Chapter 1 — It's Too Late, Doctor Vu

At seven o'clock in the morning, the fifth floor hallway of Anh Duong International Hospital was brightly lit under cold white LED lights, the smell of antiseptic alcohol mixed with the smell of coffee from the reception desk created an atmosphere so familiar that Chu Lam Nhi could close her eyes and still walk in the right rhythm. She wore a dark blue assistant's uniform, her hair tied in a bun, her hand holding a thick stack of medical records, passing by a large sign hanging in the middle of the main lobby with gilded letters: "Doctor Kha Dinh Vu — Head of the Department of Cardiovascular Surgery, Deputy Chief of Specialization." Below was a portrait of him wearing a white blouse, calm eyes looking straight into the camera, a face that had become familiar to tens of thousands of patients through health television programs.

No one in this nine-story building knew that the woman walking past that sign, bowing politely like any other employee, was the legal wife of the man in the photo.

Lam Nhi pushed open the door to Dinh Vu's private office, placed the stack of documents on the table in the exact order of priority he had requested, then poured a cup of warm water and placed it next to the computer. It was a habit that she had repeated for five years, to the point that she did it without thinking, just like how a person breathes without being reminded to inhale and exhale.

"Today's schedule has three consultations in the morning, one consultation with the Pediatrics department at ten o'clock, and coronary artery bypass surgery at two o'clock in the afternoon." She recited the schedule in a monotone, professional voice, no different from every other morning during the long time they performed this play in front of the surrounding eyes.

Dinh Vu sat behind his desk, reviewing a patient's CT scan, and looked up at her for a moment. His eyes were completely different from the cold, professional look he used to talk to his colleagues — in that brief moment, with only the two of them in the room, he revealed something soft, almost apologetic.

"Did Mien sleep well last night?" he asked, his voice lowered even though the door was closed.

"She waited for me to come home until almost eleven o'clock before going to sleep." Lam Nhi replied, still rearranging the stack of papers on the table, not looking directly at him. "I told her dad was busy with a difficult surgery, but she asked when he would be busy again."

Dinh Vu was silent for a moment. That question from his daughter had been repeated countless times over the past five years, and each time he had no satisfactory answer, even to himself.

"I'll be home earlier tonight." He said, then turned back to the computer screen, as if that was the only way to avoid having to face her eyes any longer.

Lam Nhi nodded, said nothing more, then left the room to prepare for the first examination. It was an unwritten rule between the two: within the hospital, they were not allowed to be husband and wife, even when the door was closed. So many years of living in that reserve had turned caution into instinct, to the point that sometimes even when it was just the two of them, she still kept her distance as if someone was watching.

The morning passed at a familiar pace. Lam Nhi stood next to her during consultations, took notes, prepared documents, called to confirm appointments, all as smoothly as a machine that had been operating for many years. At lunchtime, she brought the food tray as instructed from the canteen area reserved for the board of directors into his office, placed it on the table, and then turned to leave.

"Stay and eat with me for a bit." Dinh Vu said, his voice had a rare pleading tone.

Lam Nhi glanced out the glass door, where she could see people passing by in the hallway. "If anyone sees—"

"The door is locked." He interrupted, stood up and pulled out a chair for her to sit across from him.

These are the rare moments they have during the working day - half an hour of lunch behind a locked door, where Lam Nhi can remove her professional seriousness, tell him the trivial stories of baby Mien, and he can be a normal husband and father, not the "star doctor" that the whole hospital is worshiping.

"This morning she asked me why Tom's classmate had his dad take him to school, but I didn't." Lam Nhi gently stirred the bowl of soup, trying to keep her voice calm. "I don't know how to answer so you understand."

Dinh Vu put down his chopsticks, his face looked a bit heavy. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you." She looked up at him, her eyes sincere. "I just hope... things will be different soon."

"It will be different." He grabbed her hand on the table and squeezed it gently. "As long as you get through this stage, when the investment contract with the Meridian Foundation is signed, your position in the hospital will be much stronger. At that time, you will publicly announce everything yourself, no one can stop you."

That was a promise he had made countless times over the past five years, each time for a different reason — sometimes because he had just been promoted, sometimes because the hospital was in a sensitive period, sometimes because a big media project was about to launch. Lam Nhi no longer remembers how many times she believed, but each time she still chose to believe, because her love for him had never diminished, and because she understood the pressure on a man's shoulders to both maintain his career and protect his small family in such a harsh environment.

Lunch ended, Lam Nhi packed up the food tray, fixed her hair, and put on a professional look before opening the door and stepping out, immersing herself back into the work routine. In the afternoon, she stood outside the operating room in a sterile suit, watching through the observation glass as Dinh Vu and his team performed a coronary artery bypass surgery that lasted more than four hours. His hands were steady, his eyes were absolutely focused, without the slightest trembling even though the patient was an eighty-year-old man with a very high risk of complications. That was the image that made Lam Nhi always proud of her husband, even though sometimes that pride came with a loneliness that was hard to name - she loves that talented man who was admired by the whole society, but had never been allowed to stand next to him in public light.

At six o'clock in the afternoon, the surgery ended successfully, Dinh Vu walked out of the operating room with a haggard face but relieved eyes. Lam Nhi gave him a warm towel and a glass of water, then quickly reported on the situation of other patients during the day, all in a purely business tone in the presence of surrounding colleagues.

At eight o'clock in the evening, when most of the staff had left, Lam Nhi left the hospital in her own car, running toward the apartment complex where she picked up baby Mien from the private daycare center late. The four-year-old girl ran to hug her mother's leg, her chubby face lit up.

"Mom, is dad coming home tonight?"

"Dad said he'll be home early tonight." Lam Nhi picked up her baby, kissed her cheek, and felt the familiar smell of milk and baby soap.

Half an hour later, her car turned into a small road leading to a quiet villa area in Tay Ho, where the calm water surface reflected the city lights. The spacious three-story house stands separately behind a green fence, with no signs, no acquaintances, almost completely separate from the world where Dinh Vu is a "single star doctor". Only when the iron gate closes behind her, when the warm lights in the house turn on, can Lam Nhi really breathe a sigh of relief, can she truly be herself - not the serious and neat "doctor's assistant Vu", but a wife and mother.

She bathes her children, prepares dinner, cleans the living room, all the simple tasks of a normal family that she cherishes more than anyone else, because she understands the price she has to pay to get it — the silence, the suffering, and the mornings of having to bow to her husband like a stranger.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the familiar sound of a car rang out outside the gate. Little Mien, who was watching cartoons on the sofa, immediately jumped up and ran to the door shouting: "Daddy's home! Dad's home!"

Dinh Vu walked in, took off his coat, knelt down to hug his daughter, his face was completely different from the cold calm look in the hospital - it was the face of a tired but loving father. He picked up the child, turned to look at Lam Nhi standing at the kitchen door, the corner of his mouth curled into a gentle smile just for her.

"I'm home." He spoke, his voice gentle as if he had relieved all the burden of a long day.

Dinner that night was as warm as any other evening in this secret house - Dinh Vu told his child about a young patient he had just saved, baby Mien chirped and showed off her drawings in class, and Lam Nhi sat quietly looking at the father and son, her heart filled with both happiness and vague insecurity. She did not know that in just a few days, this warm house would become the place to witness the most painful moment in her life - the moment the faith she had kept for five years was pushed to the brink of collapse.

But tonight, she only allowed herself to enjoy this rare peace, clean the table with her husband, lull their children to sleep, then sit on the porch overlooking the sparkling West Lake, hand in hand with the man whom the whole outside world still believed that no one had ever entered his heart.

"Thank you." Dinh Vu said softly, squeezing her hand tighter. "For being patient with me."

Lam Nhi leaned her head on his shoulder, not answering, just quietly looking at the moonlight reflecting on the lake, hoping that his promise this time would not be like the previous ones - just a temporary comfort before everything continued as before the next morning.