Chapter 9 — Dowry Melted

He stood at the end of the hallway, looking at the scene before him. The wedding is over, the bride is gone, and her sister-in-law wants a divorce. His lips moved slightly. "Sister-in-law..." I looked at him. Phuong Vien bowed her head. "Sorry." "Those money... I will pay." I said nothing. Turn around and push open the hotel door. The December wind rushed in, so cold that I shivered. Phuong Due called me from behind. "Giang Hoa!" I didn't turn around. "Giang Hoa, can't you still fix your mistakes?" "I'll make it clear to my mother, absolutely not in the future—" "Phuong Due." I stopped walking, but didn't turn back. "Do you know what I hate the most?" "It's not that my mother stole my things." "It's that I know well and still help her." "Then turn around and tell me 'to be patient'." "It's been three years." "I let it go." I waited for three years." The wind blew my hair. "Please look at the divorce agreement carefully and reply within ten days." "If it's past the deadline, I'll sue you directly." I walked towards the taxi parked on the side of the road. Open the car door, sit in. "South of the city, Thuy Truc Uyen area." The taxi started. I leaned against the back seat and closed my eyes. I still have something in my pocket. A red velvet box. It's something I secretly took from the table before the wedding started, when everyone wasn't looking. The pair of dragon and phoenix bracelets that Trieu Dinh Dinh took off. They do not belong to Trieu Dinh Dinh. It also no longer belongs to Tien Que Phuong. The faint scratches inside the phoenix bracelet, I gently stroked it with my thumb. The word "Hoa" that my grandmother carved. Half was lost, but still remained. 11The divorce procedure took place very quickly. Phuong Due signed on the eighth day. Lawyer Han said that at first he wanted to prolong it. But Phuong Kien Quoc forced him to sign. The agreement was made according to my conditions. The dowry was converted to five hundred and sixteen thousand, paid in twelve installments. The common property was transferred, the court ruled that I could get back four hundred thousand. Compensation for mental damage, twenty Thousands. It's not a big number. But every penny is what I deserve. The day I signed the papers at the civil service office, Phuong Due's eyes turned red. He asked me one last question. "Hoa Hoa, do you really not leave any way out?" I put the divorce papers in my pocket. "Phuong Due, the way out is for those who can still turn around." "The day my mother melted down your dowry, I helped her hide it from you." Don't cause trouble." "In these three years, every time I had a chance to stand up for you." "But I never did." "So, don't leave it anymore." He stood in front of the civil service office. I left. Without turning back. The day I moved into Thuy Truc Uyen, my father came from the countryside to help me move things. Actually, there was nothing to move. A few boxes of clothes, a few books, a computer, and an old suitcase. Dad helped me hang the curtains and looked around. "If it's small, then It's a little small, but it's enough." I smiled lightly. "It's enough to live alone." Dad was silent for a moment. "Hoa Hoa, your mother's ring..." "I know." "If it's lost, it's gone, I don't blame you." I turned around to clean the kitchen. Actually, that pair of dragon and phoenix bracelets, I asked lawyer Han to contact the jewelry store. Can it be melted back into its original shape? The craftsman said he could try to restore it, but that old-fashioned lotus and vine pattern technique It's gone. It's just a close resemblance. It's no longer the one my grandmother used to wear. But the word "Hoa" is still there. Then Trieu Dinh Dinh asked someone to return the gold earrings: "Sister-in-law, I'm sorry." Lawyer Han helped me find a jeweler, melt down the earrings, and remake them into a plain ring. 8 grams. A little thinner than the original, because browning will cause loss. But it's okay. I put it on the red string and hung it around my neck. Like when I was eleven years old. Dad looked

Seeing that red string, he didn't say anything, just patted me hard on the shoulder. First night moving into a new house. I stood for a long time on the balcony. This old housing area in the south of the city is not noisy. Downstairs there is a large banyan tree, the leaves of which do not move under the streetlight. The phone rang. It's Tien Que Phuong's number. I hesitated for two seconds, then picked up the phone. "Hoa Hoa... I know it's wrong." "Can you... come back?" "I'll give you the gold Buddha pendant, too, okay?" "Go home, I'll never touch your things again from now on." She cried on the other end of the line. Cry a lot. I listened for a while. "Mom." "I'm calling you one last time." "Please keep the Buddha pendant, as if I have respected you for the past three years." "But I won't come back again." "Not in this life." I hung up and deleted her number. Block it. Then turn off the balcony lights. In the living room, a kettle of water has just been boiled. I made myself a cup of tea. Sitting on a brand new sofa — chosen by me, light gray, no one will cover it with a red and blue floral fabric. The tea is very hot. I blew and slowly took a sip. The streetlight outside the window shined in, falling onto the wooden floor, a small patch of warm yellow. A house of your own. A cup of tea of my own. Quiet. It turns out that this is the feeling of no longer having to bear the pain.