Chapter 1 — Justice Delayed

On the day of our wedding, my fiance’s foster sister secretly severed the brake lines on my bridal car. My mother died on the spot while trying to protect me, and when I finally awoke, my mind was forever trapped at the age of seven. Tong Van Duong was supposedly sent to prison by Bui Tu Xuan. For the next seven years, he never contacted her once. When she begged for his forgiveness through tears, he would only say, "You owe Tinh Dao a debt that you will never be able to repay in this lifetime."

Later, when Tong Van Duong developed severe depression and begged me to let her out for treatment, I shook my head. Bui Tu Xuan stared at me in silence for a long time. The next second, he abruptly shattered a glass cup on the table.

"Hua Tinh Dao, just how much longer are you going to keep causing trouble?"

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cold. "It has been seven years! I haven’t seen her, I haven’t comforted her, and I haven't spent a single birthday with her. Because of you, she has been locked away for seven years! Now she just wants to go out for medical treatment—are you still not satisfied?"

I stared at him blankly, but he seemed to have reached his limit. "Your mother is dead! She is never coming back! Even if you have become a fool, aren't you still living quite well? What about Tong Van Duong? She has lost me. I already agreed to marry you, so why won't you let her go?"

In that moment, I finally understood. My mother really was never coming back. Bui Tu Xuan was exhausted from taking care of me. My mere existence was nothing but a burden to everyone. Outside the window, it was pitch black. My mother had been sleeping alone for so long; she must be afraid of the dark, right? I wanted to go and keep her company.

Bui Tu Xuan eventually left for the prison where Tong Van Duong was supposedly held. Bui's mother looked at the broken glass on the floor, frowning as she scolded me, "You are being unreasonable again, driving Tu Xuan away in anger." I stood there clutching my mother’s framed photograph, unable to argue back. The truth was, I did not know how to argue. After the accident seven years ago, the doctors said my cognitive development had halted at seven years old. There were many things I couldn't understand and many things I couldn't remember, but I knew my mother had vanished. I also knew that Bui Tu Xuan had promised to avenge her.

I retreated to my room, seeking out the photos he had taken of me visiting the prison on every anniversary of my mother's death. For seven years, on every anniversary, he would hold my hand and lead me to a small grey building. He told me that Tong Van Duong was locked inside, and that only when the villain was punished could my mother rest in peace. I had believed him for seven years.

However, on the tablet in his study, I found a folder titled "Anniversary Prison Visit Procedures." It contained instructions: "Grey prison attire must be prepared in advance," "The iron bar backdrop must be set up," and "The visitor room glass must be polished clean." Below it was a note: "Once Miss Tinh Dao's emotions are stable, immediately return Miss Van Duong to the sanitarium."

I stared at those words for a long time. Sanitarium, not prison. I opened the photos, and only then did I realize that the "prison" was actually the Bui family’s private sanitarium. Tong Van Duong had never spent a day in prison over the last seven years. She lived in a facility with gardens, a piano room, and private nursing staff. The Bui parents visited her every year, bringing clothes, cakes, flowers, and birthday gifts. One of those visits happened on my mother’s death anniversary. That morning, Bui Tu Xuan had held my hand to show me the "prison," telling me Tong Van Duong was suffering, but by the afternoon, he was sitting by her bedside, whispering gently, "It wasn't your fault. Van Duong, you’ve endured enough."

Tong Van Duong sobbed, "Brother, will Sister Tinh Dao ever forgive me?" Bui Tu Xuan remained silent for a long time before saying, "She only has the mind of a seven-year-old now; she doesn't understand anything. Just wait a little longer. Once her emotions stabilize, I will bring you home."

I sat on the carpet in the study, the framed photo slipping from my lap. The grey building was just a play staged for my benefit. Tong Van Duong wearing a prison uniform was just a show. In the folder, there was a staged photo of her in that uniform, captioned: "When Tinh Dao sees this, she will stop crying and asking for her mother."

I looked at the text and felt a sudden, biting cold. For years, every time I missed my mother, Bui Tu Xuan would stroke my hair and say, "Be good, Tinh Dao; Van Duong is still being punished, and your mother can rest easy." So, I was obedient and stopped crying, fearing I would disturb my mother's sleep. But now I knew—my mother had never received justice.

When Bui Tu Xuan returned and saw me holding the tablet, his expression shifted. He rushed forward, trying to grab it. I hugged the device tightly, looking up at him. "Isn't Tong Van Duong in prison? Why does she have a garden, a piano room, and birthday cakes?"

Bui Tu Xuan's hand hung in mid-air, his face ghastly. After a long silence, he said softly, "Tinh Dao, you are still just a child; you don't understand these things."

I shook my head. "I understand. She isn't locked up. You lied to me."

Bui Tu Xuan's throat moved as if he wanted to explain, but just then, Tong Van Duong called. Her name lit up the screen. He hesitated, then answered. Tong Van Duong’s voice was a soft, trembling cry: "Brother, can I come home now? The doctor says my condition isn't good, and I don't want to be here alone." Bui Tu Xuan glanced at me, turned toward the window, and whispered, "Don't be afraid. I will handle it."

I stood in the study, clutching my mother’s portrait, and finally realized: The person who had been locked away for seven years was never Tong Van Duong. It was me.

The next day, I went to the Bui family's sanitarium. It bore a sign for a rehabilitation center, looking exactly like the "prison" Bui Tu Xuan took me to. But entering through the back, I found no iron bars, only manicured gardens, bright corridors, and the scent of flowers. At the end of the hall, Tong Van Duong wore a soft white dress, sitting beside Bui Tu Xuan. She looked pale, her wrists so thin they seemed fragile as glass. Bui’s mother held her hand, eyes red. "Once you come home, we will never let you suffer again."

Bui’s father stood nearby, his tone unusually gentle. "The past should be put to rest."

The lawyer bowed, organizing documents. I hid outside, seeing the files for the car accident on the table. On top was a waiver of prosecution: "The victim's family, Hua Tinh Dao, voluntarily forgives Tong Van Duong." The signature was Bui Tu Xuan’s, acting as my husband and guardian. It was signed on the very day my mother died.

I stared at the date, and a sharp pain pierced my head. Images I had suppressed came flooding back: the red carpet, flower petals scattered on the ground, the car losing its brakes and slamming into the one Tong Van Duong drove. Tong Van Duong’s car had stopped for a moment, but after seeing my mother shielding me, she had slammed on the gas. My mother had pushed me aside, taking the full impact. I lay on the ground calling for her. The boutonniere on her wedding dress was soaked in bright red blood.

When Bui Tu Xuan arrived, his first instinct was to hold me. His voice trembled as he called my name. But from the driver's seat, Tong Van Duong screamed, "Brother, I didn't mean to! I don't want to go to jail!" Bui Tu Xuan's arms stiffened. When the ambulance arrived, he ordered his bodyguards to take Tong Van Duong out through the back door first. He had whispered to me, "Be good, Tinh Dao, I'll be right back."

But when he returned, my mother was already gone.

I regained my senses, realizing I had been trapped in that seven-year-old state of mind ever since. I only remembered him hugging me and promising to avenge her. Now I knew that on the same day he made that promise, he had signed the forgiveness waiver for her. Tucked behind the case files was a bank statement. My mother’s death settlement and my own cognitive rehabilitation fund had been funneled into Tong Van Duong’s long-term care account. Years ago, the doctor had suggested intensive treatment for the first year to potentially restore my cognition, but Bui Tu Xuan had signed a refusal. The reason given: "The patient’s emotions are unstable and should not be subjected to stress."

I stormed into the room with the files. Everyone froze. I looked at Bui Tu Xuan. "Why did you forgive her for me? She killed my mother. Why?"

Bui Tu Xuan’s face turned deathly pale, but he didn't deny it. Bui’s mother stood up, weeping. "Van Duong is a daughter we raised as our own. Must we really watch her go to prison?"

Bui’s father frowned. "Your mother is dead, and you cannot return to your normal self. You cannot keep ruining Van Duong’s life."

I looked at Bui Tu Xuan. "What about me?"

His lips moved, but he could not utter a word. The lawyer spoke up quietly: "Mr. Bui, the original waiver was signed by proxy. If Miss Hua chooses to pursue the case personally, it may not hold up in court."

Bui’s father’s expression darkened. "Is there a way to finalize it?"

The lawyer looked at me. "As long as Miss Hua provides her own fingerprint to confirm that the accident was not an act of intentional harm, the case can never be reopened."

I looked at Bui Tu Xuan. He avoided my gaze but instinctively stepped in front of Tong Van Duong. In that moment, I understood. It wasn't that my mother failed to receive justice. It was that Bui Tu Xuan had taken my mother’s justice and handed it to Tong Van Duong.

The next day, the Bui family invited their lawyer, a psychiatrist, and Tong Van Duong over. On the table lay a "Confirmation of Accidental Death." It stated that the accident seven years ago was caused by Tong Van Duong’s mental instability, not intent, and that my mother had "voluntarily stepped into the road," having no direct link to Tong Van Duong.

I stared at the words. I knew every character, but when combined, they made no sense. My mother had done that to save me. How, through their words, did it become her own fault?

Bui Tu Xuan pushed the inkpad toward me. "Tinh Dao, you only need to press your thumb down once."

I hid my hands behind my back and shook my head. "I will not sign."

Bui’s mother’s face darkened instantly. She ordered the maid to remove my mother’s urn from the altar.