Chapter 2 — My Parents Lived in AA for 45 Years

Mom turned around and looked towards the Civil Affairs Department.

“The time has come.”

Sunlight covers the mother's body. For the first time, I noticed my mother's eyes were strangely bright. Not self-pity. Not patience. It's the eyes of someone leisurely waiting to see a good show.

“Mom… what are you planning?”

“Seven more days.”

The corner of her mother's lips curled up.

“Remember to receive delivery.”

Seven days after the divorce, my father lived like a bird escaped from a cage. On the first day, he took all of his mother's belongings and threw them out of the master bedroom.

“From now on, this is my room.”

On the second day, he invited Luu Vien to eat and posted on social networks:

“First day of retired life. Feeling of freedom is great.”

The attached photo is two glasses of wine in dim light. Below, a whole bunch of people competed to like it.

“President Tran is so young.”

“Chairman Tran is in good form.”

On the third day, he went to the 4S dealership to change to a Porsche.

"Before, I was afraid that your mother would nag me so I didn't dare buy it. Now, I can buy whatever I like."

On the fourth day, he took Luu Vien to see the house.

"This villa is not bad. Wait until the old house is sold, then we can move here."

On the fifth day, he invited a group of drinking friends to eat and drink. In the middle of the banquet table, he gloated and boasted:

"The wisest decision of my life was to persevere and pay for what everyone spends. See? After the divorce, she didn't get a single penny from me!"

“Really talented, Mr. Tran!”

After the divorce, my father lived like a person who had just been unchained. The next morning, he opened the master bedroom door and called the maid to come.

“Take all her things out.”

The maid hesitated.

“Sir… still ask her opinion…”

“No need.”

He waved his hand.

“From now on this room is mine.”

In just over half an hour, all the clothes, blankets, pillows, and other items my mother had used for decades were moved to the small room at the end of the hallway. I stood at the door, looking at each old shirt piled up in a pile, my heart so choked that it was hard to breathe.

“Dad, is it too much for you to do that?”

He didn't bother to raise his head.

"Once divorced, it must be clearly separated."

“Everyone uses their own things.”

“Don't get confused.”

It's that saying again. Everyone. His whole life he had only one principle. Everyone spends money. Everyone keeps each item. Even emotions are clearly divided as if calculating accounts. Mom walked over. She just bent down to pick up the wool scarf that had fallen on the ground, lightly brushed off the dust, then folded it neatly and put it in the bin. Throughout the process, she did not say a word. Nor did he even look at his father once. Afternoon. I opened my phone. Dad's new post appeared on social networks. The photo was taken of two glasses of wine placed side by side under soft yellow light. Only two hands raised the glass. One hand belongs to dad. The other hand is painted wine red. The status line is only six words.

“First day of freedom.”

Less than ten minutes. Dozens of likes appeared.

“Congratulations Mr. Tran!”

“What a successful person.”

“So admirable.”

Some people even commented.

“When will we drink wine for the second time?”

Dad answered immediately. My heart felt like someone was choking me. No need to guess to know who is sitting opposite. The woman I knew five years ago. Dad didn't come home for dinner. The whole house was just me and my mother. The meal still only has three simple dishes. Egg tomato soup. The dishes my father once criticized were bland. Mom gave me a piece of fish. I put the bowl down.

“Really mom Is it not sad?”

Mom smiled.

“Sad.”

"Since dad asked for a divorce until now, I haven't seen mom cry once."

“What can crying solve?”

“At least let dad know mom is heartbroken.”

Mom shook her head.

“If you cry in front of someone who no longer cares about you, your tears will only make them feel pitiful.”

She stopped for a moment.

“I don't like being a pitiful person.”

I bit my lip. Those words made my throat tight. Forty-five years. Mom never told me about suffering. Never complained. Even when she was betrayed, she kept her back straight. After meal. Mom finished washing the dishes and didn't watch TV like usual. She went straight into the room. A moment later. I heard the sound of an old lock opening. Curious, I walked over. Mother was sitting on the floor, in front of her was an old blue iron box, the surface was mottled with rust stains. That's the box I saw when I was very young. But never opened.

“Mom… what is this?”

Mom gently stroked the box's surface.

“Do you still remember it?”

“When I was little, I asked, my mother said this was a treasure.”

“What a treasure.”

She inserted the key into the lock. The lock made a dry "click" sound. The lid of the box slowly opened. I was stunned. Inside is not gold or silver. It's not even a savings book. It's each stack of paper tied with a cloth string. Some stacks have turned yellow. There are a bunch of torn edges of paper. There were also small hardcover notebooks neatly arranged. Mom gently took out a book. The dust of time flies up and floats in the light.

“You know what?”

“For forty-five years.”

“Mom has a habit.”

“Everything I spend on the family… my mother records it.”

I opened my eyes wide. Mom nodded.

“Every penny.”

“Every bill.”

“Pay tuition each time.”

“Every time I go to the hospital.”

"Every gift for both sides of the family."

“Each house repair.”

“Every penny of electricity and water bills.”

“Mom kept it all.”

I looked bewildered at the pile of paper nearly half a meter high.

“What do you keep… so much for?”

Mom looked at me. His eyes were strangely calm.

“Did you think I said seven days… to wait for delivery?”

I stopped. An indescribable feeling rose in my heart.

“How long have you been preparing?”

Mother did not answer. Just gently put the notebook back in its original place. Right at that moment. The doorbell rang. I walked out and opened the door. Outside the gate was a man in his fifties wearing a black suit, holding a briefcase. He nodded politely.

“Excuse me, is Mrs. Tran home?”

“Mom, someone is looking.”

Mom walked out. As soon as she saw that man, she smiled slightly.

“You're here.”

The man bowed his head respectfully.

“Mrs. Tran.”

“Everything… is prepared.”

He opened the leather briefcase and placed a thick file on the table. On the outside of the file there is only one line of black text.

“Forty-five years of records.”

I stood dumbfounded. In that moment, I suddenly understood. People really start calculating. Not dad.