Chapter 10 — He Only Woke Up After the Divorce

Upon returning home, I opened my phone’s contact list and navigated to the entry for Bui Dien. The last call between us had taken place exactly twenty days ago. Since that conversation, he had not reached out to me once. I stared at his phone number for a long time, the digits blurring into a static hum, before finally locking the screen. I went to take a shower. Midway through, the bathroom was already thick with steam. I buried my face under the spray of hot water, holding my breath for ten seconds before surfacing. I remembered how, in the past, he used to pace outside the bathroom door, counting the minutes aloud.

Ky Duong, that is twenty minutes.

Ky Duong, that is twenty-five minutes. Did you slip and fall?

Shall I come in?

Get lost! I did not fall!

Then why are you taking so long?

I am wearing a facial mask!

Even then, the doorknob would eventually turn. That shameless man would push his way in, towel in hand, wearing an expression of utter solemnity as he said, I am just here to help you scrub your back.

The water cascaded over my head, scalding and relentless. It was too hot. My eyes stung, smarting from the heavy, suffocating steam. I was not crying. Truly, I was not. The following day, I met up with Hua Nhung. As we sat in the cafe, I stared blankly at the swirl of foam atop my latte. Hua Nhung watched me for three solid minutes.

You are missing him.

I am not.

You have stirred that cup eighty times, she remarked. The pattern in the foam died a long time ago.

I set the spoon down. Hua Nhung, am I sick?

You are not sick. You are just still in love with him.

I do not love him.

I continued, my voice steady, He made me feel like I was suffocating. He controlled every facet of my life. He denied me my freedom.

Then do you hate him?

I do not hate him.

Then what are you feeling right now?

I thought for a long time before answering. I feel… I feel stuck on the day he said he remembered everything. The day he admitted he knew exactly how wretched he had been.

Yes.

The words I had waited three years to hear—he finally said them.

Hua Nhung watched me in silence.

But he did not realize it because I told him to.

I bowed my head, staring at my hands. It was because he lost his memory, because he had to look back at the things he had done as if they were the actions of a stranger, that he finally realized how terrible he was. If he had never lost his memory, perhaps he would have gone his entire life without ever thinking he had a problem.

So, are you still angry?

I am not angry.

Then what are you?

I do not know.

I truly did not know. Hua Nhung reached across the table and took my hand. Duong, regardless of anything else, you are free now. If you want to go back, you can, and if you do not want to, you do not have to. No one is holding you captive anymore.

Yes.

On the way home, I drove past his building again. This time, I did not slow down, but I saw it nonetheless. Standing in front of the building was a figure—very tall, very thin. He had lost so much weight. He wore a black overcoat, no umbrella, standing in the wind while smoking. In the past, Bui Dien did not smoke. He used to say the scent of tobacco would cling to me. My car drifted past him. He did not look at me, or perhaps he did and chose to pretend he hadn't. I watched his frame shrink in the rearview mirror until he was nothing more than a speck. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

On Saturday, the first phase of the villa project for Tham Tu reached completion for inspection. When I arrived at the site, he was already there. The first floor had been completely renovated. It featured an open kitchen, original wood flooring, and floor-to-ceiling glass panels. The light poured in, making the entire space feel airy and brilliant.

It is excellent.

I looked around the room. It is even more beautiful than the renderings.

Tham Tu stood by the window, smiling at me. It is all because of your excellent design.

After the inspection, he invited me to sit in the courtyard for a while. There were two chairs and a pot of tea. The sunlight felt warm on our skin.

Ms. Ky.

You can call me Ky Duong.

He paused, a faint flush creeping up his ears. Ky Duong.

Hmm?

The sentence I left unfinished last time—I would like to finish it.

I looked at him. He set his teacup down, turned toward me, and looked at me with profound seriousness.

I like you. I liked you from the very first moment we met.