Chapter 19 — The Chorus of Those Out of Rhythm

With the good news about the cultural house being resolved, it seemed like all the pressure had been relieved, but just ten days before the final night, another incident occurred, this time having nothing to do with Bao Quoc's real estate project or company, but coming from Ba Nguyet's own body.

It was a normal morning, when Mrs. Nguyet was making herself a pot of tea in the kitchen before Thu An woke up. The shaking of her hands suddenly became more intense than ever, causing the hot water kettle in her hand to collapse, and while panicking to avoid it, she slipped on the wet tile floor, falling and hitting her head on the edge of the kitchen table.

The loud noise made Thu An jump up and rush out, and the first image that caught her eye was her mother lying on the kitchen floor, a small trail of blood flowing from the wound on her forehead.

"Mom! Mom!" Thu An shouted, kneeling next to her mother, her hands trembling to check her condition. Ms. Nguyet was still conscious but in pain. She tried to sit up but did not have the strength.

Thu An immediately called an ambulance, and during the endless minutes of waiting, she hugged her mother, used a towel to gently press on the wound to stop the bleeding, trying to calm both herself and her trembling mother in her arms.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Nguyet whispered, her voice weak. "I'm sorry for making you worry again."

"Mom, don't say anything, just keep your strength," Thu An replied, tears rolling down her eyes but her voice still trying to be steady to reassure her mother.

At the hospital, after a thorough examination, the doctor confirmed that Ms. Nguyet did not have a serious brain injury. She only needed a few stitches in the wound on her forehead and monitored for a few more days to prevent complications. But Dr. Phuc, who was called in for a consultation shortly afterward, gave a much sterner warning.

"This fall is a warning bell," he told Thu An in the waiting room, his voice serious. "Your mother's Parkinson's disease is progressing faster than expected, possibly due to prolonged stress over the past few months which has aggravated the condition. I strongly advise that your mother take a break from all stressful activities, including conducting the upcoming finale."

That advice was like a knife hitting Thu An. “But the finale is only ten days away,” she said, her voice shaking. "That's what my mother has been waiting for, has been trying for the past two months. If I told her to stop now..."

"I understand how important it is to her," Dr. Phuc said, his voice softening. "But as a doctor, I have to put the patient's health first. If she continues to be under the pressure she is currently under, I'm worried that more serious complications could occur, not just a simple fall."

When Thu An returned to the hospital room, Ms. Nguyet heard part of the conversation through the slightly open door. She looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with desperation that she tried to hide.

"I heard everything," she said softly. "The doctor's right, right? Maybe you shouldn't continue."

"Mom, don't think like that," Thu An said, sitting down next to the bed and holding her mother's hand tightly. "We will find a way. I told you, I will stand next to you, ready to take over at any moment."

"But what if mom can't stand on stage?" Ms. Nguyet asked, her voice choked. "What if Mom falls right in the middle of the performance, in front of hundreds of spectators, in front of the judges? She doesn't want to ruin the moment that the whole group has been working for the past two months just because of her stubbornness."

Thu An was silent, there was no easy answer for her mother's legitimate fear. She looked at her mother, the woman who just a few months ago she considered a symbol of pride and strength to the point of coldness, now lying there, weak and afraid, facing the prospect of having to give up what she had spent her whole life building.

***

Mr. Kha was the first to visit, even before other members of the group. He stood outside the hospital room door for a long time before entering, holding a small bouquet of chrysanthemums in his hand, the type of flower Ba Nguyet often keeps in the house.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice shaking as he saw the bandage on her forehead. "When I received the news from Thu An, I didn't have time to think about anything else, I just rushed here right away."

"I'm fine," Ms. Nguyet replied, trying to smile reassuringly, even though her face was still pale. "Just a small fall."

"Not small at all," Mr. Kha said, sitting down next to the bed, holding her hand, no longer keeping a cautious distance like before. "Do you know how worried I have been about you all these years? Every time I see you working too hard, I want to say it, but I'm afraid I don't have the right to interfere in your life."

"You have that right," Mrs. Nguyet said, her voice gentle, squeezing his hand. "You always had that right, I was just too stubborn to realize it."

The two looked at each other in silence, a deep understanding spread between them, no need for any additional words to explain the feelings that had silently existed for nearly twenty years.

Not long after, news of Ba Nguyet's fall quickly spread to the choir, and everyone immediately visited her at the hospital, bringing fruit, words of encouragement, and a sincere worry evident on every face.

"You don't have to try too hard for us," Ms. Chin Thoa said, holding Ms. Nguyet's hand tightly, her voice filled with sadness. "Your health is more important than any competition."

"That's right," Mr. Tam Loc agreed, his voice sincere. "If necessary, we can withdraw from the competition. The cultural house has been retained, that is the most important thing, more than any medal or award."

But Mrs. Nguyet shook her head, even though her body was still weak after the fall. "No," she said, her voice surprisingly firm. "I don't want to give up. This competition is no longer just about the cultural house, it has become a testament to everything we have overcome together. I want to stand on that stage, even just once, with everyone."

"So what are you going to do?" Mrs. Ca Yen asked, her eyes filled with worry but also with deep understanding for her friend's determination.

Ms. Nguyet looked around, then looked at Thu An standing next to the hospital bed. "I'll still be standing at the podium," she said, her eyes scanning the familiar faces surrounding the hospital bed, "but this time, I won't be standing alone. Thu An will be standing next to me throughout the show, ready to take over if anything happens. And I need everyone to believe that, no matter what happened on stage that night, we got this far together, and that in itself is a victory, no matter the final outcome."

Those words, although carrying unconcealed fear, also contained a courage that made the entire hospital room silent for an emotional moment, before each person, one by one, nodded in agreement, ready to continue on the final journey together, even though that journey now carried more risks than any of them had ever expected.

Ha Uyen and Viet Long visited in the afternoon, bringing a basket of fruit and a large bouquet of flowers along with a handwritten card from Bao Quoc, who because of urgent work could not come in person but asked his daughter to convey his sincere regards. Ha Uyen sat down next to the bed, holding Ba Nguyet's hand, her eyes full of worry.

"Are you sure you want to continue?" she asked softly. "I think no one will blame you if you decide to rest, safety is still the most important thing."

"Honey," Mrs. Nguyet replied, holding the young girl's hand tightly. "Her whole life she lived in fear of what might happen. Fear made her lose her last moments with her husband, fear kept her away from her daughter for so many years. This time, she doesn't want to let fear decide for her anymore, no matter what the cost may be."

Viet Long, standing quietly behind, recorded that moment in his heart, not with a notebook, but with a deep appreciation for the extraordinary strength of the old woman in front of him. He looked at Ha Uyen, saw that she was equally emotional, and in that moment, they both realized that the story they were witnessing had gone beyond the scope of a simple article or volunteer session, becoming part of a memory that both of them would carry throughout their lives, a memory of ageless courage that they knew they would tell about many years later.