Chapter 22 — Reborn: This Hell Is Mine

Burn Incense for the Dead

One month after the trial ended, Ý Vy decided to return to Bình Minh Orphanage, not to look for evidence or clues like before, but simply to light a stick of incense for Ms. Ninh Diễm Thu, and let her heart truly calm down after all the past events.

Bách Nguyên offered to go with her, but Ý Vy gently refused, saying that this was a journey she needed to do alone. He understood, didn't force her, just told her to call if she needed anything.

The path back to the orphanage was still as familiar as two years ago, when she first returned to search for the truth in the old records. But this time, her mood was completely different — no longer the tension and anxiety of someone racing against time to collect evidence, but rather the peace mixed with the gentle sadness of someone who had gone through a long journey.

Ms. Van, the manager of the children's camp, welcomed her with a warm smile and led her to a small area behind the main office, where a simple altar in memory of Mrs. Ninh Diễm Thu was placed, with incense maintained by generations of children who grew up here.

Ý Vy lit a stick of incense and stood silently in front of the altar for a long time, letting the memories flood back - the image of Mrs. Diễm Thu gently teaching her the first lessons of life, the image of her calling her into the office to talk about the future, and the image of the trembling handwritten notes in an old file, the words that unintentionally sowed the seeds of a tragedy.

"I don't blame you," Ý Vy said softly, her voice as light as a breeze. "I know you tried your best in your situation. It's just that, sometimes, even the decisions that come from the most reasonable love and prudence, can leave wounds that no one can foresee. I hope you rest in peace, and I promise, I will try to be more fair with those around me, so as not to repeat the same indiscretions."

She stood there for a long moment, letting tears roll down her cheeks, not tears of resentment, but of forgiveness and gratitude mixed together.

Standing still for a moment, Ý Vy remembered the entire journey of nearly three years since her rebirth - from the panicked morning waking up in her old motel room, to the long nights recording every little detail in a notebook, to the moment she stood on stage under bright lights, revealing the truth in front of seven hundred people. She wondered, if Mrs. Diễm Thu could witness that entire journey, what would she say to her, to Tuệ Nghi, to everything that had happened since she left this world.

Maybe she wouldn't have a perfect answer, Ý Vy thought. Because even a person who had spent her whole life loving and nurturing dozens of orphans like her, cannot avoid small mistakes in treatment, unintentional mistakes that can leave great consequences that no one can predict. The important thing, Ý Vy understands, was not to find out who was right and who was wrong in the past, but to learn a fairer, more thorough view of current and future relationships.

After leaving the worship area, Ý Vy walked around the old playground, where the ancient almond tree still stood, its green foliage as cool as twenty years ago. She sat down on the familiar stone bench, where she and Tuệ Nghi used to sit and share cookies in their childhood, to completely calm her mind.

She thought about Tuệ Nghi, now serving a sentence in prison. She wrote her sister a short letter, sent along with a few items needed in prison, not to express complete forgiveness — that, she understood, would take time and a real process of proof on Tuệ Nghi's part — but to preserve a fragile thread of communication, a door that was not completely closed, for the possibility of healing in the distant future.

In the letter, she wrote: "I don't know if the sisterhood between us can be rebuilt like before. Maybe it will never be the same again. But I hope, when you leave prison, you will be a more peaceful version of yourself, no longer imprisoned by old traumas. That's what I want for you, not because of sisterly duty, but because I still remember the girl who used to hold my hand tightly and run around the orphanage yard, before everything turned bad. should be complicated."

She didn't know how Tuệ Nghi would respond, or whether eight years in prison would be enough for her sister to truly change. But she understands that her part of responsibility in this - keeping a little tolerance, a door of hope - is what she can do, the rest belongs to Tuệ Nghi herself.

A few weeks later, she received a short response letter from the detention center. Tuệ Nghi's handwriting was more shaky than before but still recognizable. In the letter, Tuệ Nghi did not ask for anything, just recounted her first days in prison, about how she had signed up to attend a psychology class for prisoners, and about how she was trying to write a diary every day to face the emotions that had been buried for more than twenty years. At the end of the letter, she wrote: "I don't know if I'm worthy of your waiting or not. But I will try, not for you, but because I want, for the first time in my life, to truly understand my own true self." Ý Vy read that letter many times, put it in a separate drawer, did not reply immediately, but did not throw it away either, seeing it as a fragile seed of hope that she would quietly follow in the years to come.

Ms. Van brought out a pot of hot tea, sat down next to Ý Vy, and gently asked about her current life. The two talked for a long time about the children currently being raised at the camp, and about the scholarship expansion plans that the Sunshine Foundation is implementing.

"Do you want to participate more deeply in the fund's work?" Ms. Van asked. "Mrs. Dieu mentioned that she wanted to invite me to the advisory council to jointly guide the long-term development of the children's camp and the scholarship fund." Ý Vy thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think this is what I should do. Not only because this is where I grew up, but also because I want to make sure that the children here in the future will be treated more fairly and listened to more, so that no one has to carry a silent wound like what happened to my sisters."

Before leaving the orphanage, Ý Vy stopped one last time in front of the ancient almond tree, looking up at the green foliage shaded by the afternoon sun. She felt a relief she had never felt since the day of her rebirth — not because all her wounds had completely healed, but because she had learned to live with them, to face them with understanding instead of avoidance or resentment.

On the drive back to the city, Ý Vy called Bách Nguyên, her voice much more relieved than the previous days. "I just agreed to join the advisory board of the Sunshine Foundation," she said. "I thought this would be a way for me to turn what I went through into something more meaningful for other kids."

"I'm proud of you," Bách Nguyên replied, his voice warm over the phone. "Come home soon, I've cooked your favorite dish."

Ý Vy smiled, accelerating slightly on the way home, her heart filled with true peace for the first time since she opened her eyes and woke up that fateful morning three years ago.

On the way, she passed by a small slope leading to the highway, where the sunset dyed the sky orange at the foot of the mountain in the distance. She rolled down the car window, letting the cool breeze flow in, bringing with it the familiar smell of dirt and grass of the suburbs. She thought of the children currently growing up at Bình Minh orphanage, of the years ahead when she would accompany Ms. Dieu and Ms. Van in building fairer, more transparent policies for each child, so that none of them would have to carry the feeling of being "someone without any special constraints" like what Tuệ Nghi once suffered.

She also thought about the years ahead with Bách Nguyên, about the possibility that one day, they would have children of their own, and she would teach them about the value of fairness, of listening and understanding others, instead of just looking at what was shown on the outside. That was the greatest lesson that a lifetime, a death, and a second chance had taught her.

The hell of the past life is now completely in the past.