Chapter 11 — Reborn: This Hell Is Mine

Old Papers At The Orphanage

Two weeks after the wedding, taking advantage of a weekend where Bách Nguyên had to go away on business, Ý Vy drove back to Bình Minh Orphanage, using the excuse of wanting to visit the place where she grew up and send a small donation on the occasion of getting married.

The youth camp was now run by a new management board, under the supervision of the charity fund, but still retained almost all of the old structure - rows of four-level houses painted in pale yellow whitewash, a playground shaded by ancient almond trees, the only difference was that there were now a few more spacious new rows of houses built thanks to stable funding from the Sunshine Foundation. The current manager, a middle-aged woman named Ms. Van, had known Ý Vy for a long time. She happily took her around, then when she heard her offer to review some old papers to preserve memories, she did not hesitate to lead her to the small storage room behind the main office - where records of hundreds of children who grew up here over many generations were kept.

"The old files are very messy. Since the time Ms. Diễm Thu was alive until now, no one has rearranged them carefully. Please feel free to search. After searching, remember to lock the door for me," Ms. Van said and then left to continue her work, leaving Ý Vy alone among stacks of old documents, the smell of moldy paper lingering in the air.

Ý Vy went to the drawer with the year written on it corresponding to the time she and Tuệ Nghi were taken to the orphanage and flipped through each thin file. She found her own file first — a rather thick stack of papers, detailing her family's circumstances, the date of admission to the camp, and especially, a set of official adoption papers signed when she was sixteen years old, complete with signatures and legal seals, confirming Mrs. Ninh Diễm Thu as the legal guardian, accompanied by a short handwritten letter from Ý Vy's biological mother, written before she passed away, entrusting her daughter to anyone willing to love her as her own.

Ý Vy held the letter in her hand, her eyes stinging even though she had read this detail in her previous life's memories. She put her file aside and continued to look for Tuệ Nghi's file.

Tuệ Nghi's file was much thinner. She flipped through each page and found records about the day she entered the camp, along with a few lines describing her family situation: her parents had died in a work accident, and she had no other relatives. But when she reached the end, where there should have been a set of official adoption documents similar to her own, she saw only an unfinished adoption application, accompanied by a handwritten note from Ms. Ninh Diễm Thu. The handwriting was shaky, perhaps because of old age: "I promised Ý Vy's biological mother that I would legally adopt her so that she would have the right to inherit her name and reputation in the future. As for Tuệ Nghi, there is no similar bond; consider it later, once you have resolved the property issue with a lawyer, to avoid legal trouble if you have to divide it between two people who are not related by blood."

Ý Vy stood silently, reading and re-reading that note many times. She immediately understood its meaning: Mrs. Ninh Diễm Thu, because of a promise to Ý Vy's late biological mother, prioritized completing the legal adoption procedure for her first, with the reason that she would have clear inheritance rights. As for Tuệ Nghi, although she loved her equally, she delayed and considered more carefully the legal and property aspects - perhaps stemming from the reasonable caution of a manager of a charity fund with many complex financial constraints, but the consequences were extremely cruel for a child.

Ý Vy flipped through the remaining pages and found another small piece of paper, seemingly hastily stuffed into the middle of the file a long time ago - a child's handwriting, scribbled but full of emotion: "I want to be your real child, like Ý Vy. I promise to be good, to study well, mom, don't leave me behind."

That line, written by a child probably only eight or nine years old, made Ý Vy's heart ache with indescribable pain. She imagined Tuệ Nghi, when she was a child, somehow knowing the difference in legal status between herself and her adopted sister, silently writing down those fears and desires, then hiding them, never daring to say them out loud to anyone, not even Ý Vy herself - the person she always seemed closest to.

Ý Vy recalls that at the age of fifteen, one evening, Mrs. Ninh Diễm Thu called her into her office and talked until late about taking care of her going to college, about completing some documents related to scholarships and financial benefits. At that time, she was completely unaware that Mrs. Diễm Thu was completing the legal adoption procedure for her alone, a process that Tuệ Nghi, despite living under the same roof, was completely not involved or aware of.

And she remembered, that night, when returning to the shared bedroom, Tuệ Nghi asked her a short, searching question: "What took so long for mom to tell you?" Now, re-reading all these pieces, Ý Vy understands that perhaps Tuệ Nghi, with the sensitivity of a child growing up in a situation lacking close relationships, soon sensed that something different was going on, a silent discrimination that even the kindest adults, for reasonable practical reasons, unintentionally caused.

Ý Vy sat down on an old chair in the archive room, held Tuệ Nghi's thin file in her arms, letting tears roll down her cheeks. She did not cry out of pity, nor did she cry out of regret for Ms. Ninh Diễm Thu - who did her best within her abilities and circumstances. She cried because she understood that behind all the plots and cruel tricks that Tuệ Nghi had and would do to her, there always existed a deeply hurt child, a child who spent her entire childhood trying to prove that she was worthy of being loved like a "real child", but in the end chose the most wrong path to face that pain - instead of speaking out, instead of finding a way to heal, she chose to destroy the person she saw as the cause of all injustice.

That cannot justify what Tuệ Nghi has done, and will do. Ý Vy understands this better than anyone - she had to pay with her life for that jealousy. But understanding the root of the problem, as Mr. Son once said, helps her see the whole incident with more thoroughness, no longer simply a story between an innocent victim and a naturally evil person, but a complex tragedy, where the unintentional unfairness of adults has planted the seeds for a much larger disaster than anyone initially expected.

She carefully photocopied all the important documents with her phone, then rearranged the files as before, placing them in the correct location, without revealing traces of what she had searched. Before leaving the storage room, she stood still for a moment, looking around the small room containing a part of her and Tuệ Nghi's childhood history, wondering if there was a way to heal this deep-seated wound, or if it was too late to do so.

On the drive back to the city, Ý Vy called Mr. Son and recounted her discovery, although she did not go into details about her personal feelings. “I think I understand the motive,” she said, her voice deeper than usual. "But that doesn't change the need for me to continue gathering evidence of what she's doing. It's just that now, I understand who I'm dealing with."

"Understanding the motive is the most important step, Ms. Ý Vy," Mr. Son replied over the phone. "It helps you predict how far people will go, and more importantly, helps you mentally prepare for what you're about to face, even if you have to face it directly later."

Ý Vy hung up the phone, looked out at the long road ahead, her heart filled with a feeling of both pain and determination. She knows that the journey ahead will not only be a battle to expose the conspiracy, but also a confrontation with the common wounds of both sisters, wounds that, whether she likes it or not, she must bear part of the responsibility for being too carefree and too trusting to recognize them earlier.

But she also understands that understanding does not mean that she will let herself, or Bách Nguyên, continue to be victims of those injuries. She will find a way for justice to be served, but at the same time, if there is any chance for Tuệ Nghi to stop before things go too far, she will still leave that opportunity open, as a reminder of the sisterly love that once truly existed between the two, before it all turned into an irreversible tragedy.