Chapter 13 — Old Street Corner Gold Shop

Pressure from public opinion in the following days seemed to weigh heavily on Mr. Thinh's already poor health. Vy realized that her father spoke less and less, ate less, and some nights she heard him tossing and turning continuously upstairs, unable to sleep. She was worried but didn't dare ask directly, afraid of touching the pain he was trying to bear alone.

On Wednesday morning, when Vy was preparing to open the shop, she discovered her father sitting motionless at the dining table, his hands shaking holding a cup of tea that had long since cooled, his eyes staring blankly into space. She quickly ran back and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.

Mr. Thinh was startled, turned to look at his daughter, his eyes were red as if he had just cried. "Dad's okay, it's just... I keep thinking about your grandfather. Last night I dreamed about him, I saw him standing in front of the store, his face was sad, he didn't say anything, just looked at me and shook his head."

Vy sat down next to her father, holding his shaking hand. She looked more closely at her father's face, realizing that the wrinkles seemed to have deepened in just a few short weeks, and his eyes, which were already dim due to age, were now filled with dark circles due to lack of sleep. She blamed herself for focusing too much on finding evidence and finding ways to deal with public opinion, but not paying enough attention to the health of her father, who was silently suffering the same mental burden as she did.

"Dad, don't think too much, it will affect your health. I will find the truth, just believe in me." Vy said, trying to keep her voice steady even though inside she was equally worried.

"I believe in you, Vy," Mr. Thinh said, his voice choked. "But I also feel guilty. All these years, I knew your grandfather had something to hide, but I never had the courage to ask. I was afraid of rekindling his pain, so I just let everything stay silent. Looking back now, maybe if I had been more bold to ask that day, things wouldn't have been as messy as they are now."

"Dad, it's not your fault at all," Vy comforted, although in her heart she also partly understood her father's tormented feelings. "There are things that people need time and the right time to say. Grandpa probably has his own reasons."

Mr. Thinh was silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I remember something, Vy. Maybe I forgot because it happened a long time ago, when I was young, probably only seven or eight years old."

Vy sat up straight and listened attentively, sensing that this could be an important clue.

"One night, I vaguely remember your grandfather coming home very late, his clothes dirty, his face haggard as if he had just experienced something terrible," Mr. Thinh said, his voice slow, as if he was trying to retrieve every piece of faded memory. "My grandmother cried a lot at that time and asked him what happened, but he just said 'it's okay, everything is over', then didn't mention it again. The next morning, dad saw him sitting alone for a long time in front of the ancestral altar, burning incense, silently saying nothing. At that time, dad was still young, didn't understand anything, only remembers a vague feeling of fear because the atmosphere in the house was unusually heavy."

"Do you remember what time it was?" Vy asked, her heart beating fast.

"I think... if calculated based on my age at that time, it would have been late 1979, early 1980 or something," Mr. Thinh replied, trying to calculate. "The exact moment you said the receipt was written."

This information, even though it was just a vague memory of an eight-year-old child from more than forty years ago, still made Vy feel like she had just found another important piece of the puzzle. It matches what Khoi found in the household registration records, matches Mr. Doan's account of the night of heavy rain and power outage, and now, it is further confirmed by her father's own memory - a person who witnessed the consequences of that fateful night with his own eyes, even though he did not fully understand its meaning at the time.

"Dad, do you remember if he said anything more, even if it's just a small sentence?" Vy continued asking, trying to get more details.

Mr. Thinh closed his eyes and tried to recall deeply. "I remember... a few days later, there was one time I heard him talking to her, his voice was so low, I could only hear a few words through the crack in the door. He said something like 'I wonder if they can get out there safely', then my grandmother said 'don't think too much, now I just pray for their safety'. At that time I didn't understand who 'they' were, now that I think about it, maybe they were talking about the family who sent me the jewelry to keep."

Her father's story made Vy both emotional and heartbroken. She imagined the image of her grandparents, many years after that fateful night, silently worrying and praying for the safety of a strange family that they only knew for one night and quickly placed their trust in them, not knowing that worry would last forty-five years later, when that family's descendants returned with unjust accusations.

Vy was silent for a moment, trying to imagine the whole scene based on all the pieces she had collected - Mr. Doan's account of the night when the power went out in heavy rain, the hastily written receipt without a complete signature, the unfinished diary that was torn away, and now her father's own memory of a man who returned home dirty, haggard, and then silently worried for many days afterward. Each individual detail seems disjointed, but when put together, they paint an increasingly clear picture of a young man who, in the middle of a chaotic night, tried to do the right thing to the best of his ability, only to pay the price with fear and torment that lasted for the rest of his life.

"I will tell this story to Khoi, maybe it will help in finding evidence," Vy said, her voice becoming steadier thanks to the new information.

"You just do what you think is necessary," Mr. Thinh said, squeezing his daughter's hand. "I believe you will find the complete truth, so that your grandfather's soul can rest in peace, and so that Mr. Chi Thanh's family can also be relieved of the injustice they are carrying."

That afternoon, Vy called and told Khoi the whole story her father had just recollected. Khoi listened attentively, his voice filled with excitement when she finished telling her story. "This detail is very important, Vy. It not only confirms more about that fateful night, but also clearly shows your grandfather's mood after the incident - not the mood of someone who has just appropriated property, but the mood of someone who is worried and tormented for the safety of others."

"So what should I do next?" Vy asked.

"I think it's time for us to find a way to contact Mr. Chi Thanh directly, without going through a lawyer, to present what we have learned," Khoi proposed, his voice full of determination. "But before that, we need to prepare as much evidence as possible, so that meeting is truly meaningful, not just another tense confrontation."

Vy nodded, even though Khoi couldn't see it through the phone, she felt a new determination forming in her heart. Her father's story, even though it was just fragmented memories of a child, gave her the strength to continue her journey of finding the truth, even though the road ahead was still full of thorns and uncertainty.

That evening, after cleaning up the shop, Vy went upstairs to check on her father's health again. Mr. Thinh was sleeping, his face looked more peaceful than in the morning, perhaps because he had relieved some of the burden of his feelings that had been suppressed for many years. She stood silently looking at her father for a moment, then gently pulled back the thin blanket to cover him, careful not to make any noise.

Returning to the shop, she sat down at the workbench, took out her grandfather's diary, and read the unfinished paragraph about "Mrs. Tuong" again. This time, with new pieces from her father's memories, she read those words with a completely different feeling - no longer curiosity mixed with confusion like the previous times, but an understanding, a sadness for the grandfather who never had the chance to tell his entire story. She imagined her grandfather, that night, with trembling hands scribbling words in panic, then having to stop suddenly, perhaps because of the sound of car horns and the constant knocking on the door of people coming to check, forcing him to quickly hide the diary, tearing up the unfinished paper to avoid getting involved.

She closed the diary, hugged it to her heart as if hugging a part of his memory, whispering in the darkness: "Grandpa, I will tell your whole story, no matter how complicated it is. I promise."