My promotion changed something.

Not in the company.

At home.

That evening, Chau Huc returned earlier than usual with a cake in his hand.

—Congratulations.

I looked at it.

My favorite flavor.

Before, I would have hugged him.

This time I simply said:

—Thank you.

His smile disappeared.

That night became the 183rd night we slept separately.

And that was why he finally cried.

Standing behind the sofa, Chau Huc asked:

—Tham Thanh, how long do you want to live like this?

I turned off the television.

For the first time in six months, I looked directly at him.

His eyes were red.

—Until tomorrow.

He froze.

—What?

I walked into the study and returned with an envelope.

I placed it on the table.

Divorce agreement.

His face turned white.

—No.

He didn’t even open it.

—I won’t sign.

—You should read it first.

—I said no!

His voice shook the room.

I remained calm.

—The apartment is yours. The car is mine. Our savings are divided according to contribution. There are no children, so the procedure should be simple.

Chau Huc stared at me as though I had struck him.

—Why?

I almost laughed.

After 183 days, he still asked why.

I went to the bedroom.

From beneath the mattress, I removed the jewelry box.

When I returned and placed it in front of him, his expression changed immediately.

That reaction told me more than any explanation could.

I opened the box.

The star necklace lay inside.

Z&L.

—Explain.

Chau Huc stared at it.

Then, unexpectedly, he looked confused.

—Where did you find this?

—Under our mattress.

He picked it up.

—This isn’t mine.

I said nothing.

He looked at the engraving.

Then his face darkened.

—You think this belongs to Lieu Ninh?

—Doesn’t it?

—No.

—Then what about the messages?

His head snapped toward me.

I opened my laptop.

The screenshots appeared.

Three months of deleted conversations.

Training clothes.

Private meetings.

“See you tomorrow.”

His face gradually lost color.

But what surprised me was that he didn’t look guilty.

He looked horrified.

—Where did you get these?

—Your computer.

Chau Huc grabbed the laptop.

He scrolled rapidly.

Then suddenly stopped.

—Tham Thanh.

His voice became very low.

—These aren’t my messages.

I felt exhausted.

—Enough.

—Listen to me.

—I’ve spent six months listening to silence.

I pointed toward the divorce agreement.

—Now sign.

He suddenly caught my wrist, then immediately released it when he saw me flinch.

That tiny movement seemed to destroy him.

—I never betrayed you.

I looked at him.

—Then who were you speaking to on the balcony?

Silence.

His eyes changed.

Finally.

There it was.

The thing he had been hiding.

—Lieu Ninh.

I smiled bitterly.

—Thank you.

—Not like that.

He rubbed his face.

—She contacted me because of an internal investigation.

I frowned.

Chau Huc walked to a locked cabinet and removed a military folder.

He hesitated before placing it before me.

—Six months ago, confidential exercise data started leaking from our unit.

I stared at him.

—What does that have to do with your relationship with her?

—Lieu Ninh was assigned to counterintelligence support.

He opened the folder.

Several names were blacked out.

—We suspected someone was using officers’ families and personal devices to obtain information.

I remembered the balcony call.

“It seems like she realized something.”

“Don’t actively look for me this time.”

My stomach tightened.

—Then what did that mean?

Chau Huc closed his eyes.

—You noticed her getting too close to me.

—So?

—She was deliberately behaving that way because we believed someone was watching.

I stared at him.

—And the flowers?

—Part of the cover.

—The messages?

—Not mine.

He turned the laptop toward me.

—Look at the timestamps.

I didn’t want to.

But I did.

Several messages had been sent while Chau Huc and I were together.

One was timestamped during my mother’s birthday dinner.

I remembered clearly.

His phone had been on the table beside mine the entire evening.

My certainty cracked.

Only slightly.

Not enough.

—Even if that’s true, you lied to me for six months.

—I couldn’t tell you about the investigation.

—You could tell me you weren’t betraying me.

His lips parted.

No answer came.

That silence was enough.

I pushed the agreement toward him.

—That’s the problem, Chau Huc.

—You watched your wife move into another room.

—You watched me stop touching you.

—You watched our marriage disappear for 183 days.

My voice finally trembled.

—And you still chose secrecy.

Tears appeared in his eyes again.

—I thought the operation would end quickly.

—Our marriage ended faster.

He lowered his head.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Then his military phone rang.

Chau Huc answered.

His expression changed immediately.

—When?

He listened.

Then looked at me.

—Understood.

He ended the call.

—Lieu Ninh has been detained.

I froze.

—Why?

—Unauthorized access to restricted systems.

A strange chill moved through me.

Chau Huc grabbed his jacket.

Before leaving, he stopped beside the table.

—I won’t ask you to believe me tonight.

His eyes fell on the divorce papers.

—But give me until tomorrow.

The door closed.

I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, someone knocked.

Not Chau Huc.

Two military investigators stood outside.

One held an evidence bag.

Inside was a small star necklace.

Exactly like the one in my bedroom.

Z&L.

My heartbeat slowed.

—Mrs. Chau, we need to ask where you obtained the necklace in your apartment.

I told them.

The older investigator exchanged a look with his colleague.

—There’s a problem.

—What problem?

He placed a photograph on the table.

Lieu Ninh was wearing the identical necklace.

My fingers became cold.

—There are two?

—Yes.

Then he showed me another photograph.

The second necklace belonged to a man I had never seen.

The engraving wasn’t romantic initials.

Z&L was the designation of the operation they were investigating.

I sat completely still.

The investigator continued:

—The necklace found in your home contains a storage chip.

My breathing stopped.

—A chip?

—With classified material copied from your husband’s unit.

The room seemed to tilt.

—Why was it in my bedroom?

Neither investigator answered immediately.

Then the younger one asked:

—Mrs. Chau, who besides you and your husband has access to your apartment?

I thought.

Family.

The cleaner.

Occasionally my mother.

Then I remembered something.

Three months earlier, while Chau Huc was away training, someone from his unit had come to deliver documents.

A woman.

Neat uniform.

Calm smile.

Lieu Ninh.

But before I could answer, the investigator placed one final page before me.

—There’s something else.

It was a surveillance photograph.

Lieu Ninh was entering my apartment building.

But she wasn’t alone.

Beside her stood someone I recognized instantly.

My newly transferred department director.

The man whose vacant position had resulted in my promotion.

My promotion suddenly didn’t feel like a reward.

It felt planned.

The investigator looked directly at me.

—Mrs. Chau, we no longer believe your husband was the primary target.

I couldn’t speak.

He continued:

—We believe you were.

And suddenly the last 183 days looked completely different.

Someone hadn’t merely tried to make me believe Chau Huc was unfaithful.

Someone had deliberately pushed our marriage apart while placing classified evidence inside our home.

And if Chau Huc was telling the truth, the woman I had blamed for destroying my marriage might only be one piece of something far larger.

My phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Director Tham.”

A second message followed.

“Now open your office drawer.”

I stared at the screen.

Because I had never given this number to anyone at my new department.

And I was suddenly certain of one thing.

The 184th day of our separation wasn’t going to begin with a divorce.

It was going to begin with discovering who had spent six months making sure I asked for one.