Chapter 22 — Puppets Under the Lights

On Monday night, after the whole family had finished dinner, Minh Long proactively asked to talk privately with his parents in the living room, bringing along his diary and a stack of papers that he had spent the whole afternoon sketching out his ideas.

"I want to suggest something," Minh Long began, his voice shaking slightly with nervousness but still remaining steadfast. "I know my family needs to sell the factory to solve financial difficulties, and I don't object to that anymore. But I want to ask, is there a way for us to keep a small part — not the entire factory, just what's really most important — before completely handing it over to the buyer?"

His parents looked at each other, then at their son, somewhat surprised at the change in his attitude from the previous weeks of anger and avoidance. "What specific plan do you have in mind?" his father asked, his voice cautious but no longer as defensive as before.

Minh Long spread out a stack of papers on the table, on which he listed in detail what he thought could be done. "I think, firstly, I can keep some of the puppets and tools that have the greatest sentimental value - I don't need many, just a few important ones - and take them home to keep, maybe in the attic or some small corner. Second, I would like to propose donating a portion of the remaining puppets to the school's Water Puppet Club, to make a display corner in his memory, both as a way to preserve the legacy and to help club members have more long-term learning materials. And third," He paused for a moment, "I want to ask if it's possible to negotiate with the buyer so they can give my family a little more time, not to change their mind about selling, but just so I have enough time to complete the dragon puppet you're working on, before the workshop officially changes hands."

Minh Long's parents listened attentively, without interrupting, allowing him to fully present his ideas. When he finished speaking, the two were silent for a moment, exchanging glances before his father spoke.

“You have thought very carefully about this,” he said, his voice filled with appreciation. "I have to admit, I've never thought about donating part of my belongings to the school club. It's really a good idea, it both solves the problem of storage space in my house and also preserves the meaning of those items."

"As for asking for more time," his mother added, "I think I can try contacting the broker and explaining the situation. Maybe they will be flexible, because anyway, handing over a few days early or a few days late won't affect their construction plans too much."

Minh Long felt a glimmer of hope in his heart, but there was still an important question he needed to answer. "So... does our family agree with my proposal?"

His father looked at his son, his eyes filled with a pride that Minh Long had rarely seen expressed so clearly. "I agree, Long. Actually, I also felt a lot of guilt about having to sell everything of mine without keeping anything meaningful. Your suggestion helps me feel much better."

Hearing those words, Minh Long felt a sense of relief fill his body, different from the heavy, stuck feeling he had been carrying for many weeks. He realized that, instead of just sitting quietly and suffering or angrily protesting, proactively finding solutions, no matter how small, brought a much better result than he imagined.

“Thank you, Mom and Dad,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for not behaving these past few weeks. I know your parents are just as heartbroken as I am, I've just been so focused on my own pain that I haven't seen it."

His mother hugged her son, tears rolling down her cheeks. "It's okay, I understand. This is a big loss for all of us, each person has their own way to cope with it."

That night, after the conversation, Minh Long returned to the wood workshop again, this time with a completely different mood — no longer one of fear or desperate pain, but a clear determination, a specific plan to protect what is truly important. He began sorting through the puppets, choosing about five with the greatest sentimental value to take home, and a list of about fifteen others, along with some basic carving tools, to give back to the school club.

He carefully cleaned each puppet before packaging it, as a respectful farewell ritual for the wooden friends who had accompanied his childhood memories. When the work was almost completed, he sat down, looked at the entire workshop space one last time that night, feeling a new peace creep into his heart, replacing the panic and suffering that had occupied him during the past weeks.

He took out his phone, looked at the unfinished conversation with Diem My, and this time, without hesitation, he started typing a long message, telling the whole story — about the factory being sold, about the pain he had hidden, about the regret for taking his anger out on her unfairly, and about the new plan he had just agreed on with his family. He read the message one last time before sending it, hoping that this would be the first step to mend the rift between the two of them.

The message he wrote was nearly a page long, recounting every detail he had kept hidden for the past two weeks — from the night his parents announced their decision to sell the factory, to the sleepless nights of tossing and turning, to the feeling of helplessness as he watched each puppet being put into a carton. He wrote about how he was wrong to vent his anger at her, about how she didn't deserve to endure those harsh words, and about the new plan he had just agreed upon with his family, including the intention to donate a portion of the puppets to the club.

"I know I was wrong to avoid you all this time," he wrote at the end. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone to carry the club during the most difficult time, and sorry for the words I said that day. I don't expect you to forgive me right away, but I want you to know the truth, and know that I still appreciate what you've done for me, for the club, all the time."

He sent the text message at nearly eleven o'clock at night, then put the phone down, not daring to wait for an immediate response, afraid that the prolonged silence would make him fall back into a state of anxiety like the previous days. He stood up, locked the workshop door carefully, brought the sorted boxes into the house, and arranged them neatly in a corner of the living room so he could continue his work tomorrow morning.

Before going to bed, his phone vibrated. It's Diem My. His heart beat fast when he opened the message, not knowing how she would respond after everything he just shared.

"Thank you for telling me," her message read, her tone of writing was a bit gentler than he expected. "I'm so sorry for what you're going through, Long. I wish you had said it sooner, not because I blame you, but because I wanted to be by your side during this difficult time, instead of leaving you to bear it all alone."

Reading that, Minh Long felt a sense of relief fill his heart, even though he knew clearly that this was just the first step on the long road of healing ahead. He typed again, his fingers shaking slightly with emotion: "I wish so too. Can I meet you to talk in person? There are many things I want to explain more clearly, and I think a text message is not enough to express everything I want to say."

"Okay," Diem My answered immediately. "Tomorrow after school, let's stay at the same place, by the lake and park."

Minh Long looked at that text message, a smile of relief appeared on his lips for the first time after many gloomy days. He put down the phone, turned off the light, and this time, sleep came to him much easier, bringing with it a fragile but true hope that, although the road ahead still had many challenges, he no longer had to walk alone.

Lying in the dark, before falling asleep completely, Minh Long still had time to think about tomorrow's meeting, trying to arrange in his mind what he wanted to say to Diem My - not just an apology, but also a sincere thank you, for waiting patiently, for not giving up on him even when he behaved the worst. This time, he told himself, he wouldn't let fear stop him from saying the things that were truly important, no matter how difficult.