That night, Pho Can slept beside me as though nothing had changed.

I didn’t.

At dawn, I removed the matching bracelet from my wrist and placed it inside the drawer.

I didn’t throw it away.

Some memories didn’t need destruction.

They simply needed an ending.

Three days remained before my departure.

That afternoon, Pho Can called.

—Hoai Am, isn’t your birthday next Monday?

—Yes.

—What gift do you want?

I looked at the transfer order on my desk.

—A plane ticket.

He laughed.

—Where?

—Bac Thanh.

There was a brief silence.

—Why there?

—I’ve always wanted to go back and see it.

He didn’t notice the word back.

—Fine. What date?

—Monday morning.

—One ticket?

I closed my eyes.

—One.

Pho Can booked it immediately.

He even sent me the confirmation.

“Birthday present. Don’t say your husband doesn’t spoil you.”

I stared at the word husband.

Then turned off the screen.

We had never married.

And apparently, he was saving that title for someone else.

On Sunday evening, he came home carrying flowers.

—I have an important ceremony tomorrow.

I looked at him.

—Marriage?

His hand stopped.

For one second, his face betrayed everything.

Then he laughed.

—What nonsense are you thinking?

That was enough.

I smiled.

—Nothing.

He relaxed.

—I’ll drive you to the airport afterward.

—No need.

—Hoai Am—

—Your ceremony is more important.

I turned toward the bedroom.

Behind me, he suddenly asked:

—Will you come back?

My steps paused.

—Pho Can.

—Hmm?

—Thank you for buying the ticket.

That was my answer.

At five the next morning, I left.

One suitcase.

One uniform bag.

No photographs.

No souvenirs.

On the dining table, I left the apartment key and a single sheet of paper.

No accusations.

No tears.

Only four sentences.

“Pho Can,

I know about Co Van Tinh.

Congratulations on your marriage.

The house is yours.

From today onward, so is your future.”

I boarded the plane before he returned.

At 9:40 a.m., my phone began vibrating.

Pho Can.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Then messages.

“Where are you?”

“Hoai Am, answer me.”

“You misunderstood.”

“That registration wasn’t what you think.”

“Don’t board that plane.”

Too late.

I switched the phone to airplane mode.

Two hours later, Bac Thanh appeared beneath the clouds.

A military vehicle was waiting for me.

The young officer beside it immediately straightened.

—Major General.

I hadn’t heard that title directed at me in years.

I looked at the insignia waiting inside the vehicle.

—Let’s go.

My return ceremony was scheduled for the following morning.

Senior officers from several neighboring units had been invited.

I didn’t know Pho Can’s unit was among them.

Perhaps fate occasionally had a cruel sense of humor.

At ten precisely, I entered the assembly hall in uniform.

The room became silent.

My father’s voice carried across the hall.

—Effective immediately, Major General Hoai Am resumes her position within the regional command structure.

Applause followed.

I looked straight ahead.

Then I saw Pho Can.

Third row.

His face had gone completely white.

The man beside him whispered:

—Major General Pho, isn’t that your—

Pho Can didn’t answer.

His eyes remained fixed on the stars on my shoulders.

After the ceremony, he caught me in the corridor.

—Hoai Am!

I stopped.

He approached quickly, then seemed to remember where we were.

His posture straightened automatically.

—You…

His eyes moved toward my insignia.

—You’re a Major General?

—Yes.

—And Commander Hoai is—

—My father.

Pho Can stared at me.

For years, he’d assumed I was an ordinary officer without connections.

Someone he could keep hidden indefinitely.

—Why didn’t you tell me?

I almost smiled.

—Would it have changed how you treated me?

He couldn’t answer.

Then he remembered why I’d left.

—Van Tinh and I haven’t married.

—You were preparing to.

—It was arranged between our families.

—And you accepted.

Silence.

—I was going to solve it.

—When?

My voice remained calm.

—After the registration? After the ceremony? Or after I discovered it myself?

—Hoai Am, I love you.

I looked at him.

Once, those words could have made me forgive almost anything.

Now they sounded strangely small.

—You had one last chance when I asked whether you were hiding something.

His face stiffened.

—You told me to trust you.

I stepped back.

—So I did.

I trusted your answer enough to leave.

For the first time, Pho Can looked frightened.

—Give me one chance.

—No.

—Is it because you think you’re above me now?

I shook my head.

—This has nothing to do with rank.

Then I said the sentence he least expected.

—Even if I were still the unknown officer you thought I was, I would leave you.

His expression collapsed.

That was the truth he couldn’t fight.

I hadn’t returned to Bac Thanh to punish him.

I hadn’t revealed my identity to make him regret choosing another woman.

I returned because somewhere along the way, I had reduced my entire life to waiting for Pho Can to choose me.

And I was done waiting.

The situation with Co Van Tinh ended shortly afterward.

I never asked for details.

Whether Pho Can canceled the arrangement or her family did no longer mattered to me.

He requested meetings several times.

I declined each one.

Months passed.

My days filled with work, training meetings and responsibilities I’d once abandoned because I thought love required sacrifice.

One evening, Father found me working late.

He placed tea beside my documents.

—Do you regret coming back?

I looked at the stars on the uniform hanging nearby.

—No.

—Do you regret him?

That answer took longer.

—No.

I smiled faintly.

—I regret how long I forgot who I was without him.

Father said nothing.

He simply pushed the tea closer.

A year later, I attended a regional ceremony.

Pho Can was there.

We passed each other outside the conference hall.

This time he didn’t chase me.

He simply stopped and saluted.

—Major General Hoai.

I returned the salute.

—Major General Pho.

Two titles.

Two officers.

Two separate lives.

As I walked away, I remembered the plane ticket he’d bought me believing it was a birthday present.

He had been right.

It was the greatest gift he ever gave me.

Just not for the reason he imagined.

Pho Can thought he had purchased a round trip for the girlfriend who would always return to him.

Instead, he bought the one-way ticket that returned the Commander-in-Chief’s daughter to herself.