Chapter 5 — A Lifetime of Missed Affection

He crouched down before Little Star, pulling a small yellow rubber duck from his pocket.

"Little Star."

The child studied him for several seconds, then turned away to bury his face in my neck. Ha Nghien Chi's hand remained suspended in mid-air, stiff and trembling. My mother did not mock him; she simply spoke with a detached, cool tone.

"The child is not used to you. It takes time."

Ha Nghien Chi nodded, his voice thick.

"I know."

Yet, his eyes were rimmed with red. He had never realized before that "father" was more than just a hollow title. He learned that biological ties do not automatically make a child rush into your arms. That afternoon, he sat in the living room trying to play with wooden blocks alongside Little Star. The boy would not let him touch anything. Every time Ha Nghien Chi reached out, Little Star would burst into tears. Panicked, Ha Nghien Chi looked up at me.

"Thanh Hoa, did I do something wrong?"

I replied calmly, "Do not try to pick him up. Lower your voice. Place the blocks in front of him and let him reach for them on his own."

He followed my instructions, and Little Star's wailing slowly subsided. Ha Nghien Chi whispered, "Thank you."

I did not answer. From that day on, he came every single week. Every time, his first questions were always the same: What time does Little Star sleep? What can he eat? Has he been coughing lately? Is he afraid of strangers? He began to document the child's milk intake, noted down every potential allergen, and recorded the doctor's specific advice. One day, he handed me a sheet of paper filled with cramped handwriting.

"I was afraid I would forget something."

Had this been the past, my heart might have softened. I would have told myself that he was learning, that he still desired to be a good father. But now, all I felt was that it was far too late. I looked at the paper and asked, "Ha Nghien Chi, why is it that you are only learning these things today?"

His hand stiffened. The paper slowly sagged in his grip.

"Before..."

"Before, I already knew everything, so you never had to."

He did not argue. After a long silence, he spoke in a low, broken tone: "Thanh Hoa, I used to think you would always be there, just like that. Because since we were young, you were always that way."

"When I couldn't afford exam materials, you told me you had bought extra by mistake and forced them on me. When my startup faltered, you said it didn't matter, that you would build it back up with me. When my mother worked in your home and my classmates mocked me, you stood up and scolded them on my behalf. I took your kindness for granted, as if it were nothing more than the air I breathed."

I looked at him steadily. "It wasn't that you didn't know how to choose. You simply knew, time and time again, that I would be the one to retreat. That is why you were always so comfortable choosing her instead."

Ha Nghien Chi's face went pale. I continued, "When Man Yao cried, you knew to go to her without me ever having to say a word. When Little Star cried, I had to beg you, and even then, you wouldn't necessarily come. It is not that you are incapable of loving others. You simply always placed the person who gave you the most security at the very end of your list."

He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot. "I know that now."

"But I don't need it anymore," I said.

As the words left my lips, my heart felt strangely, perfectly still. Ha Nghien Chi stared at me in a daze, as if he finally understood: I was not throwing a tantrum, nor was I waiting for him to coax me back. I had truly, finally walked out of that marriage.

Man Yao arrived in South City a month later. Perhaps she had not expected that Ha Nghien Chi would truly stop answering her calls, stop arranging schools for her daughter, Little Moon, and stop cleaning up the mess left behind by her ex-husband. She blocked the entrance to the early education center, her eyes swollen and red, clutching Little Moon to her chest. When she saw me, she spoke in a voice just loud enough for the surrounding parents to hear.

"Thanh Hoa, do you really have to be so cruel? I am just a single mother who recently went through a divorce. What is so wrong with Nghien Chi helping me a little?"

Passersby began to look our way. Man Yao's tears fell freely. "We grew up together. You know perfectly well that Nghien Chi and I are just friends. Why must you force him to abandon me?"

In the past, I would have rushed to explain myself. I would have scrambled to prove that I was not narrow-minded, not malicious, and not incapable of accepting his friends. But now, I simply held Little Star and looked at her with indifference.

"Man Yao, you are playing to the wrong audience."

Her expression flickered. "What do you mean?"

Before I could answer, Ha Nghien Chi's voice cut through the air from behind us. "I mean, stop using the child to put on a show."

Man Yao froze. She turned to see Ha Nghien Chi standing just a few paces away. Her tears intensified. "Nghien Chi, do you think I am acting, too?"

Ha Nghien Chi looked at her coolly. "Your ex-husband found me."

Man Yao's face went white. Ha Nghien Chi's voice was devoid of emotion. "He told me that you were not forced into a divorce. It was after he went bankrupt that you took the final remains of his money and brought Little Moon back to the country. After you returned, you went around telling everyone you had no one to turn to, but the truth is you have your parents' home, an ex-husband, a nanny, and a driver. It isn't that you had no one to help you. You simply wanted me to be the first one to serve you."

Man Yao held Little Moon tightly. "He is lying! He has no capabilities of his own, so he wants to drag me down with him!"

Ha Nghien Chi did not argue. He only asked, "Then why did Little Moon say that as long as she cries, I will come?"

Man Yao went rigid. Little Moon, too young to understand the complexities of adults, leaned against her mother and said in a small, innocent voice, "Mommy said that when Uncle Ha comes, we won't have to go back to that tiny, dark room again."

The air around us grew deathly silent.