Chapter 8 — Five Years of Unjust Prison

She sighed: "Do you still rent this room? The rent will increase next month."
“No more renting.” I said. “I move tomorrow.”
She was a little surprised, but didn't ask much. The next day, I moved into a new residential area. Two bedrooms and one living room, facing south, with balcony. Standing on the balcony you can see the mountains far away. I bought new bed sheets, new bowls and chopsticks, and a new desk. Then place a photo on the desk. This is a photo when I was sixteen years old, when I received my admission notice to Kinh Dai. The teenager in the photo smiled brightly, with light in his eyes. I looked for a long time. Then open the computer and start searching.
“Conditions for registering for university entrance exams for adults.”
“Self-study in law.”
“Judicial exam policy for people with criminal records.”
Line by line, I looked at it very carefully. That evening, I received a phone call. Calling from prison.
"Mr. Co, Mrs. Chu Uyen, your mother, want to see you."
“I don't have time.” I said.
“She said there was something important she wanted to tell you, related to your father and To Van.”
I was silent for a moment: "What?"
“She said she could only speak directly.”
The next day, I finally went to prison. In the meeting room, my mother was wearing prison clothes and had become much thinner. Seeing me, her eyes turned red.
“Tieu Tram…” She held the phone through the glass.
I don't move. She wiped her tears: "I know you hate me. I also hate myself."
“She said it was important.” I reminded her.
She took a deep breath: "Your father... didn't simply let To Van replace you." I wait.
“He still has human lives in his hands.” My mother's voice trembled. “Twenty-five years ago, in Van Son district, To Van's mother, Vuong Tu Lan... did not die of illness.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"She discovered your father's identity and threatened to accuse him of committing adultery. Your father gave her a sum of money, but she didn't complain, saying she wanted to make a scene at your father's unit."
“Then she ‘suddenly’ fell into the water.”
Tears fell from my mother's eyes: "At that time, I didn't know... I really didn't know... Until two days ago, your father was talking in his sleep, so I..."
“Do you have proof?” I asked.
She shook her head: "But you can go investigate. The elderly in Van Son district all know that a few days before Vuong Tu Lan died, your father returned." I hung up the phone. Coming out of the prison, the sunlight was blinding. I stood on the side of the road for a long time. Then take your phone and book a bus ticket to Van Son district. A week later, I returned. Brought back a bunch of old newspaper copies and some old people's recordings. Vuong Tu Lan's death that year was indeed suspicious. But no one investigated carefully. A rural widow, with her stepdaughter, dead is just dead. I handed over the documents to the police department. A month later, my father's crime included another crime: intentional murder. From fifteen years the sentence was changed to life imprisonment. I went to prison to see him one last time. He's gotten so old that he's no longer in shape. Seeing me, he smiled: "I still investigated it."
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret what?” He asked back. "Regret giving birth to To Van? Regret so I can take the blame for you? Or regret not handling you more cleanly that year?"
His eyes were very cold. Still my familiar father. Good at calculating, cold and heartless.
“What I regret most is underestimating you.” “I thought you were like your mother, acting emotionally and easily controlled.”
“But you are more cruel than I thought.”
I laughed: "Learn from you." Visiting hours are over. He stood up, turned and left. After walking a few steps, he turned around again: "Tieu Tram, help dad take care of To Van."
“Based on what?”
“She is my sister.”
“I don't have a sister.”
I say it's as strong as cutting a nail or iron. He looked at me for a long time, then finally said nothing and left. From then on, I never saw him again. Three years later, I saw the news of his death in the newspaper. The announcement issued by the prison hospital stated that the cause of death was end-stage liver cancer. I didn't come to receive the ashes. Let the prison handle it as an unclaimed person. On the drive home, I received a phone call from the prison. It's my mother.
“Tieu Tram, are you okay?”
“Um.”
She was silent for a moment: "Is he... dead?"
“Um.”
She was silent again.
"Mom." The first time I took the initiative to call her. “Renovate it well in there.”
From the other end came a suppressed cry.
“I will… Tieu Tram, I will…”
“I will visit her once a year.” I said. “But it's just a visit, not forgiveness.”
“I know… I know…”
Hang up the phone. I parked my car on the side of the road, looking at the traffic outside the window. The city lights up, a prosperous area. I remember many years ago, our family of three often went out for a walk in the evening. Dad held my hand, mom was next to me smiling. At that time I thought we would be like this forever. Turns out forever is so short. So short that all it takes is one lie to completely destroy it. The phone rang. Is a teacher of a judicial exam preparation class.
"Classmate Co, school starts next month, don't forget."
“I didn't forget.”
Hang up the phone, I start the car again. Drive towards the exam preparation class. The road is still very long. But I was finally able to walk on my own. End of story.