I had barely reached the banquet hall doors when Pho Canh Tham caught up with me.

“To Van.”

I kept walking.

He grabbed my wrist.

“Stop.”

I looked down at his hand.

“Let go.”

Perhaps there was something in my expression he had never seen before.

His fingers loosened.

Behind us, the engagement banquet had become chaos.

Relatives whispered.

His mother was explaining something to guests.

Tham Vi stood near the main table, crying.

Pho Canh Tham looked furious.

“You embarrassed both families in front of everyone.”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

He froze.

In the past, I would have explained myself.

I would have cried.

I would have asked whether he understood why I was hurt.

Now I simply said:

“The hotel has already been paid. Let everyone finish dinner.”

“To Van!”

“What?”

He stared at me.

“What exactly do you want?”

That question almost made me laugh.

Seven years.

I had wanted so many things from him.

A birthday remembered without a reminder.

One night when Tham Vi called and he chose not to go.

One moment when he would say:

“To Van matters more.”

Eventually, I had reduced my wishes to one.

Don’t humiliate me at our engagement party.

He couldn’t even give me that.

“Nothing,” I said.

His expression changed.

“I don’t want anything from you anymore.”

I walked away.

This time, he didn’t follow.

Three days later, his mother came to my apartment.

She brought the engagement ring.

Apparently someone had retrieved it from the wine glass.

She placed the box on my table.

“Van Van, you’ve made your point.”

I poured myself tea.

“What point?”

“That you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

Mrs. Pho frowned.

“Then stop behaving impulsively.”

I almost admired her confidence.

She still thought this was a tantrum.

“Canh Tham has known Vi Vi since childhood. Their families were close. She just returned after a failed marriage. Is it wrong for him to take care of her?”

“No.”

Mrs. Pho relaxed.

Then I continued:

“That’s why I’m giving him complete freedom to take care of her.”

Her smile disappeared.

“You can’t throw away seven years over one woman.”

“I didn’t.”

I looked at the ring.

“He threw them away one day at a time.”

My birthday.

The hospital.

The midnight phone calls.

The soup.

The engagement seat.

None of those things alone destroyed us.

Together, they did.

Mrs. Pho pushed the ring toward me.

“The wedding preparations can continue.”

I pushed it back.

“There won’t be a wedding.”

She finally became angry.

“Do you really think you’ll find someone better than Canh Tham?”

I smiled.

“Being alone would already be better.”

She left without taking the ring.

So I mailed it to Pho Canh Tham’s office.

The following week, I changed my phone number.

Chu Niem helped me move out of the apartment I had rented near his company.

I accepted a transfer I’d rejected twice because Pho Canh Tham had once complained that the new office was too far away.

For the first time in seven years, I began making decisions without calculating how they would affect him.

It felt strange.

Then peaceful.

The strange thing was that Pho Canh Tham didn’t seem to enjoy that peace nearly as much.

He appeared at my new office two weeks later.

The receptionist called upstairs.

“Miss To, there’s a gentleman here asking for you.”

“Name?”

“Pho Canh Tham.”

“No appointment.”

There was a long silence.

Then the receptionist whispered:

“He says he’s your fiancé.”

“Tell him he’s using outdated information.”

Chu Niem laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair.

That evening, he waited outside.

I walked past him.

“To Van.”

I stopped reluctantly.

He looked thinner.

“Why did you change your number?”

“So people I don’t want calling me can’t call me.”

His jaw tightened.

“I went to your apartment.”

“I moved.”

“Without telling me?”

“We’re not engaged.”

His expression became complicated.

“You really mean it?”

That was when I understood.

He had never believed me.

Not on the stage.

Not when I returned the ring.

Not when I moved.

For seven years, I had always come back.

So in his mind, this was simply the longest argument we’d ever had.

“Yes,” I said.

“I mean it.”

He stared at me.

“What about seven years?”

“What about them?”

“You loved me for seven years.”

“I did.”

“How can you suddenly stop?”

I thought about it.

“I didn’t suddenly stop.”

I looked directly at him.

“You just didn’t notice it happening.”

His face went pale.

A month later, I heard that Tham Vi had moved into an apartment owned by the Pho family.

Chu Niem sent me the news with six angry voice messages.

I deleted them without listening.

It wasn’t my business anymore.

That was when Pho Canh Tham finally began to panic.

He started sending things to my office.

Flowers.

Food.

A necklace.

I returned everything.

Then one afternoon, he sent white roses.

I stared at them for a long time.

The card said:

For Auntie. I’m sorry.

That one hurt.

Because he finally remembered.

Too late.

I took the flowers to my mother’s grave.

I didn’t return them.

But I didn’t forgive him either.

Two months after the cancelled engagement, I attended a business dinner.

Pho Canh Tham was there.

So was Tham Vi.

She approached me during dessert.

“Miss To.”

I nodded.

She twisted her fingers.

“Canh Tham and I aren’t together.”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

Her face stiffened.

“He barely speaks to me anymore.”

I took a sip of water.

Still nothing to do with me.

“He says everything happened because of me.”

This time I looked at her.

“No.”

She seemed surprised.

“It didn’t happen because of you.”

Pho Canh Tham had made his own decisions.

Again and again.

Blaming Tham Vi would only give him somewhere convenient to place responsibility.

“He chose you whenever choosing you meant hurting me,” I said. “That’s between him and me.”

Tham Vi lowered her eyes.

“So you still love him?”

I smiled.

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

“What should I ask?”

“Whether loving someone means I should marry him.”

She had no answer.

Neither had I, once.

Now I did.

When I left the restaurant, Pho Canh Tham was waiting beside my car.

“I heard what you told her.”

“Congratulations.”

“To Van.”

His voice sounded exhausted.

“I told Vi Vi not to contact me anymore.”

I unlocked my car.

He stepped closer.

“I’ve changed.”

“Maybe.”

“I understand now.”

“Good.”

“Then why won’t you give me another chance?”

I looked at him.

Because there it was again.

He had changed.

Therefore I should return.

He had understood.

Therefore I should forgive.

He had finally learned my value.

Therefore I should reward him.

“You’re still thinking about yourself.”

His face froze.

“You’re asking why your improvement hasn’t earned me back.”

I opened the car door.

“But I’m not a prize for your character development.”

“To Van…”

“I hope you really changed.”

I meant it.

“I hope the next person you love never has to beg you to choose her.”

His eyes turned red.

“And us?”

“There is no us.”

Six months later, I went to my mother’s grave on her birthday.

I brought white roses.

As I placed them down, I noticed another bouquet already there.

No card.

I knew who had brought it.

For a moment, I stood silently.

Then I arranged both bouquets together.

Not because I wanted Pho Canh Tham back.

Not because seven years had suddenly become beautiful.

But because some memories didn’t need to be hated in order to be left behind.

My phone rang.

Chu Niem.

“Where are you?”

“At Mom’s.”

“Come quickly. Dinner is getting cold.”

I smiled.

“I’m coming.”

Before leaving, I touched my mother’s photograph.

“Don’t worry about me.”

The wind moved gently through the trees.

I thought about the woman who had stood at the engagement party clutching a schedule card, still waiting for a man to choose her.

She felt very far away now.

I picked up my bag.

Behind me were two bouquets of white roses.

Ahead of me was a life that no longer required me to compete for a seat in anyone’s heart.

And this time, I didn’t look back.