“Start over?”
I repeated my mother’s words quietly.
She nodded.
“You’re still young, Tieu Van. You can’t spend your whole life alone because of what happened five years ago.”
I smiled and tucked the blanket around her.
“Mom, being alone doesn’t mean my life stopped.”
She wanted to say something else, but the door opened.
Lam Nhien walked in carrying dinner.
Behind him stood Luc Canh Tham.
The atmosphere instantly changed.
My brother froze.
“I didn’t know he would come.”
Canh Tham ignored him and looked directly at me.
“Tieu Van, can we talk?”
“No.”
His expression tightened.
“Five minutes.”
“I don’t owe you five minutes.”
My mother sighed.
“Tieu Van…”
I stood.
“Fine.”
Not because he deserved an explanation.
Because I wanted this chapter closed permanently.
We walked to the end of the corridor.
Canh Tham stopped beside the window.
“You’ve changed.”
“So have you.”
He hesitated.
“At the airport, I shouldn’t have said you came back to admit defeat.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“I thought…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I thought you’d eventually come back.”
I almost laughed.
Five years.
And in his mind, I had merely been throwing a very long tantrum.
“Why?”
His brows furrowed.
“Because you loved me.”
“Past tense.”
That silenced him.
He studied my face.
Then he asked the question that finally revealed what he actually wanted.
“Are you married?”
I looked at him.
“That has nothing to do with you.”
His jaw tightened.
“Tieu Van, what happened between Lam Vu and me wasn’t what you think.”
“I haven’t asked.”
“We didn’t get together immediately after you left.”
“I don’t care.”
“The child isn’t—”
“Stop.”
He fell silent.
I spoke calmly.
“You don’t need to explain your family to your ex-wife.”
The words clearly hurt him.
Ex-wife.
Perhaps no one had said it so plainly before.
“I came back for my mother.”
I continued.
“When she’s stable, I’ll leave again.”
His face changed.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
He stared at me as though my departure required his permission.
“Where?”
I smiled faintly.
“Home.”
His expression became complicated.
“This is your home.”
“No.”
I looked through the hospital window at the familiar city.
“This is where I grew up.”
Then I turned toward him.
“My home is somewhere else now.”
The next morning, Mother’s attending physician asked me into his office.
Her condition was more complicated than she had admitted.
She needed a specialized procedure.
Fortunately, it could be arranged locally.
“I want the best team available,” I said.
The doctor nodded.
“There is an international medical foundation collaborating with our hospital this month. Their director has already requested your mother’s records.”
I paused.
“Already?”
“Yes. Apparently someone contacted them last night.”
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Everything has been arranged. Don’t worry about Auntie. — Daniel
I smiled.
Daniel Hart was my business partner overseas.
Five years earlier, when I arrived in London with two suitcases and a broken marriage behind me, he had been the first person to treat me as someone capable rather than someone abandoned.
Together, we built a design consultancy from almost nothing.
Three employees became thirty.
Thirty became more than a hundred.
Last year, we opened offices in London, Singapore and Dubai.
And now we were preparing our first major project in my hometown.
That was the real reason my surname mattered.
Ms. Lam was no longer simply the woman who had once married Luc Canh Tham.
It was the name printed beneath contracts worth hundreds of millions.
Three days later, Mother underwent the procedure successfully.
I finally breathed easier.
That afternoon, Lam Vu found me in the hospital garden.
She looked exhausted.
“Can we talk?”
I didn’t answer.
She sat on the opposite end of the bench anyway.
“The child you saw at the airport isn’t Canh Tham’s.”
I looked at her.
Not because I cared about Canh Tham.
Because something in her voice sounded wrong.
“His father died before he was born.”
She twisted her fingers.
“Canh Tham helped me because I had nowhere to go.”
“So?”
She looked down.
“I let everyone think we were together.”
“Why?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because I was jealous of you.”
There it was.
Not an accident.
Not a misunderstanding.
A choice.
“You always had everything,” she whispered.
“Mom trusted you. Dad was proud of you. Canh Tham only saw you.”
“So you wanted my husband?”
“I wanted something that belonged to you.”
I stood.
Lam Vu grabbed my sleeve.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her hand until she released me.
“You’re not sorry because you hurt me.”
Her face went white.
“You’re sorry because I came back and you have to look at me.”
I walked away.
This time, I didn’t cry.
A week later, the city’s largest commercial redevelopment conference opened at the Grand International Hotel.
I attended because my company had been shortlisted to lead the Riverside District project.
I wore a simple black suit.
No jewelry except my watch.
When I entered the ballroom, conversations briefly quieted.
Then someone called:
“Ms. Lam!”
A delegation approached.
Behind them, I saw Canh Tham.
He was standing beside several executives.
His company was bidding for one of the construction packages.
Our eyes met.
The conference chairman stepped onto the stage.
“Before we begin, I’d like to welcome the founder and managing director of Lam Atelier International.”
Canh Tham slowly turned toward the stage.
My photograph appeared on the screen.
“Ms. Lam Tieu Van.”
Applause filled the room.
I walked forward.
When I passed Canh Tham, he looked as though someone had finally explained a joke five years too late.
At the airport, he had laughed because he thought I had returned defeated.
Now he understood.
I hadn’t returned because I needed him.
I had returned because the city needed my signature.
After the presentation, he waited outside the conference room.
“Tieu Van.”
I stopped.
“You own Lam Atelier?”
“I founded it.”
“You never told me.”
“We’ve been divorced for five years.”
His expression stiffened.
“I heard your company is selecting construction partners.”
“Correct.”
“My company submitted a proposal.”
“I know.”
Hope flickered in his eyes.
“We could work together.”
I looked at him calmly.
“All proposals will be evaluated by the procurement committee.”
His face changed.
“You won’t give us priority?”
“Why would I?”
“Because…”
He couldn’t finish.
Because we had once been married?
Because he believed some part of me still belonged to him?
I stepped closer.
“Canh Tham, you misunderstood something at the airport.”
He stared at me.
“I didn’t return to win against you.”
I smiled.
“I stopped competing five years ago.”
Then I walked away.
That evening, Mother called.
Her voice was stronger.
“Tieu Van, come to the hospital when you’re finished.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something I should have told you years ago.”
My smile disappeared.
“About what?”
A long silence followed.
“Your divorce.”
I returned immediately.
Mother was sitting upright when I entered.
Lam Nhien stood beside the window.
Neither looked comfortable.
Mother held an old envelope.
“When you left five years ago, I thought keeping quiet would protect this family.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you hide?”
She handed me the envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Canh Tham.
Lam Vu.
And another man.
The photographs were dated months before my divorce.
I looked closer.
The man was someone I recognized.
My former father-in-law.
“What is this?”
Mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your divorce wasn’t simply caused by Lam Vu.”
I slowly raised my head.
“What do you mean?”
Lam Nhien answered.
“The Luc family wanted you gone.”
“Why?”
He placed another document in front of me.
It was an old investment agreement carrying my signature.
Except I had never seen it before.
My blood turned cold.
“Where did this come from?”
“Dad found it shortly before you left,” Mother whispered.
I examined the document.
Five years earlier, someone had used my identity to transfer ownership rights connected to a piece of land inherited from my grandfather.
Land that, at the time, everyone believed was nearly worthless.
But I knew that address.
It was now located directly inside the proposed Riverside District redevelopment zone.
The project my company had just returned to lead.
I looked at my mother.
“How much is this land worth now?”
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Then Lam Nhien said quietly:
“Sister, there’s something else.”
He handed me the final page.
The forged transfer had one witness.
Luc Canh Tham.
My former husband.
And suddenly, his shocked expression at the airport took on an entirely different meaning.
Maybe he hadn’t been surprised simply because I had returned.
Maybe he had been afraid of what I might discover once I did.
