Chapter 1 — A Marriage Where Love Was Buried

For the very first time, Phuong Gia Hang raised his hand against me. It happened just two days after I had given birth and been discharged from the hospital. That was when I discovered another woman’s lipstick stain on his shirt. Clutching the garment, I demanded to know if he was having an affair, my voice trembling with fury as I hurled the shirt straight into his face. In response, Gia Hang suddenly lunged forward and grabbed me by the hair. His face twisted into a ferocious scowl, he delivered a brutal kick directly to my abdomen, then coldly spat out a single sentence.

What the hell is wrong with you! Are you trying to get yourself killed!

The agony was so intense it felt as though my newly stitched surgical wound had torn wide open. I wept bitterly, crying out to my mother for rescue. Yet my mother merely gazed at me with icy indifference.

Now that you have a child, stop daydreaming. Every household goes through this; you are the only one making a big fuss over nothing.

In that fraction of a second, every ounce of strength drained from my body, leaving behind only an overwhelming desire to escape this suffocating place.

Gia Hang stormed out. I remained crumpled on the cold floor, blood slowly seeping through my torn stitches, the throbbing pain rendering me incapable of any major movement. Gritting my teeth against the excruciating torment tearing through my core, I dragged myself forward, inching toward the head of the bed. Just as I managed to clutch my phone, drenched in a cold sweat, intending to dial the emergency services, Gia Hang's voice suddenly echoed from behind me.

What do you think you are doing!

He strode over, wrenching the phone violently from my grasp.

Were you about to call the police?

His tone was so frigid it sent shivers of terror down my spine.

You actually dare to call the cops!

He raised his arm, intending to smash the device against the floor, but upon noticing the screen displayed an ambulance number rather than the police hotline, his expression softened slightly. Finally registering the pool of blood spreading beneath me, he crouched down beside me and murmured softly.

It is because you are too thin. I never imagined a single kick would lead to this.

Wife, Gia Hang leaned closer, all traces of his aggression vanishing, replaced by a gentle solicitude: I was wrong.

Right in front of me, he dialed the emergency services. Speaking into the receiver, he feigned deep anxiety, fabricating a story for the doctor: My wife was holding the baby and accidentally fell, tearing her C-section wound. Please hurry! Once the call ended, he tenderly scooped me up and laid me gently on the bed. Without waiting for my instructions, he immediately phoned my mother, apprising her of the situation and begging her to come.

Mother, please come and take care of Loan Loan.

Gia Hang’s voice dripped with sincerity.

She listens to you the most. With you here, she will surely feel better.

Gazing at Gia Hang’s gentle, attentive demeanor, a profound sense of confusion washed over me. Was the man who had assaulted me moments ago truly him? Or was it merely a hallucination born of exhaustion? Gia Hang and I had met in college, remaining deeply in love throughout our four years there, and staying together for eight years following our graduation. Exactly eight years. To my friends, he was the flawless boyfriend; to my parents, he was the son-in-law praised to the heavens; and to me, he was the lifelong companion I trusted implicitly. Gia Hang knew everything. My parents' marriage had been a wretched one; my father was an alcoholic prone to frequent domestic violence, plunging my entire childhood into an abyss of darkness. I had once wept as I told Gia Hang that I feared nothing in this world quite as much as a violent man. Upon hearing my story, Gia Hang had wept tears of sympathy, as though the harrowing past belonged not to me, but to him. Pulling me into a tight embrace, he cried as he murmured, Loan Loan, it is all in the past now, it is all over. Gia Hang had promised: In the future, I will cherish you, protect you, and never let anyone harm you again. At that moment, I believed he was the sole beacon of light in my existence, clinging to him like a drowning sailor to a final lifeline. When my father, drunk once more, came hunting for me at our home, Gia Hang had stood between us, shielding me time and time again, convincing me that he was the only one for me in this lifetime. Yet I never anticipated that the very person who once held an umbrella over my head would be the one to tear it to shreds, shoving me ruthlessly back into the fires of hell.

Gia Hang remained by my side throughout my hospital stay. He even summoned his own parents, bringing our baby daughter along with them. He told me, Loan Loan will certainly miss the child. My parents brought her here to stay at the hospital so that whenever you wish to see her, you can do so immediately. My parents-in-law held the baby, muttering polite complaints about the inconvenience, yet their eyes beamed with delight. Even my mother chimed in, Look at how wonderfully Gia Hang treats you, Loan Loan. My mother flashed a radiant smile: Who knows what kind of accumulated virtue from past lives allowed you to cross paths with a man like Gia Hang. My parents-in-law grinned from ear to ear.

It is true that once a son grows up, he belongs to another family. Look at how Gia Hang constantly puts Loan Loan first. The moment she took a tumble, he immediately took a leave of absence from work, dragging the entire family to the hospital to care for her.

Gia Hang remained impeccably thoughtful, leaving no room for anyone to find fault. Yet an unsettling unease gnawed at my insides. The vivid image of his foot striking my stomach continued to replay relentlessly in my mind. His harsh scoldings—telling me I had lost my mind and deserved to die—still echoed faintly in my ears. I began to doubt my own sanity, wondering if perhaps the problem lay with me for daring to fracture this tranquil, cozy atmosphere.

Mother.

I looked directly at my mother: I want to speak with you in private for a moment. The atmosphere instantly turned stiff and awkward. My parents-in-law and Gia Hang all turned their gazes toward me. True to form, Gia Hang stepped in to smooth things over, gesturing for his parents to step outside with him: Come, let Loan Loan speak privately with her mother. Let us step out for a brief moment. Though reluctant, my parents-in-law dared not disobey their son. Once they had departed, I stared at my mother, involuntarily recalling the past two decades and more. Every single time my father beat my mother, she would instinctively shut the bedroom door, shielding me from the horrific sights within. Afterward, she would always tell me, I did this for your sake. I did not want you to grow up in a broken home. You must remember my sacrifices and all my hard work. My childhood was forever imprinted with the image of a great and noble mother. Therefore, as she sat by my bedside asking if something was amiss, my tears found an instantaneous outlet. Choking back sobs, I spilled the raw truth, weeping bitterly before the person I loved most.

Gia Hang hit me.

I gripped my mother’s hand tightly: I did not fall. Gia Hang beat me.

Mother, it was him! He struck me!

I wept in total collapse. I had wavered endlessly over whether to expose the truth, terrified of breaking her heart, afraid she would blame herself, and dreading that she would shatter upon discovering the daughter she cherished had walked right into the same tragic path she had endured years ago. But in the end, I could not hold it in; I chose to lean on my mother, hoping desperately that she would help me chart a course forward. The hospital room plunged into an eerie silence. I watched through my tears as my mother knitted her brows, pondered for a few minutes, and finally let out a heavy sigh: So, what is it that you want to do now? My sobbing abruptly ceased.

Couples argue and fight in every household.

I raised my head, staring at her in sheer disbelief.

Your father has been beating me for years. A wife is simply expected to take the blows, is she not?

Her words left me utterly paralyzed.

Are you going to demand a divorce every single time you get hit? Marriage is not some child’s game where you can marry or discard someone on a whim.

You are a grown woman now; why are you still so lacking in sense?

I looked at the woman sitting before me, watching her coldly lecture me.

Besides, you have already given birth. If you divorce now, you are nothing more damaged goods, completely devoid of value!

My mother scanned me up and down: Every family experiences friction. Who does not? You are simply making a mountain out of a molehill!

If you truly need an explanation, once Gia Hang returns, I will make him apologize to you. How is that?

My mother coaxed me gently: Gia Hang does not treat you poorly at all. If you divorce him, you might never find someone this good again. My restless heart, at that exact moment, plummeted completely to the floor, shattering into thousands of microscopic fragments. My mother insisted that, regardless of everything, I had to consider the young child and spare her from growing up in an incomplete home. She reminded me that she, too, had endured everything for my sake. She urged me to follow her example, to sacrifice for my child and become a great mother. Yet deep within my soul, a persistent voice whispered that this was fundamentally wrong—that things should not be this way. Everything I had ever been taught dictated that women ought not to remain victims of domestic violence. And yet, I found myself questioning whether a divorce would genuinely lead to a better life. I could no longer be certain. Consequently, I allowed myself to be led back home by Gia Hang. He resumed treating me with the tenderness and consideration of our newlywed days. He forbade me from touching the kitchen. He constantly bustled about, tending to the baby, mixing formula, changing diapers, and preparing nourishing meals for me. In the afternoons, he would escort both the child and me to the park to soak in the sunlight. The nightmare of abuse seemed buried deep beneath the surface, unspoken by anyone. I almost managed to truly convince myself that I could rest easy and continue my life alongside Gia Hang. Until one fateful night, as I lay sleeping, a faint sound drifted in from the living room. Groping for the bedside lamp in the darkness, assuming the baby had woken and Gia Hang was soothing her, I slipped my feet into my slippers and padded toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, Gia Hang’s voice drifted to my ears.

My love.

My footsteps halted mid-stride. A wave of icy dread coursed down my spine. I stood frozen, peering through the crack in the door at his familiar silhouette.

I will come find you tomorrow. My wife is heading back to her mother’s house.

Gia Hang murmured soothingly to the person on the other end of the line.

Once my wife leaves, I will head straight over. Sound good, my love?

Those sweet endearments were ones I had heard hundreds of times before. I knew with absolute certainty that the lipstick stain from before had been no coincidence. Gia Hang was genuinely entangled with someone else. He had long since betrayed our marriage. A nameless fire erupted fiercely within my chest.