Chapter 37 — Betrayed by My Own Mother, Saved by My Mother-in-Law

Luong Mai’s tears streamed down her face, falling in heavy, unchecked droplets. "Father, it took me three whole years of grueling study just to get into this university. You and Mother used to take such pride in boasting about my academic success and my bright future. So why, the moment the subject of marriage arises, does that future suddenly lose all its value?"

Her father stood frozen, struck silent by her words. Her suitor’s face darkened, his expression twisting with resentment. "What are you trying to say with that? Is it such a burden to be married to me?"

Luong Mai stared him down, her gaze piercing and cold. "If you truly respected me, you would never have goaded my parents into coming all the way to my school to forcibly drag me back to my hometown."

A heavy silence descended upon the office. The supervising professor snapped his notebook shut with a sharp, final sound. "The school’s position is clear. Student Luong Mai does not consent to withdrawing from her studies, and no one has the authority to remove her by force. If you continue to disturb the peace on these grounds, we will call the local police to handle the matter."

At the mere mention of the police, the suitor’s expression curdled. Luong Mai’s father opened his mouth to unleash a volley of curses, but his wife caught his sleeve and held him back. Defeated, they turned and shuffled out, their demeanors radiating bitter frustration. Before departing, the suitor cast a venomous look over his shoulder. "Luong Mai, mark my words—you will regret this."

Luong Mai sprang to her feet, throwing her retort back at him: "My only regret is that I was obedient and compliant for far too long."

The moment the door clicked shut, Luong Mai collapsed to the floor, burying her face in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably. I walked over, patting her trembling shoulder gently. Tran Que Phan reached out to offer her a tissue, while Bach Tue quietly dabbed at her own reddened eyes. Professor Ha looked at the four of us and whispered softly, "Remember this day. You study hard not only for your own futures, but to win back the voice that has been stripped away from so many other girls of the next generation."

After that ordeal, Luong Mai seemed to transform into a different person. She completely shed the haughty, overbearing air of the "provisional commander" she had once been. While she remained capable and sharp, she learned to listen. The four of us became inseparable, constantly retreating to the library to labor over our books. I pored over Classical Literature, she practiced Modern Literature, Tran Que Phan grappled with her writing skills, and Bach Tue acted as our dedicated dictionary researcher. During moments of exhaustion, Luong Mai would lean in and whisper, "Do you miss home?"

"I do," I would reply.

"And do you miss your husband?"

My hand, poised with a pen, would freeze. That question was far harder to answer than the first. I thought of Dai Tru, hunched over as he painstakingly crafted a wooden crate for my belongings; I remembered him standing dazed at the bus station, promising to wait for my letters; I recalled his knees, raw and bleeding, while his calloused hands held my admission letter high above his head. My voice softened. "I miss them." Luong Mai understood; she did not press for more.

Before winter fully set in, the city was greeted by its first snowfall. A thick, pristine layer of white blanketed the trees and transformed the sports stadium into a sea of white. I had never seen snow fall so heavily; I stood at the foot of the dormitory, mesmerized, watching it for a long time. That same day, a letter arrived from Apricot Blossom Village. Mother Chau wrote that everything was well at home. Dai Tru boasted that they had already bought new piglets for the sty and told me not to worry. Little Ya chirped in her own note about coming in first in her final exams, and Aunt Ma had sewn her a brand-new book bag. Tucked inside the envelope was a dried, flattened ginkgo leaf. Teacher Diep had written a graceful postscript on their behalf: "Your mother says it is snowing hard in the city, so be sure to dress warmly. When spring comes to Apricot Blossom Village, the flowers will bloom. Study at your own pace; the flowers are waiting for you, and your family is waiting, too."

I pressed the ginkgo leaf between the pages of my textbook, a solitary tear dampening the corner of the paper.

Three years later, I graduated with honors and chose to return to the county’s Normal School as a teacher. I did not stay in the city, a decision many found difficult to fathom. Professor Ha asked me, "Have you truly thought this through?"

"I have," I replied. "I want to be closer to Apricot Blossom Village."

She smiled and nodded. "That, too, is a path worth taking."

On the day of my graduation, Dai Tru and Mother Chau both arrived. Mother Chau wore a new, tailored blue coat, her hair neatly styled. Outside the school gate, as soon as she saw me draped in my graduation gown, tears began to stream down her face.

"Mother!" I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around her.

She stroked the fabric of my gown. "This garment is so beautiful, my child."

Dai Tru stood nearby, holding a basket of eggs, looking flustered, not knowing where to put his hands. Compared to years prior, he was darker, yet he carried himself with a newfound maturity. I looked at him and could not help but laugh.

"Dai Tru, are you still waiting for my letters?"

He stood stunned for a moment. Mother Chau nudged him with her elbow. "What are you standing there for? Open your mouth and speak!"

His ears turned a deep, burning crimson. "Waiting. I am always waiting."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a piece of paper. It was not a divorce petition. It was an application for faculty housing at the county Normal School. I handed it to him.

"The school provides housing for both single and married teachers. I haven't filled in the marital status section yet."

His hand hung suspended in mid-air. "Trieu Thu, do you mean..."