Chapter 14 — Betrayed by My Own Mother, Saved by My Mother-in-Law

My tears refused to subside. "Mother Chau..." She laughed softly, waving a hand in dismissal. "If you are willing, you may call me mother. If you do not like it, that is fine too; I will not force you." My throat felt constricted, the word "mother" caught on the tip of my tongue, unable to find its way out. Mother Chau did not pressure me. She stood up and walked toward the door. "If any lesson is difficult, save it for Teacher Diep tomorrow. Sleep early tonight; do not drive yourself toward destruction." That night, I lay in bed, listening to the crickets chirping rhythmically in the courtyard. I thought of my biological mother, then shifted my thoughts to Mother Chau. One woman had given me life, yet sought to break my wings. The other, bound to me by no blood, had pulled me up from the mire. At the first light of dawn, I sat at my desk again. Finally, I solved the physics problem that had stumped me the day before. But my joy was short-lived; Teacher Diep arrived in a hurry, pedaling her bicycle with urgent news from the district office. The exam was scheduled earlier than expected. Counting the days, I had exactly twenty-seven left.

Twenty-seven days. The words struck like a whip against my skin. Teacher Diep revised my study schedule immediately. Early mornings were for literature and history, midday for grinding through mathematics, afternoons for physics and chemistry, and nights for correcting errors. She concluded, "From today, stop spreading yourself thin. Focus entirely on securing marks in the areas you have mastered." Mother Chau did not understand the intricacies of test scores, but she knew time was running out. She took over every chore in the house. Feeding the chickens, carrying water, tending to the vegetables—she even washed my clothes in secret. I felt embarrassed. "I am not a queen, Mother," I protested. Mother Chau wrung out the laundry, her movements firm. "Right now, you are the scholar of this house. Scholars are more precious than queens; queens do not know how to solve equations." I let out a sharp laugh, though tears pricked my eyes instantly after.

Trieu Dai Tru had also changed. He used to be slow and sullen, but now he was out in the fields at dawn, volunteering for the heaviest labor to earn extra coin. Returning home late at night, he would sit outside the cattle shed, weaving straw sandals. He claimed he would take them to the market to sell for money to buy spare batteries for my lamp. "Stop weaving," I begged. "Your hands are blistered." He hid his hands behind his back. "It is nothing; my skin is thick." I pulled his hands out. His palms were torn and bleeding, remnants of dry grass still stuck to the wounds. He tried to pull away, feeling awkward, but I held on firm, wiping the injuries with antiseptic. He hissed in pain but did not dare pull away. I asked softly, "Are you not afraid that once I pass the university exam, I will never return?" He lowered his head, staring at the dirt. "I am afraid." My hand froze. He continued, "Fear is one thing, but I cannot stop you. If I stop you, you would hate me for the rest of your life." I looked up at him. "And you? Do you hate me?" He thought for a long time before answering. "As long as you live well, I do not hate you." The words were not poetic or smooth, but they carried the weight of a stone, pressing down on my chest with a sharp, familiar ache.

As the exam date approached, the whispers in the village grew quiet. Perhaps people noticed the Trieu family exhausting their strength, or perhaps it was because the village children were gathering more frequently around our cattle shed. Little Nhi Nha brought me a bundle of wildflowers to place in my empty ink bottle every day after school. She would say, "Sister Trieu Thu, the flowers have bloomed; you will surely pass." I patted her head. "You must study hard too." She nodded vigorously. But peace is fleeting. Ten days before the exam, I received a letter. My mother had sent someone to deliver it, containing only a few lines: "Dieu To is getting married and is short on money. Return home immediately. If you do not come, I will report you to the district education department for unfilial behavior, and you will not be taking any exams."

After reading, I slammed the letter onto the table. Mother Chau asked, "What does it say?" I showed her. With Dai Tru reading it aloud, her face went pale with fury, and Dai Tru crushed the paper in his fist. "Is that woman still not finished?" Teacher Diep frowned. "She may not be able to disqualify you, but if she causes a scene near the exam date, it will heavily impact your mental state." I answered firmly, "I am not going back." Everyone looked at me in surprise. I slowly flattened the crumpled paper. "If I go back, she will only bind my feet. Demand money? I have none. Force me to grovel? Even less so." Mother Chau fretted, "But what if she makes a scene at the district office?"

"She can make her scene, and I will take my exam."

My voice was ice-cold—so cold it startled even me. It turned out that people truly can change. In the past, the mere sound of my mother's raised voice would fill me with terror, afraid of being labeled heartless. Now, while I still felt the sting of her cruelty, I would no longer allow her to lead me by the nose. Mother Chau looked at me for a moment and smiled. "You are finally showing your true self."

"What do you mean, Mother?"

"You are beginning to live your own life."

Seven days before the test, Teacher Diep assigned no new homework. She made me memorize formulas, review my mistakes, and regulate my sleep. Mother Chau, however, became increasingly anxious. Fearing I might have stomach trouble, she made all the food bland. Fearing I lacked nutrition, she took the thin slice of meat hanging in the kitchen, chopped it into microscopic pieces, and mixed it into my rice and vegetables. I invited them, "Everyone, please eat with me." She waved me off. "We have already eaten." I knew well that she was lying. That night, I carried my bowl to the kitchen and caught Mother Chau and Dai Tru hunched over, eating boiled sweet potatoes dipped in salted vegetables. My heart ached, and I moved to share my rice with them.