.

The next morning, someone knocked again.

This time, there were no reporters.

I checked the camera.

Luc Trach Xuyen stood alone.

No medal.

No national team uniform.

No Hua Vy.

Just a man holding several gift bags.

I opened the door but remained in the doorway.

His eyes immediately searched behind me.

“Where is Niem An?”

“Eating breakfast.”

“I bought him some things.”

He lifted the bags.

A remote-control car.

Expensive sneakers.

A children’s tablet.

A miniature sports uniform with his own name printed on the back.

I looked at them.

“He doesn’t need those.”

His jaw tightened.

“I am his father.”

“Biologically.”

His expression hardened.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means being a father requires more than arriving after four years with presents.”

He stared at me.

“I was training for the country.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t go abroad to enjoy myself.”

“I know.”

“I sacrificed four years too.”

That finally made me laugh.

Quietly.

“Sacrificed?”

His face changed.

“You came home with a gold medal, a career, sponsorship contracts and a student who became world champion.”

I looked directly at him.

“What did Niem An receive from your sacrifice?”

He said nothing.

“What did I receive?”

Still nothing.

I stepped aside slightly.

On the wall behind me were photographs.

Niem An as a newborn.

Niem An crawling.

Niem An holding his first birthday cake.

Niem An on his first day of kindergarten.

Luc Trach Xuyen stared at them.

His eyes stopped on one photograph.

A tiny boy in a hospital bed, holding my finger.

“What happened there?”

“Pneumonia.”

His face changed.

“When?”

“He was eleven months old.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“I did.”

He froze.

“I called you seventeen times.”

His lips parted.

Then something seemed to return to his memory.

That week he had been at Hua Vy’s qualification camp.

His phone had been turned off.

Later, his assistant called me back and said Coach Luc could not be disturbed before an important competition.

“I didn’t know it was serious,” he whispered.

“You never asked.”

That sentence silenced him.

Behind me came small footsteps.

Niem An appeared holding half a steamed bun.

He saw Luc Trach Xuyen and immediately stopped.

The man crouched down.

“Niem An.”

The child hid behind my leg again.

Luc Trach Xuyen’s eyes reddened.

“I brought you gifts.”

Niem An peeked at the bags.

Then shook his head.

“I have toys.”

Something in Luc Trach Xuyen’s expression cracked.

Perhaps he had imagined his son running toward him.

Perhaps he thought blood created instant affection.

But children don’t understand bloodlines.

They understand presence.

Niem An looked up at me.

“Mom, can I finish breakfast?”

“Yes.”

He ran back inside.

Luc Trach Xuyen slowly stood.

“I want him to know who I am.”

“You can’t demand that.”

“He is my son.”

“And for three years, he has had no idea what having you as a father means.”

His voice became strained.

“Then give me time.”

I looked at him.

Those words almost sounded reasonable.

Until a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Coach Luc.”

Hua Vy stood beside a black car.

She had apparently been waiting there.

Luc Trach Xuyen immediately frowned.

“Why did you come?”

Her expression stiffened.

“The federation called. There is an interview at ten.”

“I told them I’m not going.”

She stared at him.

“You’ve never canceled an interview.”

“Then today is the first time.”

For a second, I saw something unpleasant flash across Hua Vy’s face.

She looked toward my house.

Then at me.

“Miss Tham, perhaps you don’t understand. Coach Luc has just returned. His schedule affects the entire team.”

I smiled.

“I understand perfectly.”

Luc Trach Xuyen glanced at me.

I continued.

“For four years, everyone else’s schedule mattered more than ours.”

Hua Vy went silent.

Luc Trach Xuyen’s face tightened.

“Tham Nguyet, don’t involve her.”

I almost admired the irony.

Four years away with another woman, and his first instinct was still to protect her from an uncomfortable sentence.

Whatever small hesitation remained inside me disappeared.

“Don’t worry.”

I stepped backward.

“I have no interest in involving Hua Vy in anything.”

I reached for the door.

“Because neither of you is part of my life anymore.”

Luc Trach Xuyen caught the edge before I could close it.

“Wait.”

I looked at his hand.

He immediately released it.

Then he asked quietly:

“What do you mean?”

I studied him for several seconds.

He genuinely didn’t know.

So I went to the cabinet beside the entrance and removed a brown envelope.

I had kept it there for months.

I handed it to him.

He opened it.

The first page made his face turn white.

“Divorce application?”

“Yes.”

He looked up sharply.

“When did you prepare this?”

“Eight months ago.”

“Eight months?”

“I waited because some procedures required your return.”

His hands tightened around the papers.

“You planned this before I came home?”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I stopped planning a life with you long before that.”

He stared at me as though I had struck him.

“Tham Nguyet, I went away for us.”

“No.”

My voice remained calm.

“You went because that was the life you wanted.”

“And I don’t blame you for wanting it.”

I looked toward the kitchen, where Niem An was humming to himself.

“But you don’t get to return after four years and pretend the people you left behind stayed frozen in time.”

His eyes were red now.

“I never wanted to lose you.”

“That doesn’t mean you tried to keep us.”

Silence.

Then Hua Vy suddenly spoke from behind him.

“Coach Luc, we really have to leave.”

He didn’t even look at her.

That seemed to surprise her more than anything.

He kept staring at the divorce papers.

Finally, he whispered:

“I won’t sign.”

I nodded.

“That is your decision.”

His eyes brightened for half a second.

Until I added:

“But it won’t change mine.”

I closed the door.

This time, he didn’t knock.

For nearly an hour, he remained outside.

Then the security camera showed him slowly walking away, still holding the envelope.

That afternoon, my phone received a message from an unknown number.

I expected another reporter.

Instead, there was only a photograph.

Luc Trach Xuyen and Hua Vy at an airport four years earlier.

The date was three days before he had told me the overseas training opportunity came unexpectedly.

Under the photograph was one sentence:

“Ask your husband who recommended Hua Vy for that program—and why he hid from you that they had applied together six months before you became pregnant.”

I stared at the screen.

For four years, I had believed Luc Trach Xuyen abandoned us because opportunity came knocking.

Now, for the first time, I wondered if that was another lie.

Because perhaps he hadn’t suddenly chosen glory over his pregnant wife.

Perhaps he had planned to leave long before he ever told me.