Chapter 3 — I Returned After 18 Years and Found Mother's Lifelong Secret

I held the savings book on top. The paper inside has turned yellow and brittle over the years. The notes are all handwritten. The handwriting is neat and soft. It's my mother's words when I was young. The first deposit, more than thirty years ago. The amount is very small. Just over ten yuan. Note two words: embroidery for hire. I turned each page. Each deposit is not much. Several dozen. One hundred. At most, it has never exceeded three hundred. There are all kinds of money sources. Knit a rented sweater. Sew shoe soles. Run errands. Even save money at the market during Tet. One account at a time. Record how a woman pulls every penny from between her teeth. It took a very long time. From before I was born, until I entered college. I never thought. The mother in my memories — always complaining about lack of money — had a secret notebook like this. I quickly flipped to the last page. All deposits stop at one day. Eighteen years ago. Three months before I went abroad. The last page has only one line. No deposit required. It's a withdrawal. A huge withdrawal. Withdraw all the savings accumulated over decades. I looked at that number. Then take the second notebook. Still the same handwriting. Same story. Just different source of money. This time it's dad's bonus. Extra money. And on the same day, it was wiped out. Third book. The fourth book. Each book records the family's most private assets. And it was all… erased on the same day. I add up all the withdrawn amounts. Fingertips become cold. A number so familiar that it was engraved deep in my bones appeared. Six hundred and fifty thousand yuan. I recalculated. It's sixty-five thousand. Fully sixty-five thousand. That number just seemed like a strange coincidence. Just like a carefully prepared rehearsal. Eighteen years ago, she wiped out her family once in this way. For what? My eyes fell on the black and white photo. That young man with the radiant smile. Whatman? And what does it have to do with the other sixty-five thousand? I turned the photo over. There is a line of text so faint that it almost disappears.

“For the person I love — Ngoc Phan.”

Signed: Lam Phong. Below is a date. Five years earlier than the year I was born. I put the notebooks and photos back in the box. As if locking away a piece of the past. But I know. Pandora's box has been opened. I stood up. Holding the heavy wooden box, he walked out to the living room. Giang Minh and his wife were sitting on the sofa, whispering something. Seeing me come out, he immediately fell silent. Dad stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his hands together, confused. Three eyes focused on the box in my hand. I walked to the tea table. Put the box down firmly. Giang Minh was startled.

“What are you doing!”

He snapped, his voice loud but lacking confidence. I didn't bother to answer. Take a black and white photo. Put it down on the table. My eyes locked on my father. Giang Chan Quoc.

"Whatman?"

My voice is not loud. But in the silent living room, it rang like a thunderclap. Dad was shaking. His eyes fell on the photo, his pupils constricted. In just a few seconds, that experienced face lost all color. His lips trembled, but he could not utter a word. Of course he knows. That reaction was the answer. Giang Minh and his wife also curiously bent down to look.

"Who is that?" Jiang Ming muttered. “Looks a bit familiar…”

His wife curled her lips disdainfully.

“An old photo that looks like a treasure.”

I didn't pay attention to that noise. Right now in my world it's just me and my dad. A wordless confrontation. I called back. This time the voice was deeper, colder.

“I asked again.”

"Whatman?"

Dad's throat went up and down heavily. He felt like someone was strangling him. He finally managed to spit out two words, as hoarse as sandpaper rubbed together.

“It… is over…”

“Don't ask anymore.”

Don't ask anymore? The three words are so funny that they make me want to laugh. Eighteen years of trouble. A strange man. A large sum of money disappeared without a trace. Each thing is like a poisonous thorn stuck in my heart. But he told me not to ask. I nodded. Calm face.

“So let's change the question.”

I took out the savings books from the box. Place each book neatly next to the photo.

“These things… you can't help but know.”

Dad's eyes shifted from the photo to the notebooks. His body staggered. Barely standing.

“Sixty-five thousand.”

I said that number clearly and slowly.

“Eighteen years ago, you guys withdrew all this money.”

“Where does the money go?”

When Giang Minh heard this, he lost patience.

“What exactly do you want to say?”

"Sixty-five thousand what? It's been decades old, why bring it up?"

“Does it make sense?”

I turned to look at him. Just one look. My voice is very light. But enough that his noise died down. My eyes said clearly: There is no room for you to speak up right now. I turned back to look at dad.

“Money for whom?”

“Is it for him?”

My finger pointed straight at the smiling face in the black and white photo — Lam Phong. Dad's last line of defense seemed to collapse. He took two strong steps back, his back hitting the wall. A heavy collision sounded.

“It's not…”

He muttered, his eyes scattered.

“It's not what you think…”

“Vi Vi… that's a debt…”

“As the Giang family, we… owe the Lam family…”

The Giang family owes money to the Lam family. One sentence, too many hidden meanings. A last name I've never heard of. A sum of money called "debt".

“What debt?” I pressed again.

“Do I have to spend a lifetime saving to pay?”

Dad closed his eyes tightly. Wrinkles are deep as if carved with a knife.

“It's… a human life.”

The three words almost escaped with the breath.

"My family... owes Lam Phong a life."