Trần Thụy stared at the document.

Then he laughed.

It was a strange laugh.

Half disbelief.

Half contempt.

“Tống Dao, have you lost your mind?”

He threw the agreement onto the table.

“You want me to leave with nothing because of some ridiculous video?”

My father finally raised his eyes.

“Ridiculous?”

One word.

Trần Thụy’s arrogance immediately weakened.

He had always been somewhat afraid of my father.

Not because he knew how wealthy Tống Vệ Quốc actually was.

But because Dad had never liked him.

Mrs. Vương turned her laptop toward Trần Thụy.

“Mr. Trần, perhaps we should discuss these first.”

A series of transactions filled the screen.

Trần Thụy’s face changed.

“What is this?”

“Transfers made during the past eleven months.”

Mrs. Vương adjusted her glasses.

“Approximately 4.8 million yuan was transferred from accounts connected to marital assets into three companies.”

She clicked again.

“All three companies are controlled by relatives of Miss Văn Lệ.”

My mother-in-law shot to her feet.

“Four point eight million?!”

Apparently, even she hadn’t known.

Trần Thụy glared at Mrs. Vương.

“You investigated me?”

“No.”

I answered for her.

“We investigated my money.”

His face stiffened.

That distinction mattered.

When Trần Thụy and I married, his company had been drowning in debt.

Everyone remembered the brilliant young entrepreneur who saved it.

Very few remembered where the rescue capital came from.

My father.

The villa?

Purchased through a Tống family holding company.

The luxury car Trần Thụy drove?

A wedding gift from my father.

The connections that opened doors for his business?

Also my father.

I had hidden most of this because I didn’t want my husband to feel as though he lived beneath my family’s shadow.

Now I wondered why I had worked so hard to protect his pride.

Dad placed his teacup down.

“I gave my daughter resources because I believed she had married someone worthy of sharing them.”

Trần Thụy’s face reddened.

“Uncle—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Silence.

My father looked toward the crib.

“My daughter nearly died giving birth to your son.”

His voice remained frighteningly calm.

“And while she was recovering, you disappeared for three days to entertain another woman.”

“It’s not what you think!”

Trần Thụy turned toward me.

“Dao Dao, Văn Lệ and I didn’t—”

The doorbell rang.

Nobody moved.

It rang again.

The maid finally opened it.

Then a woman’s voice floated in.

“Brother Thụy?”

I almost laughed.

Văn Lệ walked into the living room carrying two suitcases.

She stopped.

Her smile disappeared.

“What’s happening?”

My gaze fell to one of the suitcases.

Hanging from its handle was a small designer handbag.

Mine.

The handbag I had spent two days looking for before giving birth.

I looked at Trần Thụy.

Then at her.

“How interesting.”

Văn Lệ instinctively hid the bag behind her.

Trần Thụy’s face turned gray.

“Why are you here?”

She looked confused.

“You told me to bring my things.”

The room became silent.

My mother-in-law stared at her son.

“What?”

Văn Lệ finally realized she’d said something wrong.

“Brother Thụy…”

Trần Thụy rushed toward her.

“Shut up!”

But it was too late.

I leaned back.

“Bring your things where?”

Nobody answered.

So I looked at Văn Lệ.

“To my house?”

She became pale.

“I… misunderstood.”

“Really?”

My lawyer pushed his glasses higher.

“Miss Văn, perhaps you should explain carefully. This conversation may become relevant to subsequent legal proceedings.”

She panicked.

“Legal proceedings?”

I pointed at the divorce agreement.

“I’m divorcing him.”

Something flashed across her face.

Joy.

Tiny.

Instantaneous.

But unmistakable.

Trần Thụy saw it too.

His expression changed.

“Văn Lệ.”

She immediately shook her head.

“No, Brother Thụy, I didn’t mean—”

“How long?”

I asked.

She stared at me.

“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”

“Tống Dao!”

Trần Thụy roared.

But Văn Lệ started crying.

And that told me enough.

Eventually, the truth came out.

Almost a year.

Including during my pregnancy.

The business trips.

The late meetings.

The weekends when Trần Thụy claimed investors had called him away.

All of them.

Văn Lệ had even believed that after my delivery, Trần Thụy would gradually force me out.

Apparently, he had promised her that this house would eventually become theirs.

I looked around.

At the marble floor my father paid for.

At the furniture I chose.

At the nursery I decorated while carrying Trần Thụy’s child.

And suddenly I laughed.

Văn Lệ looked frightened.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you two were planning to divide property neither of you owns.”

My father smiled for the first time that afternoon.

Trần Thụy did not.

He grabbed the divorce agreement.

“I won’t sign.”

I shrugged.

“Then we’ll go to court.”

Lawyer Châu opened another folder.

“In that case, we will submit evidence of adultery, improper transfer of marital assets and financial misconduct. We will simultaneously request asset preservation.”

Trần Thụy stared at him.

“And if necessary,” Lawyer Châu continued, “we will pursue recovery of the 4.8 million yuan.”

Văn Lệ’s face changed instantly.

She looked at Trần Thụy.

“You said that money was yours.”

There it was.

Love.

Apparently worth exactly 4.8 million.

My mother-in-law suddenly rushed toward me.

“Dao Dao!”

Her tone had completely changed.

She sat beside me.

“We are family. Couples argue. Men sometimes make mistakes.”

I almost admired the transformation.

Three days earlier, she had told me not to pressure her hardworking son.

Now that she understood what the divorce would cost, suddenly I was family.

“Mom.”

Hope appeared in her eyes.

I smiled.

“Please don’t touch me.”

Her hand froze.

The divorce negotiations lasted five hours.

Trần Thụy signed shortly before midnight.

Not because he wanted to.

Because every alternative was worse.

Afterward, he stood beside the crib.

“Can I hold him?”

I looked at my sleeping son.

Then at the man who had spent the first three days of his child’s life feeding barbecue to his mistress.

“No.”

His eyes reddened.

“I’m his father.”

“And eventually, after the divorce, we’ll establish appropriate access.”

“Tống Dao…”

“You had three days.”

He flinched.

“You had three days to come home and hold your newborn son.”

I met his eyes.

“You chose not to.”

Two months later, our divorce became final.

Văn Lệ didn’t last two weeks.

Once she realized the villa wasn’t Trần Thụy’s, the money transfers were being recovered and the luxury car had been reclaimed, her great love became significantly less passionate.

She left.

Trần Thụy called me drunk the night it happened.

“Dao Dao.”

I almost hung up.

“She left me.”

I looked at my son sleeping beside me.

“And?”

Silence.

Then crying.

“I lost everything.”

“No.”

I corrected him.

“You threw everything away.”

I ended the call.

My former mother-in-law tried a different strategy.

She came crying.

She brought gifts.

She said the baby needed his grandmother.

She reminded me that blood was thicker than water.

Eventually, I blocked her.

Six months later, I returned to work.

Not at Trần Thụy’s company.

At my father’s.

I had spent years believing being a good wife meant shrinking myself so my husband could feel bigger.

I stopped doing that.

Within a year, I was managing one of the Tống family’s investment divisions.

One afternoon, after a meeting, I saw Trần Thụy waiting downstairs.

He looked thinner.

His expensive suits were gone.

“Dao Dao.”

I stopped.

“I only need five minutes.”

“You have two.”

He swallowed.

“I know saying sorry means nothing.”

“Correct.”

“I was stupid.”

“Yes.”

“I thought…”

He looked away.

“I thought you’d never leave.”

That, at least, was true.

He had mistaken my patience for permanence.

“I thought no matter what happened, you’d still be at home.”

I smiled faintly.

“So did I.”

His eyes lifted.

“For a long time.”

He took one step closer.

“If I could go back—”

“You can’t.”

“Could you ever give me another chance?”

I thought about the video.

The barbecue smoke.

The lamb skewer.

The tenderness on his face.

Then I remembered something far more important.

Three days after giving birth, when my body hurt everywhere and I could barely stand, I had still found enough strength to make one phone call.

That call had saved the rest of my life.

“No.”

His face crumpled.

I walked past him.

Then stopped.

“Trần Thụy.”

He turned hopefully.

“Regretting what you did doesn’t obligate me to give you another opportunity to do it.”

I left.

That evening, Lý Nguyệt came over.

She carried an enormous bag.

“What did you bring?”

She grinned.

“Something you’ve been owed for a very long time.”

She opened it.

Barbecue skewers.

I burst out laughing.

We sat on my balcony while my son slept inside.

I picked up a lamb skewer.

For nine months, Trần Thụy had forbidden me from eating something so simple.

Back then, I had mistaken control for concern.

Just as I had mistaken endurance for love.

I took a bite.

It tasted ordinary.

That made me laugh again.

Freedom wasn’t a skewer of barbecue.

It wasn’t money.

It wasn’t even revenge.

Freedom was waking up without wondering which woman my husband was with.

It was holding my son without listening to someone tell me how grateful I should be.

It was earning my own place at the table.

It was never again needing permission to live my own life.

On the first day after giving birth, Trần Thụy told me he needed air.

So he walked out.

Months later, I finally understood that I had needed air too.

The difference was that when I finally opened the door and stepped outside…

I never needed to go back.