The private jet had been in the air for forty-seven minutes when Co Tram Chu finally finished signing the last document.

He dropped his pen.

“Coffee.”

No one answered.

He frowned.

Usually, at this hour, Khuong Niem would send something upstairs.

Coffee if he was working.

Warm milk if his stomach had been bothering him.

Sometimes just a plate of fruit he rarely touched.

Tonight, there was nothing.

He pressed the intercom.

“Tell Khuong Niem to come here.”

The housekeeper hesitated.

“Sir… Madam said she was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Co Tram Chu looked at the clock.

11:38 p.m.

For some reason, he remembered what had happened three days earlier.

Khuong Niem standing in the hallway.

Calling his full name.

Then saying something he hadn’t properly listened to.

“Let’s have a…”

His eyebrows suddenly tightened.

What exactly had she said?

He couldn’t remember.

He had been thinking about the South project.

He stood.

That was when a sheet of paper slipped from the pile beside his elbow.

It landed face-up.

Co Tram Chu bent down.

Then froze.

At the bottom of the page was his signature.

Above it were several short lines.

Khuong Niem and Co Tram Chu voluntarily ended their marital relationship.

From now on, everyone goes their own way.

No one continues to disturb the other’s life.

For almost ten seconds, he didn’t move.

Then he laughed.

A cold, disbelieving laugh.

“Khuong Niem.”

He picked up the paper and walked downstairs.

“Come out.”

Silence.

“Khuong Niem!”

The housekeeper rushed over.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“I… I thought Madam was upstairs.”

Co Tram Chu went straight to the bedroom.

He pushed open the door.

Empty.

The bed was perfectly made.

Half the closet had been cleared.

The children’s crib was gone.

Formula.

Diapers.

Baby clothes.

Gone.

He opened drawers one after another.

Empty.

Then he noticed the jewelry box.

Nothing inside.

His expression finally changed.

“Check the cameras.”

Within minutes, security filled the monitoring room.

The main entrance showed nothing.

The east gate showed nothing.

Then someone whispered:

“Sir… there’s a problem with the western alley footage.”

“What problem?”

“The recording has been looping.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“Since when?”

“Three days ago.”

Three days.

Exactly when Khuong Niem had tried to speak to him.

Co Tram Chu slowly turned around.

“Find her.”

“Sir, should we contact—”

“Find my wife and children.”

No one dared move slowly after that.

But an hour later, every answer was the same.

No hotel reservation.

No commercial flight.

No train ticket.

No transaction on any Co family card.

Nothing.

It was as though Khuong Niem had disappeared from City A.

Then Co Tram Chu remembered something.

“The Khuong family.”

His assistant looked up.

“Contact them?”

“No.”

If Khuong Niem had returned to her parents, calling first would only give them time to hide her.

“Prepare the car.”

At that moment, the old housekeeper cautiously approached.

“Sir…”

“What?”

“Madam left something.”

He stopped.

“Where?”

“The wine cellar.”

—

There was only one bottle on the center table.

The wine Co Tram Chu had bought the year they married.

He had once promised they would open it on their fifth anniversary.

Beside it lay an envelope.

To Co Tram Chu.

He tore it open.

There was only one page.

“Co Tram Chu,

When you read this, An An, Lac Lac and I should already be gone.

Don’t look for us.

Three years ago, I entered the Co family because I loved you.

I used my dowry to save your project.

I used my father’s connections to protect your supply chain.

I offended people I should never have offended because I believed your success would become our future.

You once told me that when everything was over, you would make it up to me.

Later, everything was over.

Only you never came back.

I waited for you on birthdays.

I waited when I was sick.

I waited through pregnancies, hospital visits and nights when the children had fevers.

Eventually, I understood something.

You weren’t busy temporarily.

This was simply the life you wanted.

And I was simply the woman you expected to keep waiting inside it.

Three days ago, I asked you for a divorce.

You told me not to cause trouble.

So tonight, I placed the answer among the documents you considered more important than me.

And you signed it.

Please don’t blame your assistant.

Don’t blame the servants.

Don’t blame anyone.

The signature is yours.

The decision to leave is mine.

I don’t hate you.

I am simply tired.

Take care of yourself.

Khuong Niem.”

The paper trembled in his hand.

For the first time that night, Co Tram Chu remembered her exact words from three days earlier.

“Let’s divorce.”

Not “Let’s have a kiss.”

Divorce.

She had said divorce.

And he hadn’t even turned around.

The wine cellar suddenly felt suffocating.

He grabbed his phone.

“Track every private aircraft that departed City A tonight.”

His assistant hesitated.

“Sir, private flight information may take time.”

“Then use every connection we have.”

Twenty minutes later, the answer came.

A private jet had departed from the suburban airport at 10:52 p.m.

Destination:

Tinh City.

Registered passenger information was protected.

But Co Tram Chu already knew.

“Prepare my plane.”

His assistant lowered his voice.

“Sir, there’s another problem.”

“What?”

“The South project board meeting begins at eight tomorrow morning. If you don’t attend, your uncle’s faction may—”

Co Tram Chu looked at him.

Three years ago, those words would have stopped him.

Tonight they didn’t.

“Cancel it.”

The assistant stared.

“Sir?”

“Cancel everything.”

—

By sunrise, I was already home.

My mother opened the door herself.

She looked at me.

Then at the two sleeping babies.

Then at my luggage.

She didn’t ask a single question.

She simply hugged me.

That was when I cried.

Not when Co Tram Chu ignored my birthday.

Not when I had a forty-degree fever alone.

Not when he signed the divorce without reading it.

But when my mother wrapped her arms around me and whispered:

“Come home.”

I cried until my shoulders shook.

My father stood several steps away.

His face was dark.

“Where is Co Tram Chu?”

I wiped my tears.

“I don’t know.”

“Does he know the children are here?”

“He should know by now.”

My father took out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure he doesn’t enter Tinh City.”

I caught his wrist.

“Dad.”

He looked at me.

“I don’t want war.”

“He treated my daughter like that for three years and you don’t want war?”

“No.”

I looked down at An An and Lac Lac.

“I want a life.”

My father’s expression slowly softened.

I continued:

“I’ve spent three years arranging everything around Co Tram Chu.”

“My meals depended on when he came home.”

“My plans depended on his schedule.”

“My emotions depended on whether he remembered me.”

“I don’t want my divorce to revolve around him too.”

My father was silent.

Then he put away the phone.

“All right.”

He kissed my forehead.

“Then live.”

Three hours later, Co Tram Chu’s plane landed.

He came directly to the Khuong residence.

But the gates didn’t open.

He called me.

Once.

Five times.

Twenty times.

I turned off my phone.

Finally, my father went outside.

Co Tram Chu stood at the gate in yesterday’s clothes.

He hadn’t shaved.

His eyes were bloodshot.

“Where is Khuong Niem?”

My father looked at him coldly.

“President Co, shouldn’t you know?”

“Let me see her.”

“No.”

“I need to explain.”

My father laughed.

“Explain what?”

“That you accidentally neglected her for three years?”

“That you accidentally missed the birth of Lac Lac because of a board meeting?”

“That you accidentally left her alone in the hospital?”

Co Tram Chu’s face changed.

“How do you know about that?”

“She is my daughter.”

My father’s voice became colder.

“You seem to have forgotten she had a family before she married you.”

Co Tram Chu clenched his fists.

“I want to see my children.”

This time my father stepped closer.

“Then perhaps you should remember their birthdays first.”

Silence.

Co Tram Chu opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

My father understood immediately.

“You don’t know.”

Co Tram Chu’s face turned white.

From the second-floor window, I watched everything.

And strangely…

I felt no satisfaction.

Only exhaustion.

That afternoon, I finally agreed to see him.

Not because I wanted reconciliation.

Because there were matters that needed to end properly.

He entered the sitting room.

When he saw me, his footsteps stopped.

“Khuong Niem.”

I hadn’t heard him say my name like that in years.

I placed a folder on the table.

“Sit.”

He didn’t.

“You took the children.”

“They’re with me.”

“They’re my children too.”

“Yes.”

I looked at him calmly.

“Which is why the custody arrangements are inside that folder.”

His eyes reddened.

“You planned everything.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Three months.”

His expression collapsed.

Three months.

While he attended meetings, dinners and negotiations…

I had been selling jewelry.

Preparing documents.

Arranging passports.

Planning a life without him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stared at him.

“I did.”

He froze.

“Three days ago.”

His face turned pale.

I continued.

“And perhaps a hundred times before that without using the word divorce.”

Every birthday I ate alone.

Every hospital corridor.

Every untouched dinner.

Every message left unanswered.

Those had all been conversations.

He simply hadn’t been listening.

“I’ll change.”

“No.”

“I can.”

“I believe you.”

That surprised him.

“Then come home.”

I shook my head.

“Changing after losing me doesn’t mean I have to return.”

He stared at me.

“I love you.”

For three years, I had dreamed of hearing those words.

Now they arrived when I no longer needed them.

“I know.”

His eyes lit up.

Then I finished:

“But you loved knowing I would always be there more than you loved me.”

His face went completely still.

I pushed the signed agreement toward him.

“You signed this without reading it.”

He looked down at his signature.

For the first time, perhaps, he understood what that meant.

Not legally.

Emotionally.

I had become another document on his desk.

Something he assumed would always remain where he left it.

“Is there really no chance?”

I looked toward the garden.

Thanh Hoa was walking beneath the trees with An An.

Aunt Chu carried Lac Lac behind her.

Both children were laughing.

For the first time, no one was waiting for the sound of their father’s car.

“No.”

I stood.

“Co Tram Chu, I helped you reach the top because I believed we were climbing together.”

“But somewhere along the way, you kept climbing…”

“And left me standing below.”

He lowered his head.

I walked toward the door.

Behind me, he whispered:

“Khuong Niem.”

I stopped.

“I finally have time.”

My eyes burned.

Of all the things he could have said, that was the cruelest.

Three years ago, I would have given anything for his time.

Now he had all of it.

I turned around.

“But I don’t.”

Then I walked away.

Six months later, our divorce was finalized properly.

Co Tram Chu remained the head of the Co Group.

I never asked him to give up his company.

I never wanted revenge.

He visited An An and Lac Lac according to the arrangements we established.

Slowly, awkwardly, he learned things he should have known from the beginning.

Which child hated carrots.

Which one couldn’t sleep without holding a blanket.

Which lullaby calmed An An.

Which toy made Lac Lac laugh.

He became a better father.

But he never became my husband again.

As for me, I returned to the Khuong family’s shipping business.

The first year was difficult.

The second was better.

By the third, I had opened a new international route under my own name.

At the launch ceremony, someone asked whether I regretted spending so much of my youth helping another person succeed.

I thought about Co Tram Chu.

About the dying project.

The money I gave him.

The connections I used.

The nights I waited.

Then I thought about the woman who had carried two babies onto a private jet with nothing purchased using her husband’s money.

“No,” I said.

“Because I learned something useful.”

“What?”

I smiled.

“If I could help someone else build an empire, I could build one for myself.”

That evening, after the ceremony, I received a photograph.

Co Tram Chu had taken An An and Lac Lac to dinner.

The twins were covered in ice cream.

Under the photograph was one sentence:

“They asked when you’re coming.”

I replied:

“Eight.”

No more.

No less.

At eight, I arrived.

The children ran toward me.

Co Tram Chu stood behind them.

For a moment, our eyes met.

There was no hatred between us anymore.

But there was no road back either.

He had finally learned to look up from his work.

And I had finally learned not to wait for him to do it.

Three years earlier, Co Tram Chu had signed thirty documents without looking.

Then he signed the thirty-first.

That signature ended our marriage.

For a long time, he probably believed the worst thing he’d done was sign the wrong piece of paper.

It wasn’t.

His greatest mistake was believing that no matter how many times he failed to look at his wife…

she would still be standing there when he finally raised his head.