Chapter 2 — Debt Book at the End of the Alley

Dieu arrived at the hospital at six o'clock in the morning, taking over for Uncle Tu after a night of sitting awake outside the recovery room. He looked haggard, his eyes were dark, but still tried to force a smile when he saw her.

“She slept a little last night,” he reported, his voice hoarse. "The nurse came in to check my blood pressure a few times and said it was okay. Go in for a visit, then I'll go home and take a shower. I'll be back at noon."

Dieu nodded and pushed a loaf of bread hastily bought at the hospital gate into his hand. "Please eat something to fill your stomach, I can handle it here."

She entered the room and saw her mother still lying there, her face somewhat less tense than last night but still pale. Her eyes opened when she heard footsteps, following Dieu with a look that was both joyful and as if she wanted to say something unspeakable.

“Mom, did you sleep well?” Dieu asked, holding her mother's right hand, trying to keep her voice gentle even though her heart was heavy.

Her mother nodded softly, her lips moved but only came out fragmented sounds, not a sentence. Dieu looked at her mother's efforts, feeling like her heart was being strangled by someone, but she still smiled, pretended to understand, nodded in response to each meaningless sound as if it were a complete conversation.

Nearly eight o'clock, the main treating doctor came to examine her and invited Dieu to the hallway to discuss her condition and upcoming treatment in more detail. He opened the medical records and pointed to the brain CT images still displayed on the tablet.

“The hemorrhage is located in the right hemisphere, mainly affecting the left side of movement and part of the language ability,” the doctor explained, his voice professional but not lacking in sympathy. “The acute phase is considered over, but from here onwards it is a long road of recovery, requiring regular physical therapy, which can last six months to a year, depending on each person's response.”

“Doctor, is there a high chance of a full recovery?” Dieu asked, her voice trembling even though she tried to stay calm.

“It's hard to say,” the doctor replied honestly. "Some people recover up to eight or nine percent, some people only improve partially. The most important thing now is to persevere in practicing the correct regimen, and avoid letting the patient suffer from stress and heavy psychological pressure, because that directly affects the neurological recovery process."

Dieu recorded every word the doctor said into her phone, a professional habit she couldn't break even in this situation — needing data, needing numbers, needing something concrete to hold on to in the midst of a panic attack.

“In terms of cost,” the doctor added, “the family should be mentally prepared. Health insurance covers most of this acute treatment, but in the later rehabilitation phase, some intensive physical therapy services may not be covered by insurance, and the cost will not be small if it lasts.”

That sentence was like a bucket of cold water poured into Dieu's already chaotic mood. She thanked the doctor and stood silently for a moment in the hallway after he left, trying to organize her thoughts.

Her phone vibrated, a text message from Huong: "Boss agrees to let you take unpaid leave for one month, then consider moving on. Are you okay?"

Dieu looked at the text message, her fingers slid across the screen without knowing what to type to reply. One month. It sounds like a long time, but with what the doctor just said about a recovery process of six months to a year, one month is just a drop in the ocean.

She called Huong instead of texting, in need hearing a familiar voice in the midst of everything strange and heavy.

“I don't know what to do anymore,” Dieu said, her voice truly breaking for the first time since yesterday. "My mother needs at least six months of recovery, and there's no one to look after the shop, hospital bills, medicine... If I quit my job, how will I survive? If I don't quit, who will take care of my mother?"

“You calm down,” Huong said, her voice reassuring but matter-of-fact. "Just step by step. For now, just ask for a long-term leave first, don't quit your job completely yet. I'll ask if the company has a part-time remote working policy. Maybe you can take care of her and keep part of your income."

“Thank you,” Dieu said, feeling a little relieved even though the problem wasn't resolved. “I really don't know how I would have managed without you.”

“Don't say that, it's friends,” Huong replied. “You just take care of her first, let me figure out the rest from here.”

Hanging up the phone, Dieu returned to the hospital room, sat down next to her mother's bed, watching her fall into a fitful sleep. She took out her phone, opened the notes app, and began listing the things she needed to do — a long list with each line carrying its own burden: apply for official leave, find a temporary shopkeeper, check the shop's financial records, calculate expected hospital bills, learn about physical therapy at home.

Near noon, Uncle Tu returned, had showered, changed into cleaner clothes, and brought a lunch box. "You should eat, you've been hungry since morning."

Dieu received the lunch box and realized it was the familiar rib rice dish from a restaurant near the alley that she used to eat when she was a child. “Do you remember that I like to eat here?”

“Remember,” Uncle Tu smiled lightly, sitting in the chair opposite. “When I was little, every afternoon my mother was busy, my uncle would take me there to eat. I really liked the grilled ribs there.”

Dieu smiled, a rare smile between two stressful days, touched by the silent thoughtfulness of this man, whom she realized she had never really taken the time to get to know, even though he had always been there, next to her family, for so many years.

“Uncle Tu,” she asked, speaking while eating, “have you and my mother been close for a long time?”

Uncle Tu paused for a moment before responding, his eyes looking out through the hospital hallway window. "It's been a long time, honey. Since we were young, before you were born."

There was something in his voice that caught Dieu's attention, a small hesitation that if she hadn't paid attention, she would have missed it. But at that moment, the nurse walked in and announced that it was time to measure vital signs, interrupting the conversation, and Dieu didn't have time to ask any more questions.

In the afternoon, after the doctor confirmed that her mother's condition was stable so she could be transferred to the regular hospital room, Dieu took the opportunity to stop by the shop for a while, bringing with her a new determination: she would officially take a long-term unpaid leave, devoting all her time and energy to both taking care of her mother and finding a way to keep the shop from collapsing while waiting for her mother to recover.

She sat in front of the laptop she brought with her, composing an email asking for leave to send to the board of directors, typing slowly, considering each word to be both professional and sincere. After sending the email, she sat quietly looking at the screen for a long time, feeling that a certain door in her life had just closed, at least temporarily, to make room for another chapter that she never thought she would. have to face.

She closed the computer, went to the checkout counter, pulled out the drawer and looked for the sketchy income and expense book she saw last night. This time she read more carefully, trying to visualize the restaurant's true financial picture. The daily revenue recorded is quite steady, enough to cover the market, gas, and electricity and water bills, but no significant balance has been accumulated — this is not unusual for a popular restaurant, but it makes Dieu even more worried about how to manage hospital bills in the coming months.

She flipped through the last few pages, seeing that her mother's handwriting gradually became more shaky on the most recent pages, with some numbers being crossed out many times as if her mother had difficulty calculating even before collapsing. A small sign, but enough to make Dieu blame herself for not paying attention, not calling more often, not recognizing those silent changes from afar.

Mrs. Sau Lien stopped by late in the afternoon, bringing a small pot of porridge. "I cooked some extra, bring it over for your children to eat, so you don't have to worry about food and water during this confusing time."

"Thank you," Dieu took the pot of porridge, touched by the thoughtfulness of his old neighbor. “Uncle Sau, have you been in this alley long?”

"A long time ago, since before I was born," Mrs. Sau replied, sitting down on a nearby plastic chair. "Your mother and I have been neighbors since we were young, and have witnessed all the joys and sorrows of this alley."

“Do you know anything about those debts on that board?” Dieu asked, pointing towards the blackboard. "I see too much, I don't know if my mother can ask for it, or just leave it as it is."

Mrs. Sau looked at the board and was silent for a moment, her eyes slightly complicated. "That story," she said slowly, "let you slowly learn about it, I can't speak for your mother. Just know, each name on there has its own story, it's not as simple as you think."

That vague answer made Dieu even more curious, but she did not force further questions, sensing the delicate boundary that Mrs. Sau was trying to keep. Perhaps, she thought, this was something only her mother could explain clearly, when she was strong enough to do so.

That evening, after returning to the hospital to replace Uncle Tu's shift, Dieu sat by her mother's bedside and told her about her decision to take a leave of absence and how she would stay to take care of the restaurant in the near future. Her mother listened, her eyes shone with clear concern, her right hand tried to reach for Dieu's hand, squeezed it tightly, and shook her head slightly as if to protest.

“Don't worry, Mom,” Dieu said, trying to reassure even though she herself wasn't sure about what lay ahead. "I can handle it. Mom just needs to focus on getting better, I'll leave everything else to you."

Her mother still shook her head, her eyes carrying an incomprehensible urgency, as if she wanted to say something much more important than simply worrying about Dieu's health. But the sounds coming out of her mouth were still meaningless, fragmentary sounds that could not be combined into a complete sentence.

Dieu held her mother's hand tightly, trying to convey the peace of mind that she herself was lacking. "Mom, try to sleep well. I'll come back early tomorrow."

She left the hospital at nearly nine o'clock at night, on the way back to the alley, her mind was still lingering on her mother's urgent eyes, wondering what she was trying to say that her disobedient body did not allow her to say, and whether it had anything to do with that crowded debt sign, or with something bigger that Dieu could not yet say. can imagine.