Three days after Quy Lam Uyen walked out of my hospital room, he never came back.
Not once.
I heard from a nurse that To Ngoc Kien had also been admitted to a private hospital across the city.
That explained everything.
While I recovered from losing our child, my husband was probably sitting beside another woman’s bed.
Strangely, I no longer felt jealous.
Some pain, once it reaches its limit, becomes silence.
On the fourth morning, I called a lawyer.
“I want a divorce.”
The lawyer hesitated.
“Mrs. Quy, are you certain?”
“My name is Luc Hy Hoa.”
I looked through the rain-streaked window.
“And yes, I’m certain.”
By afternoon, the documents were ready.
I signed every page without trembling.
Then I called my former professor.
Before marrying Quy Lam Uyen, I had worked in pharmaceutical research.
I had abandoned an overseas fellowship because he said long-distance relationships never survived.
At the time, I thought choosing him meant choosing our future.
Now I understood that I had simply abandoned mine.
“Professor Tran,” I said, “does the research position in Singapore still exist?”
There was silence.
Then came a surprised laugh.
“You rejected me three years ago.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m asking whether you’ll give me another chance.”
His answer came immediately.
“Come back.”
For the first time since the hospital, I cried.
Not because of Quy Lam Uyen.
Because somewhere beyond this ruined marriage, a version of my life was still waiting.
Quy Bach Nien arrived that evening.
When he saw the divorce agreement, his face changed.
“Hy Hoa…”
“Dad, please don’t persuade me.”
He sat silently.
After a long time, he nodded.
“I won’t.”
I looked at him in surprise.
He sighed.
“If you forgive him because you still love him, I have no right to stop you.”
His eyes hardened.
“But if you remain because of the Quy family name, then this family doesn’t deserve you.”
My throat tightened.
I pushed the bank card back toward him.
“I really can’t take this.”
He pushed it toward me again.
“This isn’t payment for your suffering.”
He paused.
“Consider it a gift from an old man who once truly hoped you would become his daughter.”
I finally accepted it.
Before leaving, he asked:
“When are you going?”
“Next week.”
“Does Lam Uyen know?”
“No.”
“Will you tell him?”
I shook my head.
“He didn’t tell me before ordering his men to keep me outside in the rain.”
My voice remained calm.
“So I don’t owe him a farewell.”
I was discharged two days later.
Instead of returning to the Quy villa, I went to my parents’ old apartment.
I packed only what belonged to me.
Passport.
Certificates.
Research files.
A few photographs.
And the tiny pair of baby socks I had bought before everything happened.
I held them for a long time.
Then carefully placed them inside my suitcase.
Some losses shouldn’t be erased.
They should remind us why we never return.
That evening, my phone finally rang.
Quy Lam Uyen.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
Then answered.
“Where are you?”
No greeting.
No apology.
Just the same commanding voice.
“I was discharged.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I almost laughed.
“Were you waiting for news?”
Silence.
Then he said impatiently:
“Ngoc Kien’s condition has only just stabilized. I’ve been busy.”
“Congratulations.”
“Luc Hy Hoa.”
His voice darkened.
“Don’t speak like that.”
“Then don’t call.”
I was about to hang up when he suddenly said:
“Come home tomorrow.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I won’t return to the Quy villa.”
He seemed genuinely stunned.
“Stop making trouble.”
“I sent the divorce agreement to your office.”
Silence.
For several seconds, I thought the call had disconnected.
Then his voice returned.
Dangerously quiet.
“You want a divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Because I made you kneel for two days?”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
He still said it as if it had been some trivial punishment.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because afterward, I finally saw you clearly.”
He breathed heavily.
“You’re emotional because of the child.”
“Don’t mention my child.”
“It was mine too.”
I closed my eyes.
“Was it?”
He fell silent.
“When your father told you the baby was gone, what did you say?”
No answer.
So I repeated his own words.
“‘If it’s gone, that’s fine. Ngoc Kien and I can still have children.’”
His breathing stopped.
“Hy Hoa…”
“That was the moment our marriage ended.”
I hung up.
The next morning, Quy Lam Uyen appeared outside my apartment.
He pounded on the door.
“Luc Hy Hoa!”
I didn’t open it.
“I know you’re inside.”
Nothing.
“Open the door. We’ll talk.”
Still nothing.
Finally, I heard his voice change.
“Hy Hoa…”
For the first time, there was something unfamiliar in it.
Panic.
But I was already gone.
My flight had departed three hours earlier.
The apartment was empty.
The suitcase was gone.
My phone number had been deactivated.
And on the dining table lay only the divorce papers and my wedding ring.
Six months later.
Singapore.
I stood inside a bright laboratory, reviewing clinical data on a new cardiovascular drug.
“Dr. Luc?”
I turned.
A young researcher handed me a file.
“The European team approved the next trial phase.”
I smiled.
“Good. Schedule the meeting.”
My life had become busy again.
But this time, the exhaustion belonged to something I had chosen.
I rented a small apartment overlooking the river.
I learned to eat alone without feeling lonely.
I learned to sleep without waiting for footsteps.
Most importantly, I remembered who Luc Hy Hoa had been before becoming Mrs. Quy.
Then, one rainy afternoon, my assistant entered.
“Dr. Luc, someone is waiting downstairs.”
“Who?”
“He says his surname is Quy.”
My hand stopped.
For one irrational second, I thought of Lam Uyen.
But when I reached the lobby, it wasn’t him.
It was Quy Bach Nien.
He looked older.
Much older.
“Dad?”
His eyes reddened when he saw me.
“Hy Hoa.”
I hurried toward him.
“Why are you here?”
Instead of answering, he handed me a thick envelope.
“There’s something you need to know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“About the night Lam Uyen ordered you to kneel outside.”
I stared at him.
His expression became grave.
“Ngoc Kien lied.”
I didn’t speak.
“She wasn’t in danger that night.”
He opened the envelope.
Inside were medical records, surveillance photographs and several printed messages.
“She deliberately provoked you, then told Lam Uyen you had threatened her.”
My hands turned cold.
“I already knew she manipulated him.”
“No.”
Quy Bach Nien shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
He pulled out another document.
“It wasn’t simply about taking Lam Uyen away from you.”
I looked down.
It was a medical report dated weeks before I lost my baby.
To Ngoc Kien’s name appeared at the top.
I frowned.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Keep reading.”
Halfway down the page, I froze.
Ngoc Kien had never been pregnant.
There had been no pregnancy complication caused by me.
No threatened premature labor.
Nothing.
The entire reason Quy Lam Uyen used to punish me had been fabricated.
My fingers trembled.
But Quy Bach Nien still looked troubled.
“There is more.”
“What more?”
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Ngoc Kien meeting one of the bodyguards who had watched me during those two days in the rain.
The timestamp was from the evening before my punishment began.
I slowly raised my eyes.
“Why was she meeting him?”
“That is what I’ve been investigating.”
His voice dropped.
“The bodyguard disappeared three months ago.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“And before he disappeared, he transferred a large sum of money to his mother’s account.”
“From Ngoc Kien?”
“No.”
Quy Bach Nien’s face turned pale.
“The money came from an account belonging to someone inside the Quy family.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
Before he could answer, a familiar voice came from behind me.
“My father doesn’t need to tell you.”
Every muscle in my body stiffened.
I turned.
Quy Lam Uyen stood at the entrance.
But the arrogant man I remembered was gone.
He looked exhausted, thinner, almost unrecognizable.
And in his hand was another folder.
He walked toward us and placed it on the table.
His eyes never left mine.
“I found the person who paid the bodyguard.”
I didn’t touch the folder.
“Who?”
His jaw tightened.
Then he whispered a name.
A name that made Quy Bach Nien rise abruptly from his chair.
A name I had never expected to hear.
Because the person behind what happened that night wasn’t To Ngoc Kien.
It was someone far closer to the Quy family.
And suddenly I understood that my lost child might never have been an accident at all.
