Chau Nghien’s expression darkened.

He pointed toward Vien Vi.

—I meant her.

The living room went silent.

My mother-in-law’s raised hand froze in midair.

—What?

—Take Vien Vi out.

Each word was clear.

Vien Vi’s face instantly lost its color.

—General Manager Chau…

Chau Nghien didn’t even look at her.

Instead, he walked to me and crouched beside the sofa.

—Did they upset you?

I took another sip of tea.

—Your mother compared me to a hen.

His expression became terrifying.

My mother-in-law hurriedly interrupted.

—Why are you protecting her? Vien Vi is carrying your child!

—Who told you that?

—Vien Vi herself!

Only then did Chau Nghien turn toward the secretary.

—I gave you one opportunity to explain this privately yesterday.

Vien Vi’s lips trembled.

—I was scared.

—So you came to my parents and claimed your child was mine?

My father-in-law frowned.

—Nghien, what exactly is happening?

Chau Nghien extended his hand.

Trinh Du immediately placed a folder on the table.

Inside were hotel records, travel schedules and company attendance reports.

Chau Nghien opened his calendar.

—Four months ago, during the period she claims this child was conceived, I spent twenty-six consecutive days in Germany.

My mother-in-law blinked.

—Perhaps before you left—

—Tuyet Duong was with me.

Everyone turned toward me.

I smiled.

That trip had been our tenth-anniversary vacation combined with his business schedule.

Vien Vi hadn’t known because we deliberately kept our private lives away from company gossip.

Chau Nghien continued:

—And after returning, I had no private contact with Vien Vi whatsoever.

Vien Vi began crying.

—Records can be changed!

—Correct.

Trinh Du finally spoke.

—Which is why we investigated further.

He placed another document down.

Vien Vi had recently approached Chau Nghien demanding money.

When he refused and ordered an internal investigation, she threatened to make sure the Chau family “recognized the child.”

That was why he’d told me not to be angry and to let him handle it.

My mother-in-law stared at Vien Vi.

—You lied to me?

Vien Vi suddenly covered her stomach.

—The child still deserves a family!

I put down my cup.

—Certainly.

—His own family.

She looked at me sharply.

Chau Nghien said:

—Tell them who the father is.

Vien Vi remained silent.

That silence answered enough.

But the biggest surprise came from Trinh Du.

—The company investigation found repeated private transfers between Ms. Vien and another employee.

He named a department manager who had resigned two weeks earlier.

My father-in-law’s expression collapsed.

My mother-in-law looked as though someone had pulled the chair from beneath her.

Only an hour earlier, she’d been planning my divorce and welcoming her future grandchild.

Now she couldn’t even look at me.

—Tuyet Duong…

I raised my hand.

—Not yet.

She stopped.

I turned to Chau Nghien.

—You knew about this yesterday?

—Part of it.

—And didn’t tell me?

—I wanted evidence before worrying you.

I smiled faintly.

—That’s something we’ll discuss later.

His face immediately became obedient.

—Okay.

My mother-in-law stared at her son.

Perhaps that was the moment she realized something she’d misunderstood for ten years.

Our decision not to have children had never been mine alone.

After Vien Vi was escorted out, my mother-in-law finally spoke.

—Nghien, you’re almost forty.

—And?

—The Chau family needs—

—No.

His voice wasn’t loud.

But she stopped.

—Tuyet Duong and I decided together.

—You might regret it later.

—Then that would be my responsibility.

He looked directly at his mother.

—You don’t get to punish my wife today for a decision I made with her ten years ago.

My mother-in-law’s eyes reddened.

—I’m your mother.

—Which is why I’m asking you to respect my marriage instead of trying to replace my wife in her own home.

She suddenly remembered something.

—But this house—

I almost laughed.

Chau Nghien did.

—What about it?

—It’s your pre-marital property.

He looked at me.

Then back at her.

—Who told you that?

My mother-in-law froze.

The house had originally been purchased by Chau Nghien.

That much was true.

But on our fifth wedding anniversary, he transferred ownership to me.

Entirely.

His reason at the time had been ridiculously simple.

“You spend more time here. It should have your name.”

My mother-in-law slowly sat down.

For the first time that afternoon, she was the person who looked like a guest.

Before leaving, she apologized.

Not very well.

Not completely.

But she apologized.

I accepted the words without pretending they erased everything.

That evening, Chau Nghien really did take me for hot pot.

Halfway through dinner, I asked:

—Did you ever regret our decision?

He immediately understood.

—About children?

I nodded.

He thought seriously.

—I’ve wondered what our life would have been like.

My chopsticks stopped.

Then he continued:

—Wondering isn’t regret.

I looked at him.

—If you ever change your mind, tell me before your secretary tells your mother she’s pregnant.

He nearly choked on his drink.

I laughed for the first time that day.

Then his expression became serious.

—Tuyet Duong.

—Hmm?

—I chose this life with you.

He reached across the table.

—Not because I was waiting for something better to replace it.

I took his hand.

The matter didn’t disappear overnight.

Vien Vi left the company after the internal process concluded.

Her pregnancy remained her private responsibility, and we didn’t involve ourselves further.

Chau Nghien also changed something more important.

He stopped treating our marriage as something so stable that it required no defense.

When relatives asked when we would “finally” have children, he answered himself.

When someone implied I had forced him into a child-free marriage, he corrected them immediately.

And when his mother tried six months later to bring up heirs again, he simply said:

—My company needs competent management, not a baby.

I nearly applauded.

Years later, during an interview after one of my theater premieres, a reporter asked whether I feared having no children would eventually affect my marriage.

I smiled.

—Marriage isn’t secure because two people produce someone who connects them.

I looked toward the back of the theater.

Chau Nghien was standing there holding my coat and flowers.

—It’s secure when neither person treats the other as replaceable.

Afterward, he complained:

—You made me sound almost romantic.

—Almost.

He wrapped my scarf around my neck.

—Hot pot?

—You’re paying.

—I’ve been paying for ten years.

I raised an eyebrow.

He immediately corrected himself.

—And I consider it the greatest financial privilege of my life.

I laughed.

Ten years earlier, we had chosen a marriage that other people never stopped questioning.

Ten years later, a pregnant secretary walked into my home believing one child could erase everything we’d built.

She was wrong.

My mother-in-law was wrong too.

The strongest part of my marriage had never been whether I could give the Chau family an heir.

It was that when everyone pointed toward the door and expected me to leave, my husband came home, looked at the woman trying to take my place, and made one thing perfectly clear:

The person who didn’t belong in our marriage—

was never me.