At two in the morning, I finished writing the timeline.

Not because I wanted revenge.

Because for the first time in five years, I was afraid that if I didn’t write everything down, I would eventually convince myself that I had imagined it.

April 3.

He missed Nien Nien’s vaccination because To Man’s car broke down.

May 17.

He left our family dinner because To Man was “having a difficult night.”

June 9.

He forgot my birthday.

But at eleven fifty-three that night, he transferred money to a jewelry store.

Two days later, To Man posted a new bracelet.

I stared at the screen.

Then I stopped.

There was no point continuing.

My daughter stirred in bed.

Her cheeks were burning.

I touched her forehead.

Still hot.

This time, I didn’t call Ly Minh Trach.

I called the hotel reception.

Twenty minutes later, a car took us to the hospital.

Nien Nien had a respiratory infection.

The doctor said she needed observation and fluids because she was becoming dehydrated.

I sat beside her bed until sunrise.

At seven fourteen, Ly Minh Trach finally sent me a message.

“Meeting finished. Don’t make a big deal out of a fever.”

I read it.

Then deleted our chat history.

Something inside me became very quiet.

At nine, I called my former professor.

Professor Zhou had been my mentor when I studied architecture.

Three years earlier, he had offered me a place at his design institute.

I rejected it because Ly Minh Trach said Nien Nien was too young.

This time, when he answered, I asked only one question.

—Professor, does your previous offer still count?

He was silent for several seconds.

Then he said:

—Tham Nian, I’ve been waiting five years for you to ask me that.

I closed my eyes.

—Then I’m coming back.

Two days later, Nien Nien’s fever disappeared.

I changed our return tickets.

Not to the home I shared with Ly Minh Trach.

To Hangzhou.

My parents lived there.

Before leaving Sanya, I went downstairs alone and canceled the anniversary dinner.

The restaurant manager asked whether I wanted to move the reservation to another date.

I looked at the table beside the window.

Two adult chairs.

One small children’s chair.

White candles.

Flowers.

The cake I’d ordered said:

“Five Years, Still Us.”

I stared at those words for a long time.

Then I said:

—No.

—There won’t be another date.

I left the cake behind.

For the first three days after returning to Hangzhou, Ly Minh Trach didn’t notice.

On the fourth day, he sent:

“Are you still angry?”

I didn’t answer.

On the sixth:

“When are you returning? Mom wants you to take her for her physical examination.”

That message almost made me laugh.

Not:

“How is Nien Nien?”

Not:

“Did her fever go down?”

His mother needed a driver.

So he remembered his wife.

I forwarded the message to my lawyer.

On the seventh day, divorce papers were prepared.

On the eighth, I signed them.

On the ninth, Ly Minh Trach finally returned to Shanghai.

He entered the house around ten at night.

The lights were off.

No children’s toys in the living room.

No slippers beside the door.

No smell of soup from the kitchen.

He called toward the stairs.

—Nian Nian?

Nobody answered.

The housekeeper came out.

Ly Minh Trach loosened his tie.

—Madam hasn’t returned yet?

The housekeeper hesitated.

—No, sir.

He frowned.

—Then call her.

—We can’t contact her.

His hand stopped.

—What do you mean?

—Madam changed her number.

For the first time in nine days, Ly Minh Trach panicked.

He called my old number himself.

Disconnected.

He opened WeChat.

Account unavailable.

Then he finally remembered the seventeen messages I’d sent from the airport.

And the thirty-seven calls.

He scrolled upward.

“Where are you?”

“Nien Nien is sick.”

“She has a fever.”

“38.7.”

“Please answer.”

Then his own reply.

“I told you not to bother me.”

He stared at those words for a very long time.

The next morning, he drove straight to my parents’ house in Hangzhou.

My father didn’t let him through the gate.

—Dad, I need to see Nian Nian.

My father looked at him coldly.

—Don’t call me Dad.

Ly Minh Trach swallowed.

—Then at least let me see my daughter.

—When she had a fever of nearly thirty-nine degrees, she called for you all night.

My father’s voice remained calm.

—Where were you?

Ly Minh Trach had no answer.

Because I had already sent the screenshots to my lawyer.

To Man’s sunset dinner.

His car.

My anniversary present sitting unopened beside her.

His message telling me not to disturb him.

Everything.

Three days later, he received the divorce agreement.

He called from a new number.

I answered once.

—Nian Nian.

His voice sounded exhausted.

—Come home.

—I am home.

Silence.

—I can explain To Man.

—There’s nothing left to explain.

—Nothing happened between us.

I looked through the glass wall of my new office.

My name had just been placed beside the door.

Tham Nian.

Senior Architect.

For the first time in years, someone had introduced me using my own profession instead of:

“General Director Ly’s wife.”

I said:

—Maybe you never slept with her.

—But you gave her the time, concern and attention that belonged to your family.

He stopped breathing for a moment.

—That’s still betrayal, Minh Trach.

His voice broke.

—I didn’t know you felt this way.

I almost smiled.

—I called you thirty-seven times.

What else was I supposed to do?

Scream louder?

He said nothing.

The divorce took four months.

At first, Ly Minh Trach refused.

Then his attorney explained that refusing could delay the process but couldn’t force me to remain married.

I never tried to stop him from seeing Nien Nien.

But visitation began slowly.

Our daughter no longer ran toward him the way she once had.

The first time he came to pick her up, she hid behind my legs and whispered:

—Mommy, is Daddy going to leave me at the airport again?

Ly Minh Trach heard her.

His face went white.

I didn’t comfort him.

Some pain belongs to the person who created it.

As for To Man, she disappeared from his life shortly afterward.

I later learned that when Ly Minh Trach confronted her about the photographs, she cried and said she had never meant to create misunderstandings.

He asked why she had posted pictures that clearly showed his watch, his car and our anniversary gift.

She couldn’t answer.

But by then, her answer didn’t matter to me.

One year after the divorce, Professor Zhou placed a design award in my hands.

The project was a children’s rehabilitation center.

My first major project after returning to architecture.

Nien Nien sat in the front row wearing a yellow dress, clapping harder than anyone.

After the ceremony, I saw Ly Minh Trach standing near the entrance.

He didn’t approach until everyone else had left.

—Congratulations.

—Thank you.

He looked at the award.

Then at me.

—I forgot you were this good.

I smiled.

—So did I.

His eyes reddened.

—If I had come back to the hotel that night…

I interrupted him gently.

—But you didn’t.

That was the whole story.

Not To Man.

Not the company.

Not Sanya.

A marriage doesn’t always end because of one enormous betrayal.

Sometimes it ends because one person keeps saying:

“Wait.”

“Understand me.”

“Don’t bother me.”

Until the other person finally stops waiting.

Ly Minh Trach abandoned his wife and sick daughter at an airport.

Nine days later, he finally remembered he had a family waiting at home.

But by then, there was no wife waiting anymore.

There was only a woman who had finally remembered she had a life of her own.