For three years, I had treated the Luc family’s affairs as my own.

And Luc Thua Uyen had gradually begun treating my sacrifices as something he was entitled to.

That afternoon, I was finally taken to the hospital.

The examination confirmed the injury required proper treatment and weeks of recovery.

While I waited, I stared at the 300,000-yuan transfer again.

Then I returned it.

Every cent.

In the note, I wrote only:

“Keep it. You’ll need it more than I do.”

Afterward, I made one phone call.

The person answered almost immediately.

—Nhuoc An?

Hearing that familiar voice, my composure nearly broke.

—Brother.

Pho Minh Quan went silent.

Then his tone changed.

—What happened?

—I want to go home.

Four words.

That was enough.

—Send me your location.

—I can book a flight myself.

—No.

His voice became cold.

—You’ve been stubborn for three years. This time, listen to me.

The Pho family wasn’t some mysterious family I’d invented overnight.

It was the family I’d been born into.

Three years earlier, when I insisted on marrying Luc Thua Uyen despite my parents’ objections, I’d voluntarily stepped away from the family’s protection.

I wanted a marriage without money, status or influence deciding its value.

So I never told the Luc family exactly who I was.

Luc Thua Uyen knew only that my family lived elsewhere and that we rarely contacted each other.

He never cared enough to investigate further.

That evening, I asked a lawyer to begin handling my separation and property matters properly.

Then I sent Luc Thua Uyen one message.

“Let’s divorce.”

His reply arrived five minutes later.

“Stop causing trouble.”

I looked at those words for several seconds.

Then blocked him.

The next morning, Pho Minh Quan’s aircraft landed at the nearest airport.

My brother came personally.

When he saw the support around my shoulder, his face became terrifyingly calm.

—Did Luc Thua Uyen do this?

—Yes.

—And you still want me to handle this legally?

I looked at him.

—Yes.

He nodded.

—Fine.

No threats.

No revenge.

Just evidence, lawyers and consequences.

That was enough.

By noon, I was gone.

Luc Thua Uyen didn’t discover it until hours later.

His secretary ran into the station where he had apparently gone looking for me.

—Mr. Luc!

Luc Thua Uyen turned.

—Did you find Nhuoc An?

The secretary was breathing heavily.

—Madam has already left.

—Where?

The secretary hesitated.

—She was picked up by Young Master Pho.

Luc Thua Uyen frowned.

—Pho who?

—Pho Minh Quan.

Silence.

Even Luc Thua Uyen knew that name.

The secretary swallowed.

—The Pho family’s private plane departed this morning.

Luc Thua Uyen stared at him.

—What does Nhuoc An have to do with the Pho family?

The secretary’s expression became strange.

—Sir…

He lowered his voice.

—Her full registered family information was confirmed by the lawyer this morning.

—She is Chairman Pho’s only daughter.

Luc Thua Uyen didn’t speak.

For three years, he had believed I was simply a woman with no powerful background.

Someone who would tolerate his mother’s demands.

Someone who would manage his properties.

Someone who would attend his social events, care for his family and wait at home regardless of how late he returned.

Someone who could be pushed aside whenever Lam Thu Uyen appeared.

He hadn’t known that the woman preparing his meals had once had an entire household staff.

That the woman managing his four houses had grown up learning to oversee assets far larger than his.

That the wife he compensated with 300,000 yuan had never needed his money.

But when Luc Thua Uyen finally called me from another number, I didn’t mention any of that.

I answered only because my lawyer advised that practical communication might still be necessary.

—Nhuoc An.

His voice was unusually tense.

—Where are you?

—Home.

—Come back.

I almost laughed.

—This is my home.

He went silent.

Then:

—Why didn’t you tell me you’re Pho family’s daughter?

There it was.

Not “How are you?”

Not “Does your shoulder still hurt?”

Not even “I’m sorry.”

His first real concern was my surname.

I closed my eyes.

—Would it have changed what you did?

Silence.

That silence gave me my answer.

—Nhuoc An, I was angry that day.

—You pushed me.

—It was an accident.

—No.

My voice remained calm.

—An accident is tripping. You made a choice.

He breathed heavily.

—Thu Uyen was frightened.

I smiled.

Even now.

Lam Thu Uyen.

Always Lam Thu Uyen.

—Then take care of her.

I ended the call.

The divorce wasn’t instantaneous.

Real life didn’t work like that.

Lawyers documented assets, responsibilities and evidence.

I gave my account truthfully.

I kept the medical records and messages.

I didn’t ask my family to destroy the Luc business.

My father offered once.

I refused.

—I don’t want his company.

—Then what do you want? —Dad asked.

I thought about it.

—My life back.

My father nodded.

—Then take it.

During the proceedings, another truth surfaced.

Lam Thu Uyen had never intended merely to be Luc Thua Uyen’s innocent childhood friend.

Messages showed that she had repeatedly encouraged conflict between us, then presented herself as the person who understood him best.

But I refused to make her the center of the story.

She hadn’t promised me loyalty.

My husband had.

Several months later, the divorce was completed.

Luc Thua Uyen requested one final meeting.

I agreed.

He looked thinner.

For once, Lam Thu Uyen wasn’t beside him.

—My mother keeps asking when you’re coming back.

—I’m not.

—The properties are a mess.

I stared at him.

He realized immediately how ridiculous that sounded.

—That’s not what I meant.

—It probably is.

He lowered his eyes.

—I didn’t realize how much you did.

—You didn’t need to know everything.

I said quietly:

—You only needed to respect the person doing it.

His face tightened.

—I ended things with Thu Uyen.

I felt nothing.

—That was your decision.

—She wasn’t worth losing you.

I shook my head.

—Don’t do that.

—Do what?

—Make her responsible for your choices.

He went silent.

I continued:

—You didn’t lose me because Lam Thu Uyen appeared.

—You lost me because when I was hurt, you stood beside her and treated my pain like something money could settle.

His eyes reddened.

—I regret it.

—I believe you.

Hope appeared briefly in his face.

Then I finished:

—But regret isn’t a time machine.

Two years later, I took responsibility for part of the Pho family’s investment business.

My shoulder had healed long before.

What remained was a faint discomfort on cold days and a memory I no longer feared.

I never married Luc Thua Uyen again.

I never returned to managing his houses.

And I never again confused endurance with devotion.

People later loved telling the story differently.

They said Luc Thua Uyen had pushed away a mysterious heiress.

They said he must have been devastated when he discovered that the wife he’d underestimated belonged to the Pho family.

But they misunderstood.

My surname wasn’t the reason he should have treated me well.

Even if I had possessed nothing—

no family fortune,

no private plane,

no influential brother—

I still would have deserved respect.

The private plane didn’t make me valuable.

It simply came to take me somewhere I should have returned to long before.

Home.