Chapter 5 — Tears in the Frost

The marriage contract has a clause that Thư Nhã has read and reread countless times over the past three years, to the point where she can recite every comma by heart: "The contract is valid for a period of thirty-six months from the date of signing. After this period, the two parties have the freedom to terminate the marital relationship without incurring any other binding obligations, except for the confidentiality provisions specified in Article 12."

The three-year anniversary is also the day the contract officially enters the phase that can be terminated at any time at the will of either party. It was inherently an ironic coincidence - the night that should have marked the peaceful end of a cold contract, became the night of the beginning of a new life, forcing everything to take a much more complicated turn.

Thư Nhã clearly understood that if she quietly applied to quit her job right now, using the excuse of wanting to change the working environment, and at the same time requesting to terminate the marriage contract on time, no one - including Bách Việt - would have any reason to doubt or keep her. It's the perfect scenario: a legal separation, on time, no drama, no need for further explanation about the child.

She spent an entire weekend evening, when Bách Việt went on a short business trip to the Central region branch, to make detailed plans for her upcoming life. This was the rare time she had absolutely quiet space and time to think clearly, without having to worry that he would suddenly catch her doing something in her private office.

*

She opened her personal laptop — not a company-issued computer, but an old laptop she bought from her first days of work, the only thing completely separate from all of Việt Thịnh's systems — and started looking for apartments to rent in another district of the city, far enough away to avoid running into anyone she knew, but still close enough so she could continue taking care of her father every weekend.

A one-bedroom, low-floor apartment, near a reputable obstetrics hospital and a good quality kindergarten — she had planned even years later, when the child was old enough to go to school, even though she had not yet felt the child's clear presence through any kicks.

She created a detailed spreadsheet: monthly rent, regular prenatal check-up costs, estimated delivery costs for normal births and cesarean sections, costs for milk and baby supplies for the first six months, and a reserve for unforeseen situations. With her current savings plus her final monthly salary and year-end bonus that is about to be paid, she calculates that she can take care of herself and the child for at least the first two years without needing any support from Bách Việt.

Two years. She told herself, two years was enough for her to find a new job, stabilize her life, and most importantly, enough for her to learn how to live without relying on a man she knew would never truly love her, even though the heart she gave away could never be taken back. She saved the spreadsheet in a separate password-protected folder, as carefully as if she were hiding a state secret, even though it was actually just the numbers of a life she was trying to rebuild herself from scratch.

*

That weekend, she visited her father at the small house in the suburbs, where he lived alone since heart surgery three years ago. His health was stable but still needed periodic monitoring. He sat in the small yard, trimming pots of his favorite orchids, his kind face lit up when he saw his daughter coming.

"I've become a lot thinner lately." He commented, pulling out a chair for her to sit next to him. "Is work at the corporation very difficult?"

"It's normal, dad." Thư Nhã smiled and poured him a cup of tea. She looked at her father, the man who sacrificed his whole life to raise her after her mother passed away early, and felt an indescribable guilt because she could not tell him the truth about her marriage, much less about her soon-to-be-born grandchild.

"Dad," she said, trying to sound gentle, "if I decide to move to another job in the future and may have to move, will you support me?"

He looked at her, his experienced father's eyes seemed to see through something that had not been said. "You are someone who always thinks carefully before deciding anything. I trust you. But are you sure that's what you really want, or are you just avoiding something?"

His question made Thư Nhã speechless. She bowed her head, hiding her teary eyes. "I don't know, Dad. There are times when I think leaving is the best way to not hurt anyone else, including myself."

He placed his hand on her shoulder, his voice warm. "Girl, sometimes leaving is brave. But there are times when staying to face the truth is the bravest thing. Think carefully, don't choose the easiest path out of fear."

Thư Nhã did not answer, just sat quietly next to her father, watching the sunset dye the small garden yellow. She knew he didn't know the real secret behind her question, but his advice still tormented her for days afterward.

*

Returning to the apartment, Thư Nhã continued to silently prepare her plan. She prepared a resignation letter, put it in a sealed envelope, and kept it in her desk drawer at the company - ready to submit it anytime she felt the time was ripe, perhaps right after the East project was completed, so as not to affect the overall work progress.

She also began to learn about financial management positions at small and medium-sized companies, which did not require a high salary like the current one, just enough stability and did not require contact with the upper class of business - where she was afraid that one day she would accidentally meet Bách Việt at an event, when the child had grown up and could recognize his father's face through a photo in the newspaper.

That night, when Bách Việt returned from his business trip, he brought a box of local specialties and placed it on the kitchen table with a rare naturalness. "Gifted by the Central branch, I think you will like it."

Thư Nhã looked at the gift box, a feeling of warmth and sadness rose in her heart. These were the small, simple moments that she would have to give up if she decided to leave — the wordless gestures of care from a man who was not good at expressing his emotions, but always silently noticed her in his own way.

"Thank you." She smiled, put the gift box in the refrigerator, trying not to reveal the thoughts that were torn in her heart.

Bách Việt looked at her for a moment, as if he was about to say something, but in the end he just remained silent and walked towards his private office, where he often sat late at night since the name Tống Khả Di reappeared in the news. Thư Nhã stood there, looking at his back, thinking that perhaps fate was pushing both of them, under the same roof, further and further apart because of their own secrets that no one dared to say.

She tidied up the kitchen, then stood leaning against the small bar, looking towards the closed door of his office. The light shining through the door was still bright even though it was late. She wondered if she really left as planned, would Bách Việt notice her absence, or would his life, accustomed to coldness and closed doors, continue to operate smoothly as if she had never been in it.

That thought made her chest ache with a dull pain. She placed her hand on her stomach and whispered to the child as a habit every night. "Perhaps I'm being selfish in wanting to keep you for myself, but I'm just afraid that if your father knows the truth now, in the midst of all the turmoil that's coming, your father will have to take on an additional responsibility that's not out of love but out of duty."

She returned to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, listened to the steady sound of typing on the keyboard echoing from Bách Việt's office through the thin wall, wondering what he was looking for so late at night. She did not know that, in just a few days, a major event in the business world would expose Bách Việt's secret to her eyes in the most cruel way - not through his words, but through the appearance of the woman who was once a part of his past, standing tall right in front of both of them.