Chapter 1 — The day I disappeared, they realized their mistake

Mom took my savings for my brother, and I immediately disappeared from their world. The ATM spit out a bill. Balance: 0.00 yuan (≈ 0 VND). I stared at that number for ten seconds. Yesterday there were still 180,247.63 yuan (≈ 630 million). After just one night, it was clean. I thought the system crashed. Insert the card again, check again. Balance: 0.00 yuan. My fingers were stiff as if frozen, I looked for my phone and called my mother. The phone rang just two times before the phone was picked up, as if she had been waiting for this call.

“Nhiem Nhiem, I was about to tell you—”

“Where is the money on my card?”

The other end of the line paused for a beat.

"Your brother lacks money to buy a house, the deposit is still missing more than ten thousand yuan (≈ more than 400 million). I see that you also have some money in your card, but you haven't used it yet..."

“So mom decided to help you for now.”

Temporarily decided to help me. Those words were as light as the wind, but fell into my heart, cold to the bone. Those six words were like a nail, each blow of the hammer hammering down, driving straight into my temple.

“Mom, that's 180,000 yuan.”

“I saved for five years.”

“When will you pay me back?”

The other end of the line was silent. Not the type of signal loss. It's the kind of silence of a question that "shouldn't have been asked". Three seconds. Five seconds. Finally my mother spoke, her voice beginning to reveal a bit of discomfort:

"If you're a family, there's nothing to talk about paying or not paying. Your brother buying a house is a big deal, you're a girl..."

I hung up. It's not because I can't listen anymore. But because of this sentence, I have heard it for twenty-seven years. I stood there for nearly five minutes, and someone behind me started coughing impatiently. I took out my card. Not because of the cold. The end of October is not yet cold enough. It's because of that 180,000 yuan— I had food allowance and saved up eating instant noodles for three months. Having a performance bonus I exchanged for giving up the entire weekend, refusing all gatherings, working overtime every day until after nine o'clock at night. Every penny I save by never turning on the air conditioner below 28 degrees, and using every last drop before replacing the bottle of laundry detergent. Five years. One thousand eight hundred twenty-five days. The little joys I once treasured in my pocket—a cup of milk tea I couldn't bear to buy, a set of clothes I had to wait for on sale—put them all together, and that was the number. 180,247.63 yuan. Now it has turned into a brick in a house that I don't even have the right to enter. I took a deep breath. Open 12306, book a train ticket back home. Four hours later. When I pushed open the door and entered the house, the smell of braised meat rushed straight into my nose. Bright living room. The brother and sister-in-law sat on the sofa, in front of them was a thick stack of apartment drawings. Sister-in-law Vuong Le crossed her pen and said:

“This apartment has ventilation at both ends, but the greenery in the area is a bit lacking…”

My nephew Trang Trang sat under the carpet building Legos, my mother was in the kitchen stirring the pan. A scene so peaceful that it's fake. I stood at the door, no one noticed. A few seconds later, Trang Trang raised his head to see me:

“The youngest girl is back!”

My brother To Hao then lifted his eyelids and glanced at me:

"Oh, you're home already? Just in time, your sister-in-law chose some house models, can you help me see—"

“My 180,000 yuan, when do you plan to pay it back?”

The whole house was silent. The sound of braised meat boiling in the kitchen suddenly became clear. My mother half-peeped out of the kitchen, looking like she had just bitten into a pepper alive—numb but stiff.

"Nhiem Nhiem, why did you come back so suddenly? I haven't had time to explain to you in detail—"

"No need to explain. I just ask one question. 180,000 yuan, when will it be paid?"

Sister-in-law Vuong Le was the first to speak. She put down her pen, leaned back on the sofa, crossed her legs and looked at me, the corner of her mouth curled up into a familiar, disgusting smile:

“Oh, about debt collection?”

Pausing for a moment, as if it wasn't enough, she added:

“Is it the same for people in the same family?”

I don't look at her. I looked straight at my brother.

“To Hao, this money, please say something.”

He pushed the drawings aside, leaned back on the sofa, clasped his hands behind his head.

"Okay, okay. Isn't it just money?"

He yawned.

“It's not like I won't pay you.”

“When will you pay?”

"After buying the house, it still needs to be repaired. Now I'm short of money, so you let me manage it first."

“How long until?”

“What are you in a hurry for?” He frowned, his voice as unpleasant as if he had been bitten by a mosquito, "Even if you were alone, you wouldn't be able to spend all that money."

Anyway, you're alone. Can't spend it all. That much money. I stared at his face. I have looked at that face for twenty-seven years. From childhood to adulthood, chicken thighs are his, school bags are his, Tet lucky money is also his. But he never saw anything wrong. Because in this house, the word "help" has always been one-way. I turned to look at my mother.

“Mom, do you think so too?”

My mother walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She did not answer my question directly, but said:

"Nhiem Nhiem, don't make a fuss. Your brother buying a house is a big deal. Besides, you've saved up so much money for nothing—waiting for me to have a lover, will you still have the heart to keep my money?"

It's for nothing. These four words are more painful than having 180,000 yuan erased. Because 180,000 yuan is still a number, it can still be measured. But "it's for nothing" negates my whole being. Five years, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days I accumulated—not just money. That was all the courage I thought I could take with my life. I took a deep breath.

“So this 180,000 yuan is like I paid twenty-seven years of maintenance fees in advance.”

My mother was stunned.

"From now on, I don't owe you guys anymore. You guys... don't look for me either."

I turned around and left. Behind her, her mother's voice sounded a little panicked:

"Nhiem Nhiem! What are you doing? Nhiem Nhiem—"

The door slammed shut behind me. The sensor light in the hallway does not light up. I stood in the dark, feeling my heartbeat pounding against my chest. But I am more alert than at any time in the past twenty-seven years. The phone lights up. My mother sent a WeChat message:

"Why are you making such a fuss? Go home and eat. Braised meat is my favorite dish."

I looked for three seconds. Exit the chat frame. No reply. I stood in the hallway for ten minutes. It's not that I don't want to go—it's that I can't go.