Chapter 2 — Justice Delayed

It was the only thing I had left to hold close to my heart, the only companion I had spoken to for the past seven years. Every night, without fail, I whispered goodnight to her. I would tell her whether I had been a good girl that day, or if I had inadvertently provoked Bui Tu Xuyen into a fit of anger. Mother Bui stood before me, cradling the ceramic urn in her arms, her voice cold and devoid of mercy.

If you do not sign the papers, I will have your mother’s remains discarded. You will never see her again for as long as you live.

A jolt of pure terror seized me. I cannot allow that. I need her. I must have her.

Father Bui stood by, his expression chillingly detached. The Bui family has dutifully tended to her shrine for seven years in your stead; we have done more than enough. I wept, clawing at the air, desperate to reclaim the urn, but Bui Tu Xuyen caught my wrists. His palms were deathly cold, yet his voice carried a deceptive, saccharine gentleness. Be a good girl, Tinh Dao. Once you sign, I will take you to see your mother.

I shook my head violently, my vision swimming with tears. The wicked ones have not been punished yet. Mother will weep if she sees them.

Suddenly, Tong Van Duong knelt before me, her face a mask of fragile grief. Sister Tinh Dao, I only want to live, she sobbed. I promise I will never take anything from you ever again. I truly mean it.

I looked down at the urn, my mother’s final refuge. Trembling, I finally pressed my thumb into the ink pad. As the crimson print stained the document, a sob broke from my throat, so violent it felt as if I were losing the ability to breathe. The lawyer snatched the confession away, and Mother Bui let out a sigh of profound relief. Bui Tu Xuyen did not even look at me; his first instinct was to lean down and hoist Tong Van Duong to her feet. She leaned into his chest, weeping, Brother, I want to offer her an incense stick. I want to beg for her forgiveness.

I clutched the urn to my chest with all my remaining strength. No. You are not permitted to touch her.

Bui Tu Xuyen frowned, his eyes narrowing at me. She has humbled herself enough for your sake. Tinh Dao, cease this stubbornness.

Stubbornness? I only wanted to protect the last remnant of my mother’s existence, yet to them, it was merely an inconvenience. As Tong Van Duong reached for the urn, her hands faltered. In a heartbeat, the ceramic slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor. White, ghostly ash scattered across the tiles. I went rigid, the world falling into a deafening silence. After a long, hollow eternity, I lunged forward, clawing at the dust with my bare fingers, desperate to gather what remained. Jagged shards of porcelain sliced into my palms, and blood began to pool beneath me. All I could manage to whisper was, Mother is cold. She will be so cold.

Tong Van Duong’s hand had suffered a minor graze. She wailed, I did not mean to. Sister Tinh Dao, it was an accident.

For the first time, my composure completely shattered. Why won't you let go of even the last thing she left behind? You were the one who caused her death—is that not enough for you?

Father Bui shoved me aside with brute force. Hua Tinh Dao, you are frightening Van Duong!

My head struck the corner of the altar, and the world dissolved into blackness. The ashes I had gathered spilled from my reach once more. I clawed at the floor, desperate to retrieve them, but they were beyond my grasp. Finally, Bui Tu Xuyen moved toward me, but Tong Van Duong gripped his sleeve. Brother, my fingers are going numb. I am terrified that I will never be able to play the piano again.

He halted in his tracks. When the family doctor arrived and witnessed the blood streaming from my scalp and the surface scratch on Tong Van Duong’s hand, he stammered, Who should I attend to first?

The living room fell into an oppressive silence. I lay among the porcelain shards and my mother’s dust, the urge to weep extinguished by a cold, numbing apathy. My palms were a mess of lacerations, and a rhythmic, pulsing agony throbbed at the back of my skull. After a quick examination, the doctor’s face turned deathly pale. Tinh Dao has suffered significant brain trauma. Her pupils are reacting abnormally; she must be rushed to the hospital immediately.

Tong Van Duong, despite her minor injury, continued to shriek that she had lost sensation in her fingers. Will I ever be able to play again? Brother, I am so afraid.

Mother Bui gathered her into her arms. Van Duong has fought so hard to survive this long; she cannot endure any further shock.

Father Bui turned to the doctor, his voice stern. See to Van Duong’s hand first. Her depression is severe; even the smallest incident could lead to a catastrophe.

The doctor’s voice rose in desperate urgency. The young lady only has a superficial wound! Tinh Dao’s condition is critical—every second we delay risks her life.

Mother Bui glanced at me with disdain. She has been simple-minded for seven years; she does not even know what pain is.

At those words, my fingers trembled. So, they had known all along that my mind was broken. That was why they felt free to inflict any pain they chose. Bui Tu Xuyen saw me still clutching the spilled ashes to my chest, his face draining of color. He seemed on the verge of reaching for me, but Tong Van Duong tightened her grip on his coat. Brother, I do not want to be sent away again. Do not leave me.

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics declared there was only room for one. The doctor looked to Bui Tu Xuyen. Mr. Bui, who shall we take first?

Bui Tu Xuyen stood between us, his gaze flickering. Take Van Duong first, he decided. Then, he looked down at me. Tinh Dao, be a good girl and endure for a little longer. I will return quickly to take you to your mother.

Endure for a little longer. After the car accident seven years ago, he had said the exact same thing.