Chapter 6 — A Lifetime of Missed Affection

Man Yao's complexion drained of all color, inch by agonizing inch. Ha Nghien Chi closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his gaze held nothing but profound exhaustion.

"Man Yao, I did love you once."

As the words left his lips, Man Yao's eyes sparked with a flicker of hope. But the very next second, he crushed it: "And that is exactly why I loathe my former self so deeply. I mistook my own bitterness for devotion. I mistook your manipulation for a plea for salvation. I mistook Thanh Hoa's silence for a simple lack of needs. The greatest wrong I committed against her was not that I once loved someone else. It was that I married her, yet forced her to lose to the ghost of my past."

Man Yao's face turned deathly pale. She shrieked, "Ha Nghien Chi, what is the point of this sudden performance of moral depth? If you hadn't been abandoned by me back then, Hua Thanh Hoa would never have stood a chance! Do you dare claim you didn't marry her only because I had left?"

A flash of raw agony crossed Ha Nghien Chi's eyes. He did not deny it. "That is precisely why I must pay the price." He looked at me. "Thanh Hoa, I am sorry."

I stared back at him. My heart felt neither the triumph I had once imagined nor the sharp pangs of sorrow. I felt only that these words had arrived far too late. "You should have said this a long time ago," I said quietly. "But saying it now only serves to restore my own dignity."

With that, I gathered Little Star and turned to leave. Ha Nghien Chi did not follow. That night, he messaged me: "I will resolve the situation with Man Yao. I will make sure she never bothers you or Little Star again." I replied: "Good." A moment later, I added: "Please sign the divorce papers as soon as possible."

The other side remained silent for a long time. The following day, he came to the Hua residence carrying a weathered iron box—the very biscuit tin I had given him back in high school. In the courtyard, he opened it to reveal yellowed sticky notes, old movie stubs, and birthday cards. On top lay a single slip of paper. I recognized it immediately; it was the note I had written him during his lowest point: *Ha Nghien Chi, it is going to be alright. I will start over with you.*

His voice was hoarse. "Everything you gave me over the years, I kept it all."

I looked at that scrap of paper. I remembered the night he sat on the balcony of our rented room, unable to sleep, and I had pressed that note into his palm. He had promised then, "Thanh Hoa, one day I will give you a life of comfort."

In the years that followed, he had indeed risen. He achieved a respectable career, gained prestige, and built a life that others admired as successful. Meanwhile, I stayed home, simmering soup, attending prenatal check-ups, caring for the child, and listening for the sound of the door opening. Ha Nghien Chi held the paper out to me, his expression tentative. "Thanh Hoa, can we start over?"

I took the paper from him and handed him the divorce agreement instead. "Man Yao is no longer in the picture. You can sign these now with a clear head."

Ha Nghien Chi's hands trembled. He looked at me for a long time. "If I sign these, it is truly over."

"It has been over for a long time," I replied. "It ended every time you promised to arrive but never did. It ended the moment the doors to the emergency room slammed shut on Little Star. It ended the moment I snapped my SIM card in half."

A breeze swept through the courtyard, fluttering the papers in the iron box. Ha Nghien Chi's eyes were bloodshot. "Thanh Hoa, I can change."

"I believe you will," I said.

He looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes. Then I added, "But that has nothing to do with me anymore. Ha Nghien Chi, I do not want your compensation. I want you to set me free."

A long silence hung between us. Finally, he bowed his head, his voice a mere whisper: "Very well."

The day the divorce was finalized, the weather was brilliant. Custody of Little Star was granted to me. Ha Nghien Chi retained visitation rights and agreed to monthly child support; he did not contest a thing. His lawyer noted, "Mr. Ha was very cooperative this time." I simply nodded.

As we stepped out of the courthouse, Ha Nghien Chi stood at the bottom of the steps. He had lost so much weight that his shirt hung loosely on his frame. Seeing me, he did not approach. He only asked, "May I see Little Star?"

Little Star was in my mother's arms, chewing on his teething toy. I said, "You may."

Ha Nghien Chi walked over slowly and crouched down. "Little Star." The child looked at him for a few seconds, then turned away to cling to my mother. Ha Nghien Chi's hand froze in mid-air. My mother did not mock him; she only said softly, "Children recognize people in their own time."

He nodded, his eyes reddening. "I know."

From then on, Ha Nghien Chi visited Little Star every week. He would ask about his progress, bring age-appropriate toys, wash his hands carefully, avoid wearing perfume, and be mindful of the cold wind. The first time he played with building blocks with him alone, Little Star began to cry. Panic-stricken, he called me. "Thanh Hoa, he won't stop crying. Did I do something wrong?"

I was reviewing documents in my office. "Lower your voice. Do not rush to pick him up. Take out the little yellow duck he likes."

On the other end of the line, he followed my instructions. Soon, Little Star's crying softened. Ha Nghien Chi whispered a faint, "Thank you." I hung up the phone. My assistant knocked and entered to inform me the new project representatives had arrived. I closed the folder, stood up, and headed toward the conference room. In the mirror, I saw a woman in a tailored suit, her hair pinned up and her gaze steady and unwavering.