Chapter 11 — I Won't Wait for You to Return

Nhan, it is me, Chu’s mother. I have seen everything circulating on the internet. My son, Dien, has been foolish and behaved without foresight, leaving you to bear this injustice alone.

Nhan remained silent. Chu’s mother let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh on the other end of the line.

Actually, everyone in our family knows how well you have treated him over these past years. I truly hoped that you would be the one to become my daughter-in-law.

Nhan held the phone, turning to look at me. I was staring at that long-overdue ring sitting on the table. We locked eyes, both of us reading the same profound sense of irony in the other’s gaze. First, the apology letter from Ze-Yu. Now, this phone call from Dien’s parents. They all labored under the delusion that a few scraps of belated nostalgia and cheap validation could salvage the situation. They imagined that by uttering a single sentence—something along the lines of "we always acknowledged you"—they could neatly sweep away eight years of betrayal and scars. They failed to realize that every move they made only peeled back another layer of their own pathetic, hypocritical nature. It turned out there was a third wave of truths to be unearthed. I placed the ring back into its velvet box and sealed it shut.

Nhan, I whispered, looking at her. The final spark is here. Let it all burn.

Nhan let out a sharp, mocking laugh into the receiver. If you have known me for so long, and if you truly understood what I sacrificed for Dien all these years, then tell me, why didn’t you question it for even a single second when he brought that junior colleague home to meet you?

On the other end, Chu’s mother suddenly fell silent.

True protection is never about hiding someone away in the shadows, nor is it about scrubbing them out of your life once you have finally achieved success.

I sat before my computer, typing the final line of my response to Ze-Yu’s public apology. An hour ago, Ze-Yu had posted his handwritten letter to Weibo. He finally admitted to our seven-year relationship, but he still tried to paint a picture of tranquility and nobility. In the letter, he wrote: I wanted to protect her too much, fearing that the rumors within the entertainment industry would cause her harm, which is why I chose to keep our relationship private.

Staring at those nauseating words, I reposted his letter with my own rebuttal: You were not afraid that rumors would hurt me. You were terrified that acknowledging my existence would tarnish your carefully curated image as a bachelor, thereby hindering your ability to attract fans. You feasted on my patience and my seven years of silent sacrifice, only to discard me the moment you reached the summit, trading me in for a socialite fiancee who better suited your status as a prize-winning actor. Ze-Yu, do not cloak your cowardice in the guise of protection; you are nothing more than a profoundly selfish man.

The moment my post went live, Ze-Yu was thoroughly impaled on the stake of public humiliation. The netizens have eyes like polished mirrors; no one was interested in buying his act of the heartbroken, misunderstood lover anymore. Meanwhile, Nhan made the recording of her conversation with Chu’s mother public. In the audio, the older woman’s voice was hesitant and shifty, dripping with a guilty conscience.

Nhan, it is not that I am unaware of how well you treated Dien, the older woman stammered. The bird’s nest, the medicinal liquors you sent, even those specialized patches for his father’s back that you had flown in from the capital—I have always kept those acts of kindness in my heart. But at the time, Dien told me that the flame between you two had long since extinguished. He told me that you looked down on him for being a poor doctoral student and that you had grown impatient and left him first.

Nhan’s voice was biting, cold as ice: So, when he brought that girl home, you did not harbor even the slightest shred of suspicion?

There was a silence on the line that stretched for several agonizing seconds. Finally, the older woman sighed, her voice dropping to a low, weary murmur. Nhan, let me be honest with you, and please, do not take offense. The professor of that young woman is the one overseeing the key project that Dien has been desperate to join. Dien told me that he was at a critical juncture in his career and could not afford a single mistake. As his parents, we only wish for him to have a smoother path forward.