Tran Thuoc stood beside the bed, looking down at me as if I were the one who had betrayed him.

—What else do you want me to do?

I looked at the man who had held a wedding for me two days earlier, then legally married another woman the next morning.

Strangely, I felt calm.

—I don’t want you to do anything.

He frowned.

—What does that mean?

—Exactly what I said.

I pulled my hand from his.

—You chose your legal wife. I accept your choice.

His expression softened, apparently misunderstanding me.

—I knew you would understand eventually.

He reached toward my hair.

I moved away.

—Don’t touch me.

His hand stopped.

For the first time, something uneasy appeared in his eyes.

—Van Van?

I pushed myself upright despite the pain twisting through my abdomen.

—I’m tired. Please leave.

—This is our wedding home.

—Then sleep somewhere else tonight.

His face darkened.

—You’re still angry.

I almost laughed.

Even now, he believed this was anger.

He didn’t know that while he had been accompanying Tinh Di, I had been lying beneath hospital lights making a decision that ended the future he had planned for me.

Tran Thuoc stared at me for several seconds before grabbing his jacket.

—Fine. Calm down tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Before leaving, he placed the chestnut cakes beside me.

—Remember to eat.

The door closed.

I looked at the peanut crumbs printed clearly on the ingredients label.

After seven years together, he had forgotten my allergies.

But he remembered every preference of Truong Tinh Di.

I threw the box into the trash.

Then I opened my suitcase.

This time, I forced myself to continue packing.

Passport.

Bank cards.

Laptop.

Clothes.

The jewelry my mother left me.

Finally, I removed the wedding ring.

I placed it directly beneath our wedding photograph.

At dawn, I left.

I didn’t tell Tran Thuoc where I was going.

I didn’t need to.

Three hours later, my phone began vibrating.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Then messages.

“Van Van, where are you?”

“Why are your clothes gone?”

“Answer me.”

“Stop making trouble.”

The final message came almost an hour later.

“Come home. We’ll discuss this properly.”

I blocked him.

Then I changed my flight.

Instead of returning to my hometown, I booked a ticket to another city where an old university friend had offered me a position months earlier.

I had rejected it because Tran Thuoc wanted us to “build our family first.”

There was no family left to build.

By afternoon, I was already at the airport when an unfamiliar number called.

I answered.

Tran Lam’s voice exploded through the phone.

—To Tieu Van! Where are you?

I remained silent.

—My brother just came to the hospital looking for you!

My fingers tightened around the phone.

So he knew.

Tran Lam continued:

—Director Luu refused to tell him anything because of patient confidentiality, but he saw your name on yesterday’s discharge records.

I closed my eyes.

—That’s not my problem.

—Do you understand what you’ve done?

Her voice trembled.

—That was the Tran family’s first grandchild!

I looked through the airport window at the aircraft waiting outside.

—No.

My voice was quiet.

—That was my child.

She went silent.

—And I refused to let my child become payment for a relationship where another woman received the marriage certificate and I received promises.

—My brother loves you!

—Then he should learn that love without respect isn’t enough.

I hung up.

Ten minutes later, boarding began.

I thought I had escaped before Tran Thuoc could find me.

Then someone shouted my name.

—TO TIEU VAN!

The entire boarding area seemed to freeze.

I turned around.

Tran Thuoc was running toward me.

His shirt was wrinkled.

His hair was disordered.

I’d never seen him look like that.

Two security officers stopped him before he could reach the gate.

—Van Van!

I didn’t move.

His eyes dropped toward my abdomen.

Then toward my face.

—Tell me it isn’t true.

I said nothing.

His voice cracked.

—Tell me you didn’t do it.

People nearby were staring.

I walked closer, stopping on the other side of the barrier.

—You registered your marriage with Tinh Di.

His eyes reddened.

—That has nothing to do with our child!

—It had everything to do with me.

—I told you I would divorce her!

—When?

He froze.

—When she feels better? Next month? Next year? Five years from now?

—Van Van—

—And until then, what was I supposed to be?

He couldn’t answer.

So I answered for him.

—Your unofficial wife carrying the Tran family’s grandchild while your legal wife enjoyed the title.

His face turned pale.

—I never thought of you that way.

—That doesn’t make it better.

The boarding announcement sounded behind me.

Tran Thuoc suddenly struggled against security.

—Don’t go.

I looked at him.

For seven years, I had imagined those words would always be enough.

They weren’t anymore.

—Take care of your wife.

Then I turned around.

His voice followed me.

—Van Van! I only married her because she saved you!

I stopped.

Something about those words bothered me.

I turned back.

—Saved me?

—The accident three years ago.

His breathing was ragged.

—Tinh Di was injured helping you. That’s why she lost her uterus. I owe her.

I stared at him.

Three years ago.

The accident.

For years, everyone in the Tran family had repeated the same story.

Tinh Di had supposedly pushed me away from an approaching car.

She was injured.

I survived.

And because of complications, she eventually underwent a hysterectomy.

That debt had followed me ever since.

I had accepted every insult because of it.

But that morning, before leaving the hospital, Director Luu had said something strange.

She had asked:

“Who told you Miss Truong lost her uterus because of that accident?”

At the time, I had been too exhausted to question it.

Now my heart suddenly began beating faster.

—Tran Thuoc.

He looked at me desperately.

—What?

—Have you ever actually seen Tinh Di’s medical records?

He froze.

Just for a second.

But I saw it.

—Her family showed us documents.

—Her family?

He frowned.

—What are you trying to say?

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.

A message from Director Luu.

“Miss To, I debated whether I should contact you.”

Below it was a photograph of an old medical document.

I enlarged it.

The date was clearly visible.

My hands went cold.

Truong Tinh Di’s hysterectomy had not happened after the accident three years ago.

It had happened almost five years earlier.

Two years before she ever “saved” me.

I slowly raised my eyes toward Tran Thuoc.

He was still standing behind security, completely unaware that the reason he’d used to justify marrying another woman had just collapsed.

My phone vibrated again.

Director Luu sent one final message.

“There is something else about that accident you need to know.”

And beneath those words was the name of the doctor who had altered the original report.

Tran Lam.

Tran Thuoc’s biological sister.