Chapter 16 — After Forgetting Your Husband

He seemed to be afraid of me leaving, so he spoke a little faster: "Dreaming of you waiting for me in front of the dining table, dreaming of Tue Tue holding the phone crying, dreaming of calling me the night you had an accident." His eye rims were red.

"Before, I thought you couldn't leave me."

“You're not happy, I ignore you for a few days, you'll automatically return to normal.”

“You cry, I see you pretending to be quiet.”

“You're quiet, I feel like the house is finally quiet.”

He raised his hand to cover his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

“The house is really quiet now.”

“There was no more sound.”

Tue Tue retreated and hid behind me. Tham Duat Hanh quickly put his hand down and took a step back: "Sorry, dad scared me." He looked at Tue Tue, his voice so hoarse that it was almost inaudible.

“Dad used to be very bad.”

Tue Tue pursed her lips and did not refute. He smiled bitterly, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You might hate me.”

“You may not forgive me either.”

“I just want to tell you, those things are not your fault, nor are they my fault.”

Tue Tue looked at him, and after a long time said: "I know." These two words made Tham Duat Hanh's whole body stagger. He clung to the edge of the chair and slowly sank down, as if his knees had suddenly lost all strength.

“That's good.”

He lowered his head, mumbled and repeated: "That's good." I took Tue Tue's hand and walked into the house. Arriving at the lobby door under the apartment, Tham Duat Hanh suddenly called out to him.

“Diep Tri Chi.”

I turned around. He stood in the sunset, his tears had not yet been wiped away, his whole body looked pitiful with no trace of the once noble Tham Duat Hanh.

“If you remember everything later, will you hate me even more?”

I looked at him. There are still a lot of empty spaces in my head, maybe they will be filled later, maybe not. But that doesn't matter anymore.

“Tham Duat Hanh, I don't want to waste my next life hating you.”

His face turned even whiter than before. I said, “You are just the cold house I walked out of.”

“I won't come back again.”

His lips trembled, unable to say another word. The door to the apartment complex closed, blocking the wind outside. Tue Tue looked up and asked me: "Mom, are you sad?" I squatted down and fixed her scarf.

“A little bit.”

The small hand caressed my face: "Then hug me." She opened her arms and jumped into my arms. I hugged my baby, smelled the gentle scent of milk on him, and the cold drafty house in my heart seemed to have finally closed the window. When I got home, I cooked wonton soup. The water in the pot boiled, steam rising and clouding the glass door. Tue Tue stood on a small chair, sprinkled green onions into a bowl, and sprinkled them all over the table. I don't scold my child. The little girl laughed to herself: "Mom, I missed the sprinkler." I ladled the hot soup into a bowl: "It's okay, you can still eat it if it slips out." She picked up her small bowl, carefully blew gently, tried a bite, her eyes lit up.

"It's so fragrant, Mom."

I sat opposite my child and also took a bite. The soup is very hot, the tip of the tongue is burned and numb, but the warmth spreads straight to the stomach. The phone lit up, it was a text message sent by Tham Duat Hanh. *Ask for My bad.* I glanced at it, pressed delete, and didn't reply. Tue Tue asked: "Who is it, mother?" I replied: “One person is not important.” She nodded, picked up a wonton and put it in my bowl.

“Mom, please eat one more pill.”

I lowered my head to look at the round wonton and suddenly burst into laughter. The me of the past, on countless cold winter nights, probably told myself countless times how good it would be if one day I could eat a piece of hot rice.