After Chu Nguyet cursed, the phone fell silent for a few seconds.
I didn’t answer.
Because what could I say?
That Pho Tuan was a bad man?
Maybe.
But the truth was more complicated.
He wasn’t always bad.
There was a time when he loved me more than anyone else.
A time when he held my hand in front of everyone and said:
“Even if the whole world doubts you, I will always believe you.”
I still remembered those words.
That was why losing him hurt so much.
Because the person who hurt me the deepest…
was the person I once trusted the most.
Three months ago.
Before everything changed.
I was pregnant.
I had planned the moment I would tell Pho Tuan carefully.
I bought a small pair of baby shoes.
White.
Tiny.
I imagined his reaction.
I imagined his cold face finally softening.
I imagined him holding me and saying:
“We’re going to have a family.”
But life had never followed the script I wrote.
That night, when I was ready to tell him, he came home late.
Again.
The smell of another woman’s perfume lingered on his coat.
Ta Thoi Nghi.
His first love.
The woman he had never completely forgotten.
We fought.
It was the worst argument we had ever had.
I asked him:
“If you still love her, why did you marry me?”
His expression became colder than I had ever seen.
“She was my first love.”
He paused.
“When I married you, I still couldn’t forget her.”
Those words destroyed something inside me.
Then he continued:
“You didn’t know these things today.”
“Now you’re jealous because of them, so why didn’t you notice that I had a girlfriend three years ago?”
I stood there.
Holding the pregnancy test in my hand.
Unable to speak.
Because suddenly, the little life I wanted to share with him felt like something embarrassing.
Something unwanted.
I never told him.
That night, I lost the baby.
And while I was lying alone in the hospital…
Pho Tuan was probably comforting his first love.
After that, I changed.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
I simply stopped trying.
I stopped waiting for him to come home.
Stopped asking where he was.
Stopped checking whether he had eaten.
Stopped wondering if Ta Thoi Nghi needed him more than I did.
Because I finally understood.
A person who wants to stay…
doesn’t need to be begged.
One week after seeing me at the hospital, Pho Tuan noticed something strange.
I was too calm.
That was what frightened him.
Before, whenever we fought, I cried.
I argued.
I asked questions.
I wanted explanations.
Now?
Nothing.
He came home late.
I didn’t ask.
He mentioned Ta Thoi Nghi.
I didn’t react.
He tried to provoke an argument.
I just smiled.
And that smile made him uncomfortable.
One night, he finally couldn’t stand it.
“A Vân.”
I looked up from my book.
“Yes?”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t care.”
I closed the book.
“I don’t know what you want me to do.”
His eyebrows tightened.
“You used to care.”
I looked at him quietly.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“I used to.”
Those three words made his expression change.
The next day, Pho Tuan came home earlier than usual.
For the first time in months.
I was packing some things.
Not because I was leaving immediately.
Just organizing my belongings.
He saw a medical report on the table.
He picked it up.
At first, he didn’t understand.
Then his face slowly changed.
“What is this?”
I froze.
I reached for the paper.
But he was faster.
His eyes moved across the page.
Hospital admission.
Pregnancy.
Miscarriage.
His fingers began trembling.
“A Vân…”
His voice was barely audible.
“When did this happen?”
I didn’t answer.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
The room became silent.
Three months.
He repeated the number in his mind.
Three months since his child disappeared.
Three months since his wife suffered alone.
Three months since he thought she was just being cold and unreasonable.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked at him.
The question was almost funny.
“Tell you?”
My voice was soft.
“You were busy.”
His face turned pale.
“I wasn’t…”
“You were.”
I interrupted.
“You were busy remembering your first love.”
He opened his mouth.
No words came out.
Because this time…
he had no excuse.
That night, Pho Tuan didn’t sleep.
He sat outside the bedroom door.
Just like he used to when we were newly married.
Back then, he was afraid I would be angry.
Now…
he was afraid I would leave.
The next morning, he went to the hospital.
He found the doctor who treated me.
The doctor looked at him for a long time.
“You are her husband?”
Pho Tuan nodded.
The doctor’s expression became cold.
“Then where were you?”
That question hurt more than anything.
Because he didn’t have an answer.
The doctor continued:
“Your wife had complications after the miscarriage.”
“She had a high fever.”
“She was alone.”
“She kept asking if she could leave the hospital early because she didn’t want to disturb anyone.”
Pho Tuan closed his eyes.
Every word was like a knife.
Because he knew exactly who she didn’t want to disturb.
Him.
When he returned home, Ta Thoi Nghi called.
Before, he would answer immediately.
This time, he stared at the screen.
The name that once mattered so much…
suddenly felt distant.
He rejected the call.
A few seconds later, another message arrived.
“Pho Tuan, are you angry with me?”
He looked at it.
Then another message.
“After everything we’ve been through, are you choosing your wife now?”
He slowly typed:
“No.”
A pause.
“I’m choosing the truth.”
The next day, Ta Thoi Nghi came to find him.
She looked hurt.
“You changed.”
Pho Tuan looked at her.
“No.”
“I finally woke up.”
Her eyes reddened.
“Do you regret marrying her?”
He was silent.
Then he answered:
“I regret making her feel like she was second place.”
Ta Thoi Nghi froze.
Because she finally understood.
The man who once always ran toward her…
was no longer running.
But when Pho Tuan returned home that night…
I was gone.
Not forever.
Not dramatically.
I simply left a letter.
Only one page.
He opened it with shaking hands.
There was no anger.
No accusation.
Only a few sentences.
“Pho Tuan.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“That is why I am leaving.”
“Because if I hated you, I would still care enough to fight.”
“But I am tired.”
“I spent years trying to become the woman you would choose.”
“I forgot that I was already someone worth choosing.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“A Vân.”
For the first time in his life, Pho Tuan understood fear.
Not the fear of losing power.
Not the fear of failure.
The fear of losing the only person who loved him without conditions.
He searched everywhere.
But A Vân was gone.
She didn’t block him.
She didn’t punish him.
She simply disappeared from his life.
Just like he had slowly disappeared from hers.
Six months later.
Pho Tuan found her again.
Not because she wanted him to.
Because fate brought them together.
She was standing at a charity event.
Helping pregnant women who couldn’t afford medical care.
He stood there watching her.
And suddenly, he realized something.
The woman he thought was weak…
was the strongest person he had ever known.
She had lost his love.
Lost his support.
Lost their child.
And still chose to help others.
“A Vân.”
She turned around.
Their eyes met.
This time, neither looked away.
“I heard about your foundation.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I should thank you.”
She looked confused.
“For what?”
“For showing me what love actually looks like.”
Silence.
Then he whispered:
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
Her answer was immediate.
Pho Tuan smiled sadly.
“Because I know I don’t deserve it.”
That was the first time she saw him admit his mistakes without defending himself.
Months later, they met again.
And again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
There was no sudden miracle.
No instant forgiveness.
Just two people learning how to speak honestly.
One day, Pho Tuan asked:
“Can I start over?”
A Vân looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
She was silent.
Then she answered:
“Love isn’t what you say when you’re afraid of losing someone.”
“Love is what you do when you still have them.”
Pho Tuan lowered his head.
“I know.”
And this time…
he proved it.
One year later, they stood together again.
Not because A Vân forgot the pain.
Not because Pho Tuan erased the past.
But because he finally became the man he promised to be.
When he held her hand, he didn’t hold it tightly out of fear.
He held it gently.
Because he knew:
The hardest thing to lose is not a person who leaves.
It is a person who stays too long, waits too long, and finally becomes tired of waiting.
And Pho Tuan spent the rest of his life making sure A Vân never had to feel alone again.
