The slap landed before I could protect myself.

My head snapped sideways.

For several seconds, I heard nothing except the ringing in my ears.

I was three months pregnant.

My first instinct wasn’t to touch my face.

It was to protect my stomach.

I covered it with both hands and took two steps backward.

Tieu Bac Thanh froze.

Perhaps only then did he remember that I was carrying his child.

But Dao Hong Tuyet was already crying behind him.

“Brother Tieu, don’t fight because of me. I’ll return the house. I’ll sleep on the street if I have to.”

She turned as if she really intended to leave.

Tieu Bac Thanh immediately grabbed her arm.

“Stop talking nonsense.”

Then he looked at me.

His voice became cold again.

“Thanh Thanh, apologize.”

I tasted blood inside my mouth.

“No.”

His expression darkened.

“The money can be earned again.”

“My mother gave me that dowry.”

“I’ll repay it.”

“When?”

He said nothing.

I laughed bitterly.

“You don’t even send your salary home.”

His jaw tightened.

“I already explained. There are families of fallen comrades who need help.”

I pointed at Dao Hong Tuyet.

“Then why does all your help end up at her door?”

Silence.

That silence gave me my answer.

I went home alone.

That night, I packed my clothes.

My mother cried when she saw my swollen face.

My father said nothing for a long time.

Then he took out the wooden box where he kept our household documents.

“Come home,” he said.

Just two words.

I cried harder than I had after the slap.

I did not divorce Tieu Bac Thanh immediately.

It was 1981.

Divorce wasn’t a small matter, especially for a pregnant woman married to a soldier.

People advised me to endure.

They said men valued loyalty between comrades.

They said Dao Hong Tuyet had lost her husband.

They said I still had my husband, so I should be generous.

No one seemed to understand that I had a husband only on paper.

Then, five months later, when I was eight months pregnant, my mother’s family sent me one hundred eggs.

In those days, one hundred eggs were not a casual gift.

My mother had collected them little by little.

She told me:

“Hide them carefully. After you give birth, eat two every day. Your body will need strength.”

I placed the basket under my bed.

The next morning, it was gone.

For a moment, I thought someone had broken into the house.

I checked the door.

The windows.

The cupboard.

Nothing else was missing.

I was already preparing to report the theft when Tieu Bac Thanh returned.

When I told him, he frowned.

“Don’t go to the police.”

“Why?”

“I took them.”

I stared at him.

“All one hundred?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

He answered as if it were obvious.

“I sent them to the family of a fallen comrade.”

My hands began trembling.

“Which family?”

He looked away.

And I knew.

Still, I forced him to say it.

“Dao Hong Tuyet.”

Something inside me broke.

Not loudly.

There was no screaming this time.

No ashtray thrown against the wall.

No tears.

Just a quiet break.

Like a thread finally snapping after being pulled for too long.

I sat down.

Those eggs had been meant for me after childbirth.

For his wife.

For the woman carrying his child.

My mother had walked from village to village exchanging ration coupons and favors to collect them.

And he had taken every one.

For Dao Hong Tuyet.

I asked quietly:

“Does she know they were mine?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation was enough.

I nodded.

“All right.”

Tieu Bac Thanh frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Perhaps my calmness unsettled him.

He started explaining.

“Hong Tuyet’s health has been poor. She has no husband to care for her. You’re a teacher. Your parents are nearby. You have people helping you.”

I looked at him.

“So because I have someone who loves me, you think you can keep taking from me to give to her?”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“I understand them perfectly.”

That evening, I wrote a letter.

Not to him.

To his unit.

I listed everything.

My missing savings book.

The 1,800 dong.

The house purchased for Dao Hong Tuyet.

The slap while I was pregnant.

And finally, the hundred eggs.

I did not accuse him of having an affair.

I didn’t need to.

I asked only one question:

Was a soldier permitted to take his pregnant wife’s private property without consent and transfer it repeatedly to one particular woman under the name of supporting a martyr’s family?

Three weeks later, two officers arrived.

Tieu Bac Thanh came with them.

For the first time since our marriage, he looked nervous.

One officer placed documents on the table.

They had investigated.

Tieu Bac Thanh had indeed sent money to several families over the years.

But the amounts were small.

Five dong.

Ten.

Occasionally twenty.

Dao Hong Tuyet was different.

Hundreds.

Then the house.

Then food.

Clothing.

Medicine.

And my eggs.

His superior looked at him.

“Comrade Tieu, helping a fallen comrade’s widow is honorable.”

Then his voice hardened.

“Using your wife’s dowry without permission is not.”

Tieu Bac Thanh lowered his head.

He was ordered to repay the money.

The house became more complicated, but my contribution had to be recognized.

I didn’t care anymore.

I had already made my decision.

“I want a divorce.”

Tieu Bac Thanh looked up sharply.

“You’re about to give birth.”

“Yes.”

“You want my child born into a broken family?”

I almost laughed.

“This family broke long before the child was born.”

He came to see me that night.

For once, Dao Hong Tuyet wasn’t with him.

He placed his salary envelope on the table.

“Keep it.”

I pushed it back.

“Too late.”

“Thanh Thanh.”

It was the first time in years that he said my name gently.

I hated how much that gentleness once would have meant to me.

“I know I went too far.”

“You hit me.”

His face stiffened.

“I was angry.”

“You stole my dowry.”

“I intended to repay it.”

“You took food my mother prepared for my recovery.”

He said nothing.

I looked at him.

“And every time you had to choose between your wife and Dao Hong Tuyet, you chose her.”

“Lao La died saving me.”

There it was.

The sentence that excused everything.

I nodded.

“Then spend your life repaying him.”

His eyes changed.

“But don’t use my life to do it.”

Two weeks later, I gave birth to a son.

Tieu Bac Thanh did not arrive in time.

Training, they told me.

Perhaps it was true.

By then, I no longer cared.

My mother held my hand.

My father waited outside all night.

When my son finally cried, I cried too.

Not because his father wasn’t there.

Because I realized we had survived without him.

The divorce was finalized six months later.

Tieu Bac Thanh resisted at first.

Then he tried apologizing.

Then he involved relatives.

Finally, he offered to transfer almost his entire allowance to me if I stayed.

I refused.

Money had never been the real problem.

It was the belief behind everything he had done.

That my sacrifice required no permission.

That because I was his wife, my money was available.

My food was available.

My patience was available.

My dignity was available.

Even my mother’s hundred eggs were available.

Years passed.

I remained a teacher.

Later, I became vice principal.

My son grew into a boy who loved books and hated boiled eggs, which my mother found deeply offensive.

One winter afternoon, when he was seven, Tieu Bac Thanh came to the school.

His uniform had more decorations now.

His face had more lines.

He waited outside my office.

“I’ve been transferred back,” he said.

“Congratulations.”

He looked around.

“You’ve done well.”

“Yes.”

Then he asked:

“Are you remarried?”

“No.”

Something almost hopeful appeared in his eyes.

I recognized it immediately.

So I ended it before it could grow.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting.”

His face fell.

He nodded.

Then he handed me a basket.

Eggs.

Exactly one hundred.

I stared at them.

“I’ve owed you these for years.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I took the basket.

Not because one hundred eggs could repay a marriage.

Not because I forgave everything.

I took it because debts should be settled.

That evening, my son and I carried the basket to three elderly women in our neighborhood who lived alone.

We divided the eggs among them.

My son looked confused.

“Mom, weren’t these yours?”

“Yes.”

“Then why give them away?”

I smiled and took his hand.

“Because they are mine.”

He still didn’t understand.

But I did.

There is a difference between having something taken from you and choosing to give it away.

Years earlier, Tieu Bac Thanh had never understood that difference.

It cost him his wife.

And one hundred eggs taught me something far more valuable:

Kindness given freely is generosity.

Sacrifice demanded without consent is only another form of theft.