Giang Du Bach carried Nhat Nhat into the bedroom.

The room was tiny.

A single bed.

A secondhand wardrobe.

A small desk covered with medicine bottles and children’s drawings.

He stopped beside the bed and carefully lowered her onto the pillow.

But Nhat Nhat refused to release his neck.

“Baby.”

I gently touched her hand.

“Let go.”

She frowned in her sleep.

Then she murmured something.

“Daddy…”

My entire body froze.

Giang Du Bach froze too.

I immediately pulled her little hand away.

“She talks nonsense when she has a fever.”

He slowly straightened.

His eyes remained on Nhat Nhat.

“How old is she?”

My heart skipped.

“Five.”

He looked at me.

“Five?”

“Yes.”

“When is her birthday?”

I forced myself to remain calm.

“Why are you asking?”

His expression became colder.

“Just curious.”

“There’s nothing interesting about it.”

I turned toward the kitchen.

“I’ll get you water.”

But before I could leave, he caught sight of a photograph beside the bed.

My stomach dropped.

It was Nhat Nhat’s kindergarten picture.

She had my eyes.

But everything else—

Especially when she wasn’t smiling—

looked painfully like him.

Giang Du Bach picked up the frame.

“Jian Yu.”

I snatched it from his hand.

“Don’t touch my things.”

His gaze slowly shifted toward me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he asked:

“Is she really Ha Dich’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

The lie came too quickly.

His jaw tightened.

Before he could question me again, his phone rang.

I saw the name.

Su Man.

His fiancée.

Reality returned instantly.

Giang Du Bach answered.

“Hello.”

A woman’s gentle voice came through.

“Du Bach, where are you? The doctor said we can collect the report tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Your mother asked whether you could come home for dinner.”

He glanced at me.

“I have something to handle.”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

Of course.

He was engaged.

They were preparing for a child.

Whatever happened six years ago no longer mattered.

After he hung up, I placed the water before him.

“You should leave.”

He didn’t move.

“Are you chasing me away?”

“Your fiancée is waiting.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Fiancée?”

“I saw you together at obstetrics.”

For some reason, his expression became strange.

But he didn’t explain.

Why would he?

I wasn’t entitled to an explanation.

Eventually, he left.

Before stepping through the door, he looked back at Nhat Nhat once.

That single glance kept me awake all night.

The next morning, I received a call from my mother.

“Your father knows you’re back.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“How?”

“Someone saw you at the hospital.”

I closed my eyes.

Six years abroad.

Six years avoiding this city.

Yet within forty-eight hours of returning, everything I feared was finding me.

My mother lowered her voice.

“Jian Yu, he still refuses to acknowledge the child.”

“I don’t need him to.”

“But you’re struggling.”

“I can work.”

“And Nhat Nhat?”

I looked toward my daughter.

She was sitting on the floor assembling a puzzle.

“I’ll take care of her.”

My mother sighed.

“Back then, if you had told Giang Du Bach the truth—”

“Mom.”

She stopped.

“Never mention that name in front of Nhat Nhat.”

I ended the call.

When I turned around, my daughter was staring at me.

“Mommy.”

“Yes?”

“Who is Giang Du Bach?”

My heart almost stopped.

“Nobody.”

She tilted her head.

“Was that uncle yesterday?”

“No.”

Children were terrifyingly observant.

Luckily, the doorbell rang.

I opened it.

Ha Dich stood outside.

I nearly cried from relief.

“You finally arrived.”

He entered with two suitcases and immediately crouched beside Nhat Nhat.

“My little princess!”

“Uncle Ha!”

She threw herself at him.

Behind me, a cold voice suddenly sounded.

“So that’s Ha Dich.”

I went rigid.

Giang Du Bach stood at the end of the hallway.

He held a small bag of children’s medicine.

His gaze moved from Ha Dich…

to Nhat Nhat…

then finally to me.

Ha Dich stood.

The two men stared at each other.

Six years ago, they had met once.

That meeting had nearly ended in a fight.

Ha Dich smiled first.

“Long time no see.”

Giang Du Bach didn’t return the greeting.

Instead, he looked at Nhat Nhat.

“She calls you uncle?”

My blood ran cold.

Ha Dich glanced at me.

That one glance was enough.

Giang Du Bach saw it.

His expression changed.

“Didn’t you tell me she was Ha Dich’s daughter?”

“I…”

He stepped closer.

“Why does his own daughter call him uncle?”

Ha Dich immediately moved between us.

“Giang Du Bach.”

“Stay out of it.”

“She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”

Giang Du Bach laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“Then you explain.”

Ha Dich became silent.

Worst possible response.

Giang Du Bach looked at me again.

“How old is she?”

I said nothing.

“When is her birthday?”

“Stop asking.”

“Jian Yu.”

His voice trembled for the first time.

“Look at me.”

I couldn’t.

He calculated silently.

Six years since our breakup.

A five-year-old child.

Depending on the months…

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t.”

He stepped toward the apartment.

“I want to see her birth certificate.”

“You have no right!”

That stopped him.

His face went pale.

“No right?”

I realized too late what I had revealed.

If Nhat Nhat truly belonged to another man, I would have laughed at his suspicion.

Instead, I was terrified.

Ha Dich sighed.

“Jian Yu, you can’t hide this forever.”

I turned on him.

“Don’t.”

But Nhat Nhat came running from the living room.

“Mommy?”

Everyone became silent.

Giang Du Bach stared at her.

This time, really stared.

At her eyebrows.

Her nose.

The tiny mole near her ear.

Then his face changed.

He slowly touched his own left ear.

I knew what he had noticed.

The same tiny mole.

Same position.

Same shape.

Nhat Nhat looked curiously at him.

“Uncle, why are you crying?”

I turned sharply.

Giang Du Bach wasn’t crying.

Not quite.

But his eyes were red.

He crouched in front of her.

“What month were you born?”

“Nhat Nhat.”

I tried to stop her.

But she happily answered.

“October!”

His eyes closed.

October.

Exactly eight months after I disappeared.

He stood.

“Jian Yu.”

I had never heard my name spoken like that.

Not with anger.

With devastation.

“You were pregnant when you left.”

I couldn’t answer.

He understood anyway.

His breathing became uneven.

“You told me you loved Ha Dich.”

Silence.

“You told me you were leaving the country to marry him.”

My eyes burned.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because there was no other way.”

His expression turned almost frightening.

“No other way?”

He pointed toward our daughter.

“You disappeared carrying my child and decided there was no other way?”

I finally snapped.

“Because your life depended on it!”

The hallway went silent.

Giang Du Bach stopped breathing.

Ha Dich closed his eyes.

I immediately regretted saying it.

But it was too late.

Giang Du Bach stared at me.

“What did you just say?”

I stepped backward.

“Nothing.”

He caught my wrist, then immediately loosened his grip as if afraid of hurting me.

“Six years ago, what happened?”

I shook my head.

“Go home.”

“To whom?”

I stared at him.

“Your fiancée.”

His expression suddenly became blank.

Then, incredibly, he laughed.

“Su Man?”

“You were leaving obstetrics together.”

“She is my cousin.”

My mind emptied.

“What?”

“She was pregnant. Her husband was parking the car.”

I couldn’t speak.

Giang Du Bach looked directly at me.

“I am not engaged.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“But…”

“I’ve never been engaged.”

His next words were quieter.

“I haven’t dated anyone since you left.”

My chest hurt.

No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

For six years, I had survived by believing he had moved on.

Ha Dich suddenly spoke.

“Jian Yu.”

I turned.

He looked exhausted.

“He deserves to know.”

“No.”

“Especially now.”

Giang Du Bach immediately caught those words.

“Know what?”

Neither of us answered.

Then Nhat Nhat appeared again.

This time she was holding an old metal box.

“Mommy, this fell down.”

My face drained of color.

I rushed toward her.

Too late.

The lid opened.

Medical records scattered across the floor.

Giang Du Bach bent down before I could stop him.

He picked up the oldest document.

Six years old.

My name was printed at the top.

Below it was another name.

His.

And beneath that, a line that had haunted me every day since I left him.

Giang Du Bach read it.

Then read it again.

When he finally raised his head, all the anger had disappeared.

Only shock remained.

“What does this mean?”

I couldn’t answer.

Because the document wasn’t Nhat Nhat’s birth certificate.

It was a hospital genetic report from six years ago.

And according to that report, if I had stayed with Giang Du Bach…

he might not have lived long enough to see our daughter born.