Chapter 17 — Marriage Book

“What are you planning to do next?”

"Divorce." I replied, “Then leave this city, go to a place no one knows.”

“There's work.” Hua Tinh asked.

“I can do it remotely.” I smiled lightly, "This industry now only needs to submit articles online. I have already discussed with the editor-in-chief, there will be a new section at the end of the year."

“Write the story.” I lowered my eyes, "Writing about marriage, about choices, about adults who thought their calculations were very clear, only to discover that they had missed... the heart."

“Are you going to write about him?” Hua Tinh asked.

"Have." I looked up, "But I won't use his real name. To me, he's not a person who needs to be remembered specifically, but a type of person. I wrote him to remind people who might be in a similar situation, not to insult him again."

Hua Tinh was silent.

“What about me?” She suddenly asked, “Did you write me?”

"Have." I answered frankly, "You will be the most complex character in my book, smart, capable, once hurt, then unconsciously hurting others, thinking you are controlling the game, but actually just a piece in it."

“That doesn't sound very pleasant.” Hua Tinh smiled bitterly.

“Real people are inherently unpleasant.” I said, "Do you think I will write myself as a completely innocent, completely good, completely right person? No, I also have calculations, I have advantages, I have hesitations, I have resentment, I will not omit those things."

Hua Tinh looked at me, for the first time something almost like respect appeared in her eyes.

“You are braver than I thought.”

“Not brave.” I shook my head, "I just don't want to live like I put my hope in others anymore."

At the end of the meeting that day, we did not hug each other or exchange contact. Just nodded slightly, then each turned to go in one direction. At that moment, I knew between her and I had come to an end. Not reconciliation, but severance. But this severing did not create additional wounds, on the contrary, it was like cutting off a rope that had been strangling me for too long. Leaving the cafe, it was pouring rain outside. I opened the umbrella, the sound of rain pattering on the fabric surface, people walking faster, car lights spread on the wet road surface in streaks of light. A slight feeling of shock passed through. Not because of the rain, nor because of the conversation just now. It's because I finally realized that I had truly walked out of that relationship. Not by revenge, nor by legal victory or defeat. It's by looking straight at every detail that once took your breath away, then choosing to turn away. All of those things I later wrote in my book. The day I finished the manuscript, I had lived in the new city for more than a year. It is a small coastal city, the air is humid and always smells of sea salt. I rented a not large apartment, outside the window was a path full of camphor trees. Every morning the leaves rustled in the wind, sunlight passed through the foliage falling to the floor in patchy patches. My life became simple. Get up in the morning, make a cup of coffee, open the computer, write. At noon, go down to the small restaurant downstairs to eat a bowl of noodles, or cook something yourself. Continue writing in the afternoon, and in the evening go to the beach for a walk, watching the clouds drift across the horizon. Occasionally I accept writing for a few magazines, writing work stories, writing emotional columns. Gradually, my name appeared in more publications. Readers started leaving messages. They said they liked the way I wrote. They said my stories made them rethink their own marriages. One time, a reader sent me a very long message.

"I've been married for five years, and my child is three years old. My husband's family is better off. Before getting married, they agreed that after marriage, everyone would spend their own money, the house was in his name, the car was in his father's name. Every time he transferred money to me, he noted it as 'living expenses'. I always told myself it was 'fair', until I read your column, I realized I have never been considered part of a 'joint family'. Yesterday we talked a lot. After a long time, he said he was willing to go to marriage counseling with me. If I hadn't read your article, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to speak up."

I looked at that message, a feeling that was difficult to name arose in my heart. Not pride, nor the feeling of gloating after retaliation. It's a very gentle, very deep satisfaction. I know, that is the new meaning that my previous pain was given. No longer just a wound, but a light. After the book was published, the response was better than I expected. The first printing quickly ran out, the publisher had to print it a few more times. On online platforms, reader ratings were also stable at a high level. I was invited to participate in several new book sharing sessions, sitting in brightly lit bookstores, telling unfamiliar readers why I wrote that book. The host asked me.