Chapter 22 — Calls are not allowed to be hung up

Three weeks later, on a normal Tuesday evening, Dan sat at the duty desk at precisely 7:00 p.m., put on his headphones, and checked the navigation screen again, as he had done thousands of times at the beginning of the shift in the past eight years. The leather-covered notebook with frayed corners still lay on the familiar corner of the table, with a few new pages thick since that night thirteen months ago.

The review meeting ended two weeks ago, leaving in Dan's file an official demerit, the short words "exceeded authority to direct in an emergency situation", next to another line, "demonstrated excellent professional ability in analyzing complex situations". Those two contrasting lines, now coexisting on the same profile page, serve as a reminder that her work never has a simple, black or white answer.

Sai Van Dong was officially prosecuted for domestic violence after the investigation agency completed collecting evidence, including Kieu Thi Diem's testimony when she was healthy enough to present. Dan did not closely follow the developments of the case, only vaguely heard a few words from Vinh every time the two happened to exchange work, enough to know that justice was being served according to the legal order, a process that was slow but much more certain than the chaotic hours of the night of the rescue.

— Ms. Dan, are you on duty with me again today? — Bao Ky asked, sitting down at the next table, his voice was much more natural than the first days when he was still reserved.

— Yes, on the same shift as me this week.

— I heard that a new procedure is about to be issued, based on your suggestion after the incident.

— I heard that too. Mr. Long said they are drafting detailed documents, it may take a few months to officially apply.

Bao Ky nodded and was about to say more when his desk phone rang. He quickly put on his headphones and switched to his familiar working state. Dan smiled at him for a moment, then returned to his screen, rearranging a few notes for tonight's shift.

She glanced at the team leader's desk, where Anh Tuyet was sitting checking the next week's shift schedule. Her familiar calm appearance had not changed even though twenty years had passed since she started this job. Dan wondered if later, when she had the same number of years of experience, she would be able to maintain the same composure before each new call, or if the scars accumulated over the years would make her different in some unpredictable way.

Vuong Dac Long passed by, stopped briefly at Dan's table, and exchanged a few brief sentences about work before continuing his evening inspection. The relationship between the two, after that night thirteen months ago, had undergone a subtle change, not necessarily closer, but certainly a deeper mutual respect, something that could only form after both had stood on the line between process and conscience, and chosen their own decisions.

The evening passed at a normal pace: a call reporting a minor traffic accident, an elderly man having trouble breathing received first aid instructions over the phone while waiting for the car to arrive, two calls from wrong numbers. Dan handled each call with familiar professionalism, her voice steady and patient, no different from any other shift over the past eight years.

At nine o'clock in the evening, Anh Tuyet's phone rang, not an emergency call but a relay call from the center's reception department. She listened for a while, her face gradually relaxed into a smile, then looked for Dan, signaling her to pick up the phone.

— Someone wants to talk to you.

Dan picked up the phone, a bit surprised.

— Hello, I'm Dan.

— Miss Dan, my name is Bao Nhi, do you still remember me?

The voice rang out in the headset, still childish but different from the trembling whisper that Dan had heard for nearly five hours that night, now clear, natural, and most importantly, full of life.

— Bao Nhi, child? I miss you so much, how could I forget? How are you?

— I'm fine, auntie, I'm no longer afraid. My mother is also much better. She was discharged from the hospital last week. We are now at my grandmother's house. I called to thank you, because you saved my mother and me that night.

Dan felt a lump in her throat. It took a second to answer. Her voice trembled a bit but still managed to maintain the necessary warmth.

— I'm the one who should thank you, Bao Nhi. I was very brave to dare to call, dare to whisper, dare to type to talk to her all night. Without children, she couldn't do anything.

— Aunt, when I grow up I want to have a job like yours, so I can save others like you saved us.

That sentence made Dan have to turn his face away a bit, hiding the tears that suddenly rose to the corner of his eyes, while still trying to keep his voice steady over the phone.

— I believe you can do it, Bao Nhi. You already have the courage, the rest is just learning more skills.

The conversation lasted a few more minutes, Bao Nhi told about the new school she was attending near her grandmother's house, about the neighbor's little cat that she had just met, and simple everyday stories of a child who is gradually regaining her childhood. Dan listened to every sentence, remembered every detail, as if she was storing a precious gift that she didn't want to miss any part of.

— My mother told me to call quickly, because she still had to work. — Bao Nhi said, her voice was a bit regretful. — But I want to tell you that I'm not afraid of strange noises at night anymore, because I know if anything happens, I can always call you.

— You're always here, Bao Nhi. Whenever you need someone, this number is always available twenty-four hours a day. It doesn't have to be me, but there is always someone ready to listen to you.

— I know, miss. Thank you again, I have to go to sleep, I have school tomorrow.

— Sleep well, my child. I hope you study well.

The line died, leaving Dan with a slowly spreading warm feeling, different from all the intense emotions she had experienced that night thirteen months ago, a simple feeling of peace that she rarely had the opportunity to fully feel in her work.

When the call ended, Dan put down the phone, sat quietly for a moment, letting his emotions calm down before returning to work. Anh Tuyet looked at her, didn't ask anything, just smiled, a smile of understanding between two people who had gone through countless difficult nights together.

Twenty minutes past nine, Dan's desk phone rang again. She put her headphones back on, picked up the phone, and her voice immediately returned to her familiar working state.

— Emergency hotline one year, please listen, what do you need help with?

— Yes, my child has a high fever. I don't know what to do. Please help me...

The woman's panicked voice rang out, and Dan immediately began the familiar process, asking for the address, asking for symptoms, and giving instructions to reduce the fever while waiting for the car to arrive. On the screen on the left, the positioning coordinates appear clearly in just a few seconds, a specific, accurate, unambiguous address, no need to compare church bells or train whistles to deduce.

The indicator light on the map changed from flashing yellow to steady green, confirming the location had been accurately locked, just like the thousands of other normal calls that Dan had handled during his eight years on the job, and would continue to handle in the years ahead.

She looked at that steady green light for a moment, then continued the call, her voice steadily instructing the mother on how to reduce her child's fever, her hands quickly typing in vehicle information, every movement so skillful that it was almost automatic after eight years of practice. No more flashing orange circles covering an entire residential area, no more triangulations with church bells or train whistles, just a clear address and a familiar process running as smoothly as it always has.

Outside, the city continued its daily life, with joys, accidents, moments of fear and moments of timely help, all converging on this small room, on the people sitting behind the duty desks, listening, judging, and acting, night after night, never knowing what the next call, whether normal or unusual, would bring.