Khuong Loi held the receipt in her hand.
Her fingers were trembling.
For several seconds, she didn’t say anything.
Then she slowly raised her head.
—You really submitted it?
I looked at her.
—Yes.
Her lips moved.
But no sound came out.
My mother finally reacted.
She stepped forward.
—Nghi Nghi, listen to me first.
—I know you are angry.
—But this matter is not as simple as you think.
I looked at her.
—Not simple?
My voice was very calm.
That seemed to make them even more uncomfortable.
—Mom.
—Someone used my identity.
—Someone used my medical records.
—Someone made two children appear under my name.
—And you tell me it’s not simple?
My mother lowered her eyes.
—Your sister had difficulties at that time.
Again.
That sentence.
I almost laughed.
Everyone always had difficulties.
My sister had difficulties.
My parents had difficulties.
The family had difficulties.
Only I…
Never seemed to have the right to have difficulties.
Khuong Loi put the receipt back on the table.
Her eyes were red.
—Nghi Nghi.
—Do you know what will happen after this?
I looked at her.
—Tell me.
She hesitated.
—The hospital will investigate.
—The records from those years will be checked.
—The children’s information may also be affected.
I nodded.
—And?
She was stunned.
—And?
I repeated.
—You keep saying what will happen to everyone else.
—What about me?
The room fell silent.
I touched my stomach.
The baby was only twelve weeks old.
Still so small.
But already, because of the medical records that didn’t belong to me, doctors had to reconsider my pregnancy risks.
I said softly:
—When I came here today, I was a pregnant woman having her first baby.
—After seeing the records, I became a woman with two previous cesareans and a history of postpartum hemorrhage.
—Do you know what that means?
No one answered.
I continued:
—It means every doctor who sees my file will make decisions based on someone else’s experience.
—Not mine.
Khuong Loi sat down.
Her voice became weaker.
—The first time…
She stopped.
I looked at her.
—Say it.
She squeezed her fingers.
—The first time, I really had no choice.
I smiled.
—No choice?
She nodded.
—At that time, I had just married Chi Vien.
—The hospital asked for many documents.
—I didn’t have everything prepared.
—The baby was coming too suddenly.
I looked at her.
—So Mom gave them my identity.
She didn’t deny it.
—Yes.
—And the second time?
Silence.
That silence answered everything.
My chest felt cold.
The first time could be called an emergency.
The second time was a decision.
A repeated decision.
A decision made after everyone already knew it was wrong.
My mother suddenly said:
—Nghi Nghi, you are pregnant now.
—Don’t let your emotions affect the baby.
I looked at her.
For some reason, that sentence hurt more than anything else.
Because even now…
She was still worried about my emotions.
Not my pain.
Not my rights.
My emotions.
I slowly stood up.
—Mom.
—Do you know what I thought when the doctor told me I had two sons?
She didn’t speak.
—I thought maybe I had forgotten something.
—Maybe I had a memory problem.
—Maybe there was something wrong with me.
My voice trembled slightly.
—Because the system said I gave birth twice.
—But I knew I never did.
My mother covered her mouth.
I continued:
—For a few minutes, I doubted myself.
—Do you understand?
—The person who was hurt was me.
Not you.
Not my sister.
Me.
Khuong Loi started crying.
—I’m sorry.
Those words came too late.
I looked at her.
—If sorry was enough, there would be no need for laws.
She lowered her head.
I didn’t hate her.
That was the strangest part.
I didn’t hate her.
I just couldn’t continue sacrificing myself for her.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Everyone turned.
It was Chi Vien.
Khuong Loi immediately stood up.
—Why are you here?
He looked at the atmosphere in the room.
Then he looked at the documents on the table.
His face changed.
So he knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
I looked at him.
—Did you know?
He didn’t answer immediately.
That was enough.
My heart sank.
Another person.
Another person who knew.
Chi Vien stepped forward.
—Nghi Nghi, this matter can be discussed calmly.
I laughed softly.
—Calmly?
—You all want me to be calm.
—When my name was used, you wanted me to understand.
—When my medical record was changed, you wanted me to understand.
—When I found out, you wanted me to stay calm.
I looked at them.
—Has anyone ever tried to understand me?
No one spoke.
Chi Vien finally said:
—The children are innocent.
I nodded.
—Yes.
—They are innocent.
—That’s why I will not blame them.
—But their innocence cannot become a reason for me to continue carrying this mistake.
Khuong Loi cried harder.
—Nghi Nghi, they call you aunt.
I looked at her.
—And I love them.
—But loving them doesn’t mean I have to give away my identity.
That night, after they left, I sat alone in the living room.
The hospital documents were still on the table.
Two birth records.
Two dates.
Two lives I had never lived.
Trinh Du sat beside me.
After a long silence, he asked:
—Are you scared?
I looked at him.
A little.
But I shook my head.
—No.
—I’m just tired.
He held my hand.
—Then don’t fight alone.
I looked down.
For the first time that day, I allowed myself to cry.
Not because I regretted submitting the complaint.
But because I finally realized…
For years, I had been protecting a family that never protected me.
The next morning, the hospital called.
They needed me to provide additional verification.
Including:
Original identity records.
Past residence information.
Medical examination history.
Everything related to proving that I had never given birth before.
I agreed.
At the same time, the hospital also contacted the relevant departments to investigate the two birth records.
When I hung up, I received a message from Khuong Loi.
“Nghi Nghi, can we talk one more time?”
I stared at the screen.
Then replied:
“Okay.”
She arrived alone.
Without my mother.
Without Chi Vien.
She sat across from me for a long time.
Then she said:
—There is something I never told you.
I looked at her.
She took a deep breath.
—The second time I used your identity…
—It wasn’t because I had no documents.
My fingers tightened.
—Then why?
Khuong Loi looked down.
And whispered:
—Because the first time worked.
The room became silent.
My heart sank.
Because at that moment, I finally understood.
The truth was much worse than I imagined.
It wasn’t a mistake.
It wasn’t an accident.
It was a choice they made…
Because they believed I would never take my name back.
