The rain fell harder.

Through the car window, I watched the blurred figure standing in the middle of the road.

Lac Uyen Khanh.

The woman who had appeared in our marriage countless times.

The woman who always cried.

The woman who always looked at Bui Yen Xuyen with eyes full of dependence.

And the woman he always chose to protect.

The driver immediately stopped the car.

“General Bui, should I ask her to move?”

Bui Yen Xuyen didn’t answer.

His hand was still holding mine.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he slowly released my hand.

That small action should have meant nothing.

But somehow…

It felt like the last thread connecting us had finally broken.

“Stay here.”

He opened the door.

The cold rain rushed inside.

I watched him walk toward her.

Just like countless times before.

Whenever she needed him.

Whenever she called.

Whenever she appeared.

He always went to her.

Even on the night we ended our marriage.

The scene was almost familiar.

Uyen Khanh stood there, soaked from head to toe.

Her face was pale.

Her eyes were red.

“Xuyen…”

Her voice trembled.

“Why did you leave?”

Bui Yen Xuyen stopped.

I couldn’t hear their conversation clearly through the rain.

But I could guess.

She was asking him to stay.

Asking him not to abandon her.

Just like before.

I sat inside the car quietly.

And strangely…

I didn’t feel pain anymore.

Two years ago, seeing this scene would have made me crazy.

I would have gotten out.

I would have argued.

I would have asked why he always ran toward her.

But now I only felt tired.

Because I finally understood.

Some people don’t leave because they don’t love enough.

They leave because they have loved enough.

And I had already spent all my love.

After several minutes, Bui Yen Xuan returned.

His clothes were wet.

His expression was complicated.

“She fainted.”

I looked at him.

“And?”

He was silent.

The old me would have immediately asked him to choose.

The old me would have cried.

The old me would have hated myself for still caring.

But the current me only said:

“Take her to the hospital.”

Bui Yen Xuyen froze.

“You…”

I looked out the window.

“We are already divorced.”

His eyes darkened.

“You still care?”

I smiled faintly.

“No.”

“I just don’t want anyone to die in front of me.”

Those words hurt him.

I knew.

Because for the first time, he realized something.

My kindness was never because I couldn’t leave.

It was because I was a kind person.

Not because I was his wife.

The next morning, we went to the Civil Affairs Department.

The weather was clear.

Almost cruelly beautiful.

As if nothing had happened.

Bui Yen Xuyen stood beside me.

The man who once promised to love me forever.

The man who once carried me home after I injured my foot.

The man who once held my hand and said:

“Giang Ly, I will never make you cry.”

But promises were easy.

Keeping them was the difficult part.

The staff checked our documents.

Then asked:

“Have you both thought carefully?”

I looked at Bui Yen Xuyen.

For five years, I waited for him to choose me.

Today, I no longer needed that answer.

“Yes.”

I answered first.

The staff looked at him.

He was silent for a long time.

Then he lowered his head.

“Yes.”

The divorce certificate was handed to us.

A small red book.

A marriage that took years to build.

Ended in minutes.

Outside the building, Bui Yen Xuyen stood there holding the certificate.

He looked at me.

“Where will you go?”

I adjusted my suitcase.

“Somewhere I can start again.”

“Without me?”

I looked at him.

“Yes.”

He seemed unable to accept that answer.

Because for five years, he believed I would always be there.

Waiting.

Forgiving.

Returning.

But people only wait forever when they still have hope.

I had none left.

“Giang Ly.”

His voice was lower.

“Do you really not regret it?”

I smiled.

“Do you?”

The question made him silent.

Because he knew.

The person who should have asked that question was him.

Not me.

Three months later, I returned to the stage.

Not as Bui Yen Xuyen’s wife.

Not as the woman behind a powerful man.

But as Giang Ly.

The woman I had forgotten while trying to save a marriage alone.

I reopened my music studio.

My right hand, injured years ago because of him, could no longer play like before.

But I learned again.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Every note reminded me of something.

I had lost a lot.

But I had also found myself.

Meanwhile, Bui Yen Xuyen’s life changed completely.

After the divorce, he realized something.

Lac Uyen Khanh never needed him because she loved him.

She needed him because he was the only person who had always saved her.

When he finally stopped running toward her every time…

He saw the truth.

The woman who cried the loudest was not always the woman who loved him the deepest.

And the woman who left quietly…

Was the one who had given him everything.

One year later, he came to my concert.

He stood in the last row.

I saw him.

But I didn’t stop playing.

After the performance, he waited outside.

“Your hand…”

He looked at my fingers.

“It recovered?”

I nodded.

“Mostly.”

He lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Two simple words.

Words I had waited years to hear.

But when they finally came…

They no longer mattered.

“I know.”

He looked at me.

“Can we start again?”

I was silent.

Then I shook my head.

“Xuyen.”

“Some things can be repaired.”

“But some things break in a way that cannot return to how they were.”

His eyes turned red.

“I still love you.”

I smiled softly.

“I loved you too.”

“That’s why I stayed.”

“And that’s why leaving was so difficult.”

I walked past him.

This time, he didn’t grab my hand.

Because he finally understood.

Love was never about holding someone tightly.

Sometimes…

Love was accepting that someone had already chosen freedom.

The man who once asked:

“Can you really bear it?”

Finally understood the answer.

Yes.

I could bear losing him.

Because after losing him…

I found myself again.