Chapter 4 — It's Too Late, Doctor Vu

At six o'clock in the morning, Lam Nhi left Bich Van's apartment, letting baby Mien sleep a little more under her friend's watchful eye, while I drove back to Tay Ho villa to get more school supplies and her favorite clothes - she insisted on bringing a princess dress to wear to class today, and Lam Nhi didn't want to disappoint her anymore after a night of having to leave home in a hurry.

The sky had just dawned after last night's rain, the air was fresh, the surface of West Lake was calm, reflecting the gentle sunlight at the beginning of the day. Lam Nhi parked the car in front of the gate, used her private key to open the gate, and entered the yard in the familiar quiet of the early morning. She thought Dinh Vu must have gone to work early, because today he had a high-tech demonstration surgery for the appraisal team. The appointment clearly stated that he had to be present at the operating room at seven thirty.

She opened the main door with her own key, entered the house, intending to go straight to her child's bedroom on the second floor to get things. But as soon as she set foot on the first step, she heard noises coming from the master bedroom on the third floor - where she and Dinh Vu still sleep together every night.

Lam Nhi stopped, her heart beat slowed down in surprise. Dinh Vu cannot be home at this hour, his car is not in the yard. Perhaps the maid came to clean up earlier than usual, she reassured herself, then continued walking up the stairs.

But when she passed by the third floor, the master bedroom door suddenly opened.

A young woman with shoulder-length hair, wearing a loose white men's shirt - a shirt that Lam Nhi immediately recognized as Dinh Vu's, the same style, the same brand he was wearing - walked out of the bedroom, her hand still brushing back her tangled hair, looking like she had just woken up after a long night.

The two women stood staring at each other in the middle of the stairs, neither of them saying a word for the first few seconds.

"Excuse me, I'm..." The strange woman spoke first, her voice somewhat confused but quickly regained her composure, even showing a glimpse of an incomprehensible smile. "Who are you looking for?"

Lam Nhi felt her whole body go cold, her arms and legs shaking uncontrollably. She looked down at the shirt the woman was wearing, looked at the bedroom door that was still ajar, and glimpsed inside the rumpled bed sheet, a pillow that was out of its usual position.

"I..." Lam Nhi opened her mouth, but her throat seemed to be choked by someone, unable to utter a word.

"Maybe you have the wrong house." The woman continued, her tone so natural that it made Lam Nhi even more stunned. "This is Dr. Vu's private home. I am his friend."

Having finished speaking, she passed Lam Nhi and walked down the stairs leisurely, without looking rushed or worried, as if this were a completely normal thing, as if she was the one who had the right to be in this house. The sound of high-heeled footsteps tapping steadily on the wooden floor echoed throughout the silent space, then the sound of the main door opening and closing, and the sound of the car starting to leave the yard.

Lam Nhi stood rooted to the spot, not knowing how long she stood like that. She looked down at her trembling hand clutching the stair handrail, feeling like the whole world around her was slowly collapsing, piece by piece.

She continued up to the third floor and pushed open the main bedroom door. The room still smelled of strange perfume, a sweet scent that was not hers. The double bed they used to lie in together every night was now rumpled in an unusual way, the two pillows were out of place, the blanket was pulled to one side. On the dressing table, a small earring that didn't belong to her lay there.

Lam Nhi stood in the middle of the room, feeling like she was standing in the middle of the ruins of the marriage she had worked so hard to preserve for five years. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, she just stood there, speechless, feeling a strange pain spread throughout her body — not an intense explosion of pain, but a deep numbness, as if all her emotions had been drained from her in just a few short minutes.

She remembered last night, when Dinh Vu called and urged her to take her children away because she was afraid that the appraisal team would suddenly visit. She remembered the text message he sent at nearly 1 a.m., informing her that the group had left. So what happened then? Where were you all last night? Since when has that woman been in this house?

The phone in her pocket vibrated. It's a text message from Dinh Vu: "I'm in surgery, it may last until noon. Remember to take Mien to school on time. I'll try to leave early this afternoon to make up for you two."

Lam Nhi looked at that message, a bitter irony rose in her heart. He was still in the operating room, saving another person's life, while at home, a strange woman had just stepped out of their own bed.

She didn't text back, nor did she call to question. There was something in Lam Nhi, a self-protection instinct honed over five years of living in secret, that told her that now was not the time to scream or demand immediate answers. She needed to stay sane, at least enough to make sure her daughter got to school on time, enough to not collapse right in front of anyone.

She quietly went to get school supplies and a princess dress for her child as originally planned, her hands still shaking but her movements still trying to maintain an outward calm. Before leaving the room, she stood one last time, looking around the bedroom that once contained so many warm memories of the whole small family - the nights he hugged her to sleep after a long shift, the mornings when little Mien climbed into bed to wake up both parents, all of which now suddenly became strange, tainted by something she could not yet fully name.

She pulled out her phone, took a few photos of the room — the rumpled bed, the strange earring on the dressing table — for unknown reasons, perhaps the instinct of someone who needs proof for herself, so that later when the numbness passes and the real pain sets in, she won't doubt herself whether she's imagining it all or not.

Before leaving the villa, Lam Nhi lingered for a few minutes in the living room on the first floor, where the only small wedding photo of the two of them hung - a photo taken quickly in a popular studio on the day they registered their marriage, no gorgeous wedding dresses, no lavish parties, just two young people smiling brightly together, believing that love is enough to overcome all barriers. The photo was placed modestly on the bookshelf, hidden behind a few medical dictionaries, as if even in their own home, their happiness had to be hidden. Lam Nhi picked up the photo frame, her fingers lightly brushed over her own youthful face in the photo, then put it down, without taking it with her, as a silent farewell to what she once believed in.

Leaving the villa, Lam Nhi drove back to Bich Van's house, her face still maintaining a strangely calm expression as she woke her daughter, helped her change clothes, put on her favorite princess dress, and then took her to school on time like any other normal morning. On the way, baby Mien chirped and told stories about the picture she was going to draw today, completely unaware that her mother's world had just experienced an earthquake. Lam Nhi drove and nodded in response to her child, her voice was still gentle as usual, but inside, a part of her was silently breaking. Only her eyes, if anyone paid close attention, would see a deep void that was gradually expanding, like a calm sea before the real storm came.

After taking her child to class and telling the teacher that Aunt Van would come pick her up this afternoon, Lam Nhi sat in the car alone in the deserted parking lot in front of the school. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, looking out through the windshield, and now, when no one was around, when she no longer needed to keep a calm face for her daughter, the real pain began to come, intense and irrepressible.

She put her head down on the steering wheel, letting her tears flow endlessly, her whole body shaking with sobs. Five years of patience, five years of accepting to live in darkness, five years of waiting for a promise to be fulfilled - it all seemed to have gone down the drain in just one morning, because a strange woman walked out of the very room she once believed was the safest place for her love.

When the crying subsided, Lam Nhi sat up straight, dried her tears, and looked at herself in the rearview mirror with eyes that had become surprisingly cold and decisive. She didn't know the whole truth behind what she had just witnessed, but she knew one thing for sure — she wouldn't continue to live like this another day, wouldn't continue to wait for vague promises, wouldn't continue to let her daughter grow up in a family that she herself was no longer sure whether it still existed or not.

She started the car and left the parking lot, her heart had decided on a new direction, no matter how unclear and painful the road ahead was.