The morning of the surgery, I woke before sunrise.
For the first time in seven years, there was no Ky Le Chu beside me.
No shirt waiting to be ironed.
No breakfast to prepare.
No message reminding me to arrange something for him.
Only silence.
I sat beside the window of my tiny apartment, one hand resting on my stomach.
The baby moved.
Just once.
My tears fell immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Those were the only words I could say.
At the hospital, the doctor reviewed my examination results again.
“Mrs. Ky, you still have time to reconsider.”
I lowered my eyes.
“Please call me Giang Thinh Ngu.”
The doctor understood.
After a long silence, I signed the final consent form.
But just as the nurse prepared to take me inside, my phone rang.
Lawyer Tong.
“Ms. Giang, something happened.”
“What?”
“Ky Le Chu has signed the divorce agreement.”
I froze.
“He signed?”
“Yes. His lawyer delivered it this morning.”
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
So easily.
Seven years of marriage.
And once he realized I truly intended to leave, all it required was a signature.
Lawyer Tong hesitated.
“There is one condition.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“He wants you to waive every financial claim.”
“I already did.”
“And…”
His voice became strange.
“He wants full custody of the child after birth.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
“He specifically added it.”
I stared at my pregnant belly.
Yesterday, Ky Le Chu had barely cared whether I was alive.
Today, he suddenly wanted my child?
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
But I did.
Quan Thuan Nguyet.
Her final message returned to me.
Hopefully the baby will inherit the same dimples.
I closed my eyes.
“Send me the document.”
Minutes later, I saw the clause.
Ky Le Chu wanted our child raised primarily by him.
Below it was another provision.
In the event that he became unable to fulfill parental responsibilities, he proposed Quan Thuan Nguyet as the child’s designated guardian.
My hands began trembling.
Even my baby had already been assigned a place in their future.
A future that apparently did not include me.
“Ms. Giang?”
Lawyer Tong sounded worried.
“I’m here.”
“Should I reject it?”
I looked toward the operating-room doors.
“No.”
“What?”
“Remove the custody section. Tell him there will be no child to fight over.”
Silence.
Then Lawyer Tong understood.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I ended the call.
Three hours later, Ky Le Chu finally discovered where I was.
He arrived at the hospital like a storm.
But he was too late.
When he reached the surgical floor, my room was empty.
Only Lawyer Tong was waiting.
“Where is she?”
“Recovering somewhere you don’t have access to.”
Ky Le Chu’s face darkened.
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did she suddenly—”
Lawyer Tong placed the medical consent form before him.
Ky Le Chu looked down.
His face slowly lost color.
“What is this?”
“You can read.”
His eyes stopped on the procedure.
For several seconds, he didn’t move.
Then he grabbed Lawyer Tong by the collar.
“Where is my child?”
Lawyer Tong pushed his hand away.
“You remembered it was your child?”
“Where is Giang Thinh Ngu?”
“You have no right to ask.”
“I’m her husband!”
“Not anymore.”
The signed divorce agreement landed on the table between them.
“You signed it this morning.”
Ky Le Chu stared at his own signature.
For perhaps the first time in his life, he understood that some signatures could not be taken back.
He called me.
Blocked.
He called from his assistant’s phone.
Blocked.
He called my mother.
She hung up.
Then he returned to the villa.
The house was exactly as I had left it.
My slippers were gone.
My clothes were gone.
My manuscripts were gone.
The wedding ring sat inside the drawer.
Beside it was the old watch he had given me.
Less than fifty yuan.
Seven years.
That was everything I left behind.
But something else was waiting.
The safe was open.
Ky Le Chu stared at it.
He had changed the password after catching me reading the will.
No one else should have known the new code.
Yet the door stood open.
Inside, the will was gone.
In its place was an envelope.
He tore it open.
The first document was a copy of his will.
The second was something he had never seen.
A medical report.
Quan Thuan Nguyet’s name appeared at the top.
Pregnancy: eleven weeks.
Ky Le Chu’s hands stiffened.
Then he saw the estimated conception date.
He calculated it once.
Then again.
His face changed.
On that date, he had been overseas for almost six weeks.
The child could not possibly be his.
His phone rang.
Quan Thuan Nguyet.
He answered immediately.
“Le Chu…”
Her voice was weak and tearful.
“Where are you? I feel terrible.”
He said nothing.
“Le Chu?”
“Whose child is it?”
Silence.
“What?”
“The baby.”
Her breathing stopped.
“Who told you?”
That was enough.
Ky Le Chu closed his eyes.
For years, he had defended her.
Protected her.
Sponsored her.
Given her everything he refused to give his wife.
And now, for the first time, suspicion entered his mind.
“Thuan Nguyet.”
His voice became frighteningly calm.
“Why was my safe open?”
She immediately hung up.
That night, Ky Le Chu investigated her.
By morning, he discovered that the will I had found was not the only document connected to her.
Over seven years, enormous sums had been transferred from accounts controlled by his asset-management company.
Not directly to Quan Thuan Nguyet.
That would have been too obvious.
The money moved through charities, scholarships and shell companies.
Then eventually reached her.
His assistant had approved many of the transfers.
The same assistant who had called me and ordered me to return home.
Ky Le Chu summoned him.
The man denied everything.
Until Ky Le Chu placed the bank records on the desk.
Then his assistant collapsed.
“Mr. Ky, I only followed instructions.”
“Whose?”
No answer.
Ky Le Chu slammed his hand against the table.
“Whose instructions?”
The assistant finally whispered:
“Miss Quan’s.”
Ky Le Chu laughed.
It was a cold, empty sound.
“She has no authority over my accounts.”
“No.”
The assistant swallowed.
“But she had your authorization code.”
Ky Le Chu stopped.
Impossible.
Only three people knew that code.
Himself.
His late father.
And me.
“Where did she get it?”
The assistant lowered his head.
“She said you gave it to her years ago.”
Ky Le Chu suddenly remembered something.
Ten years earlier.
The night he had nearly died.
The night I had taken a knife meant for him.
There had been another person at the hospital.
A teenage Quan Thuan Nguyet.
He had always told me she was merely a poor student he had sponsored.
But there was something about that night he had never explained.
Something even I didn’t know.
Meanwhile, I woke in a private recovery clinic outside the city.
My mother sat beside me.
I instinctively touched my stomach.
Then I froze.
The doctor entered.
“Ms. Giang.”
I looked at her.
I couldn’t speak.
She sat beside me.
“There was a complication before the procedure began.”
My heart stopped.
“What complication?”
“The ultrasound.”
She turned the monitor toward me.
I stared at the image.
Then at her.
“I don’t understand.”
The doctor smiled gently.
“The surgery was not performed.”
My eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because the pregnancy information in your previous medical records was wrong.”
She pointed at the screen.
“There are two fetal heartbeats.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Twins.
My hand covered my mouth.
The doctor continued.
“And there’s something else.”
She placed my earlier medical records beside the new examination.
“The fall you suffered months ago should have triggered additional testing, but someone altered the results in your file.”
I stared at her.
“Altered?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We’re investigating.”
My phone rang.
Lawyer Tong.
I answered.
His voice was urgent.
“Thinh Ngu, don’t return to your apartment.”
“Why?”
“Someone broke in.”
My blood turned cold.
“Was anything stolen?”
“That’s the strange part.”
He paused.
“Nothing valuable.”
“Then what did they take?”
“Your prenatal records.”
I looked at the doctor.
Lawyer Tong continued.
“And the building camera captured the person leaving.”
“Who was it?”
He sent me a photograph.
I opened it.
The woman wore a mask and sunglasses.
But I recognized the jasmine-colored coat immediately.
Quan Thuan Nguyet.
Then another message arrived.
This one was from an unknown number.
A photograph taken through the clinic window.
My mother and I were visible inside.
Below it were seven words:
“You should have gotten rid of the babies.”
My blood froze.
And for the first time, I understood.
Quan Thuan Nguyet had never been waiting for Ky Le Chu to die so she could inherit his fortune.
She had been waiting for me and my children to disappear first.
