Chapter 8 — Never Blame a Janitor

One week after being discharged, Anh Thu returned to the hospital for a follow-up appointment as scheduled by Dr. Vu Nguyet Ha. Physically, she had completely recovered, without any neurological abnormalities. But Nguyet Ha, with many years of experience working with psychological trauma cases in adolescents, noticed that the girl still had hidden signs of anxiety - avoiding eyes when mentioning the lake, nervous gestures when asked about school, and especially, an excessive wariness with strangers that a normal sixteen-year-old child should not have.

"I think you should see a psychologist to support the recovery process after the trauma," Nguyet Ha said to Dac Long while Anh Thu was changing after the examination in the next room. "It doesn't necessarily require long-term treatment, but a few initial counseling sessions will help your child better handle any remaining negative emotions."

Dac Long nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand, but honestly, I don't want anyone else to know too much about my family situation. Can you introduce me to someone who is truly trustworthy?"

That statement, with an unusual reserve about "anyone else knowing too much", made Nguyet Ha's curiosity even more compelling. She suggested that, instead of introducing an unfamiliar colleague, she would personally visit their family once on the weekend, both to check on Anh Thu's overall recovery status in a familiar environment, and to be able to provide preliminary psychological consultation before deciding whether to refer to a specialist or not. It was a proposal that was beyond the scope of a doctor's normal work, but Dac Long, after a moment of hesitation, agreed, partly because he believed in the dedication she had shown over the past few days, partly because he himself felt a strange peace of mind whenever he was in the presence of this calm, sharp woman.

Saturday afternoon, Nguyet Ha went to the small apartment of father and son at the address recorded in the medical records. The apartment was located in an old apartment building, simple but remarkably neat and tidy - not a single item was superfluous, everything had a fixed position, as if arranged according to a carefully calculated system, not simply the usual neat habits. On the small desk in the corner of the living room, she noticed a thick stack of books on business administration and corporate finance, books that were completely unsuitable for a school security guard, but when Dac Long realized her eyes stopped there, he quickly walked over, folded the stack of books and put them in another corner, talking about something else.

"I like reading books," he explained briefly, without giving any further details. "Habit since childhood."

Nguyet Ha didn't say anything more, but in her mind she had begun to piece together many small pieces of information - professional first aid skills, a coherent and authoritative way of speaking at the scene of an incident, a habit of reading business management books, an excessive caution in arranging life. None of these details, taken alone, is enough to say anything with certainty. But taken together, they paint a picture of a man whose past is completely different from his present.

The conversation with Anh Thu went smoothly. The girl, under Nguyet Ha's skillful guidance, gradually opened up to share about the fear that still haunted her after the incident, about the pressure to keep it a secret, and about the feeling of loneliness when she couldn't honestly confide in anyone other than her father and close friend Dieu Khanh. Nguyet Ha noted those things with professionalism, offered some simple psychological relaxation exercises that Anh Thu could practice at home, and scheduled a follow-up session after two weeks.

When the conversation ended, it was already dark. Nguyet Ha was about to leave, Dac Long sent her off to the apartment lobby out of politeness. But as soon as the two walked out of the building's door, Nguyet Ha noticed that his attitude suddenly changed - his steps slowed down by half, his eyes quickly glanced across the opposite alley, where a strange man was leaning against a motorbike, pretending to play with his phone but occasionally glancing unnaturally towards the building.

Dac Long kept his voice normal, but his steps slowed down by half a beat - a hidden tension that only observant people would notice. "Doctor Ha, come this way with me for a moment, I want to take you to a safer parking spot."

He took her around the side gate, completely avoiding the alley where the strange man was standing, while still constantly observing the surroundings with discreet but absolute vigilance. When they arrived at Nguyet Ha's parking lot, Dac Long stopped and looked at her for a moment, seemingly considering something.

"Doctor Ha," he said, "I know you've noticed something unusual about me. I can't explain it all to you right now, but I hope you believe me on one thing: all the secrets I'm keeping, are only for the purpose of protecting my daughter from the real dangers that exist out there. If possible, I hope you don't share with anyone what you have seen or suspected about my family."

Nguyet Ha looked straight into his eyes, feeling the sincerity and deep anxiety behind those words. "Mr. Phuc," she said, deliberately using a name that she knew was probably not his real name, observing his reaction when she heard it, "I'm a doctor, not a journalist or a police officer. My job is to take care of patients, and I respect their privacy. But if there's something dangerous that threatens your daughter — or yourself — I think you should trust those who can help, instead of taking it all on yourself."

Dac Long was silent for a long time, his eyes softened at the sincerity in her words. "Thank you," he said finally. "I'll keep that in mind."

On the drive home, Nguyet Ha couldn't stop thinking about that mysterious man, about the stranger lurking in front of the building, about how Dac Long handled the situation with a sophistication and vigilance far beyond any ordinary person she had ever met. As a doctor working in a large hospital environment, she has come into contact with all kinds of patients, from wealthy businessmen to ordinary workers, and she has enough experience to recognize the difference between someone who has experienced real danger and someone who is simply overly worried.

That evening, sitting alone in her apartment, Nguyet Ha opened the computer, typed in a search for the name "Tran Van Phuc" and a few keywords related to Sunrise Saigon International School, but could not find any notable information - a name so common, perfectly hidden in the vast sea of information on the internet. She sat quietly for a moment, her fingers tapping the keyboard, vacillating between respecting professional boundaries and the urge to learn more about the man who had so troubled her usually calm heart.

Finally, she closed the computer, telling herself that if Dac Long really needed help, he would come to her when the time was right. But deep in her heart, Nguyet Ha knew clearly that she could no longer look at that man as just a normal patient's parent. Something, a strange attraction mixed with professional curiosity and personal emotion, was slowly growing inside her, and she wasn't sure if she could—or wanted to—stop it.

As for the strange man lurking in front of the apartment building that night, Dac Long, after seeing Nguyet Ha leave safely, quietly turned around, used his phone to quickly take a few photos from afar before that person left on the motorbike. He immediately sent those photos to Ho Trong Nhan, along with a short but worried message: "Someone is following my house. This person's identity needs to be verified urgently."

The uneasy premonition he had had before the picnic had now become an existential worry, so clear that it could not be denied. Someone was watching his family, and he did not have much time to find the answer before the danger got even closer.

He stood for a long time on the small balcony of the apartment, looking down at the deserted alley below, where the yellow streetlights cast shadows on the tamarind leaves fluttering in the night breeze. Memories from eight years ago suddenly rushed back into his head, painfully sharp — an evening like this, the same strange figures lurking near the house, and then everything had collapsed in just a few short hours. He tightened his grip on the iron railing, telling himself he must not let history repeat itself again.

He walked into his daughter's room, stood silently looking at Anh Thu who was sleeping soundly, breathing steadily, her face was rare and peaceful after the past tumultuous days. He gently pulled the blanket back to cover the child, then sat down on the edge of the bed for a long time, as if just being near the child for a few more minutes could dispel all the worries weighing heavily on his heart. It's a habit he's kept for the past eight years. Whenever something goes wrong, just seeing his daughter sleeping peacefully can help him find the necessary calmness to continue facing what lies ahead.

Returning to the living room, he took out an old notebook, the leather cover faded with age, where he recorded every smallest detail related to the abnormalities he observed during eight years of living incognito — from strange calls, to the sudden probing eyes of passersby, to the times he suspected he was being followed but had no clear evidence. He added the latest page detailing the strange man tonight — height, physique, type of motorbike, time of appearance — with the meticulousness of someone accustomed to not being allowed to miss any clue, even the smallest, because it was those small details, eight years ago, that could have saved everything if he had paid attention sooner.