Chapter 22 — No One Wants to Lose

Before meeting Nam Phong in the afternoon, Lam Khe decided to spend the afternoon talking frankly with her father, a conversation she knew she had postponed for too long since that fateful night at the old pub.

She found her father in the living room, where he was sitting alone, holding a cup of tea that had cooled for a long time without touching it. "Dad, I want to talk to you, seriously," she said, sitting down across from him.

Her father was a bit startled by the sudden seriousness in his daughter's voice, but quickly nodded and put down the teacup. "Dad, listen," he said, his voice somewhat tense, as if he was mentally preparing for a difficult conversation.

"I've been thinking a lot about that night," Lam Khe began, her voice slow but steady. "About Dad almost sitting down to play that game of chess. I was angry with Dad, scared, didn't know how to trust him anymore. But I think, I need to tell Dad exactly what hurt me the most, instead of keeping it inside like I'm used to doing."

"I'm listening," her father said, looking steadily at his daughter, ready to hear whatever she had to say.

"What scares me the most is not that you might lose money again," Lam Khe said, her voice gradually becoming emotional. "It's about realizing that, even though I've been trying to change for the past six years, that temptation is still there, can still come back at any time as long as there's enough pressure, enough reason to justify it. That makes me feel, perhaps I will never truly be safe, no matter how much I try to believe."

Her father was silent for a long time, his face full of pain at that sincere confession. "I understand that feeling," he said finally, his voice low. "And I want you to know, I'm just as scared, maybe even more than you thought. Every day, I have to remind myself of what I've lost, of the pain I've caused my family. That temptation, it's true it's still there, I don't dare lie to you that it's completely gone. But the difference is, now I have the tools to recognize it, to stop it before it's too late — something I didn't have six years ago."

"But that night, I was the one who had to appear to stop dad," Lam Khe said, her voice still carrying a bit of blame. "If I didn't happen to pass by, would you have stopped by yourself?"

This was the most difficult question, and her father knew he could not answer it easily or avoid it. He thought for a long time before answering. "I don't know for sure," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity even though it was difficult to say. "I want to tell you that I will definitely stop on my own, but I don't want to lie to you again. The truth is, I was torn very hard, and I'm not sure I was strong enough to overcome that temptation on my own in that moment."

Lam Khe felt tears welling up in her eyes at that painful honesty, but strangely, instead of making her more panicky, that honesty brought a strange sense of relief — the feeling of finally hearing the full truth, instead of half-hearted reassurances.

"I think," she said, her voice still shaky but calmer, "I need you to promise me something else, not just a promise to never be tempted again, because I know that's something you can't completely control. I need you to promise to always tell me and me as soon as that temptation arises, instead of trying to face it in secret on your own."

Her father looked at his daughter, a surprise mixed with deep emotion appeared on his face at the maturity of that way of thinking. "I promise," he said, his voice firm. "I promise to never hide anything from you and Mom again, no matter how difficult it is. You taught me an important lesson today, Lam Khe — that honesty, even when painful, is much better than safe silence."

Lam Khe smiled slightly through her tears, feeling a deeper connection than ever with her father, a connection built not on the foundation of perfection, but on the foundation of honesty and mutual acceptance, even though both of them still had many imperfections.

"I also have to apologize to you, Dad," she added, "for reacting so violently, for running away instead of staying and listening to your explanation right at the cafe that day."

"You don't need to apologize for that," her father said, shaking his head. "Your reaction is completely justified. You have the right to feel scared, angry, hurt. I don't want you to ever have to apologize for feeling your own true emotions, no matter how unpleasant they may seem to others."

That statement touched on something deep that Lam Khe had never thought about clearly — over the past six years, she had gotten used to suppressing all negative emotions, viewing them as a burden that needed to be hidden to keep everything peaceful. But now, with her father affirming her right to feel and express her true emotions, she feels like an invisible chain has just been removed.

"Thank you, Dad," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "For being honest with me, and for giving me the right to be honest with myself."

Father and son sat quietly together for a moment, without any more words, simply enjoying that rare moment of sincere connection. When Lam Khe stood up to prepare to go to the meeting place with Nam Phong, her father held her hand for a bit, his eyes full of trust. "No matter what happens this afternoon with Nam Phong, just speak your mind," he advised. "I learned how to do it with dad, I can do it with him too."

Lam Khe nodded, carrying that advice and a new sense of relief in her heart as she walked out of the house, heading towards the park where she would meet Nam Phong again after many stressful days of separation.

Before leaving the house, she turned to look at her father one more time, seeing him still standing there at the door, watching her shadow disappear at the end of the street, his eyes filled with hope and pride. That feeling - the feeling of being watched over by someone who always supports her unconditionally - made Lam Khe's steps become much steadier than when she left home in a nervous mood before.

On the way to the park, she passed by a few familiar shops, streets she had passed countless times in her eighteen years of life, but today, everything seemed to have a different tone — lighter, clearer, as if the conversation with her father had washed away a thick layer of fog that had covered her mind for many weeks.

She thought about what she had just gone through, about how her father had been painfully honest instead of choosing easy reassurances, and she realized that was exactly what she needed to do with Nam Phong this afternoon—not try to make things right all at once, but be honest, completely, no matter how difficult it was.

She also thought about the question her father hadn't avoided — would he have been able to stop on his own if she hadn't shown up. That honest answer, although scary, made Lam Khe trust his father more than any other empty promise. She realized that perhaps true trust is not built on absolute perfection, but on the willingness to face one's own limitations and weaknesses, and a commitment to always try to overcome them, even though there are no guarantees.

Passing by the small grocery store at the end of the alley, the familiar store owner waved goodbye and asked a few questions about her studies, and Lam Khe responded with a genuine smile, much more relieved than the forced smile she had often shown during the past stressful weeks. She felt that, although there was still a difficult conversation ahead with Nam Phong, she had the strength and clarity needed to face it as honestly as possible.

Approaching the park, she saw from afar the familiar figure of Nam Phong already sitting on the bench, looking somewhat nervous, rubbing his hands together as a habit when he is worried. Seeing that image, Lam Khe felt her heart soften, all the remaining anger from last week gradually disappearing, replaced by a deep sympathy for the person who was also trying her best to repair the rift between them.