Chapter 4 — A Lifetime of Missed Affection

Ha Nghien Chi's hand, gripped around his pen, suddenly froze. The doctor continued, his tone clinical yet firm, "The child's mother is remarkably meticulous. She has kept a clear, exhaustive record of every single one of his allergic reactions to medication."

Ha Nghien Chi gave a low, hollow response. "I see."

Upon stepping out of the hospital, his phone rang; it was Man Yao. She was sobbing uncontrollably. "Little Moon has been searching for you all night, asking why Daddy Ha doesn't want her anymore."

Ha Nghien Chi stood at the hospital entrance, watching parents bustle by, cradling their children. In the past, those words would have sent him rushing to her side without a second thought. But this time, he stood silent for a long moment before answering, "Man Yao, I am not her father."

The line went deathly quiet. Man Yao's voice trembled when she finally spoke. "You never treated me like this before."

Ha Nghien Chi closed his eyes. "That was my mistake."

"I once promised Thanh Hoa that I would learn to be a husband and a father."

"But I failed at both."

The sound of Man Yao's weeping ceased. When she spoke again, her voice had turned icy. "And so? Are you going to forsake your friendship with me for her sake?"

Ha Nghien Chi replied, "We should never have crossed those boundaries to begin with."

Man Yao let out a sudden, bitter laugh. "Ha Nghien Chi, why are you pretending to be so righteous now? Do you think I've forgotten how long you stood at the airport the year I left? Do you dare tell me that you never loved me?"

Ha Nghien Chi did not deny it. "I did love you."

Man Yao's breath hitched. He continued, "And that is exactly why I must keep my distance from you now. Because I am married. Because Thanh Hoa is my wife, and Little Star is my son. Because I cannot continue to wallow in the past at the expense of my family."

The line went completely dead. He hung up. He purchased the earliest ticket to South City. Before boarding, a legal notice arrived in his inbox: Hua Thanh Hoa had officially filed for divorce. She demanded sole custody of Little Star, citing his long-term absence as a parent and his failure to appear during their child's critical emergency surgery. Looking at those lines, his fingertips went numb. Only then did he feel true terror. Hua Thanh Hoa was not playing games; she really did not need him anymore.

When the plane landed in South City, the sky was painted in twilight hues. My mother met me at the airport. The moment her eyes landed on me, they welled up with tears, yet she did not scold me. She simply reached out, stroking my face. "You've become so thin."

A lump formed in my throat. It had been five years. I had feared she would resent me, that she would blame me for being headstrong back then. Instead, she only asked, "Are you in pain?"

Tears streamed down my face. "Mother..."

She pulled me into an embrace, her voice choked with emotion. "It's good that you're home."

My father stood nearby, his expression stern. He glanced at me without a harsh word, his gaze shifting to the child in my arms. "What is his nickname?"

"Little Star."

My father reached out to hold him, hesitating for fear of startling the child. Little Star, still drowsy, instinctively wrapped his tiny fingers around my father's, causing the man to stiffen. After a long while, he murmured, "He looks just like you did as a child."

Back at the house, the nursery had already been prepared. The walls were covered in soft blue wallpaper, and the room was filled with a crib, protective gates, toys, and a wardrobe packed with new clothes. My mother smiled, "We didn't know his size, so we bought a little of everything."

I opened the closet doors. From spring layers to winter coats, from sleeping bags to socks—there was enough to last for years. I stood in the doorway, fighting back fresh tears. That night, after Little Star had fallen asleep, my mother sat by my bed and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"We visited North City over the years," she confessed.

I froze. She continued, "Your father is stubborn, always claiming he didn't care. But he found excuses to attend meetings in North City every single year."

"We saw you pushing a stroller to buy groceries alone."

"We saw you carrying him in line at the hospital."

"And we saw Ha Nghien Chi entering a restaurant with Man Yao."

My throat felt tight. "Then why didn't you come for me?"

Her eyes reddened. "We were afraid that if we reached out, you would cut ties with us again for his sake. Thanh Hoa, we never stopped wanting you. We were just terrified that if you ever turned back, you wouldn't find your way home."

I could hold back no longer, burying my face in her chest and weeping. For years, I had believed I was adrift without a fallback. It turned out that home had always been there; it was I who had been too afraid to turn back.

The next day, Ha Nghien Chi came to the Hua estate. My father had his staff bar him at the gates. He stood outside all afternoon. I watched him from the balcony; he looked gaunt, with dark circles beneath his eyes, clutching a toy meant for Little Star. I did not go down.

That evening, he sent a message to my new number: [Thanh Hoa, I want to see Little Star.]

I stared at the screen for a long time before replying: [You may. You are his father and have visitation rights. But my life is no longer a place you have the right to visit.]

The response took a long time to arrive. [Understood.]

The first visit was arranged for the weekend. My mother sat in the living room holding Little Star. Before Ha Nghien Chi entered the house, I noticed him meticulously washing his hands, adjusting his clothes, and even lowering his voice before he dared to step inside.