Chapter 10 — The day I disappeared, they realized their mistake

“Bao To Hao—you have my number.”

“Nian Niem—”

“Tell him to come to Hangzhou to find me.”

I heard her sniffing on the other side.

“It's not because of them,” I said, “it's because I have a question... I have to ask my mother directly.”

I hung up. Standing in the hallway, looking at my reflection on the glass. Thirty years old. Neat vest. Deputy General. But right now, I'm like an eighteen-year-old girl—sitting on the steps of the security room, flipping through all the newspapers, still waiting for anything. Eighteen years old, I think that's the number. Thirty years old, I know— It's a choice. Her choice. As for me now, I also have to choose my own path. Three days later. Tuesday afternoon. I had just finished a video conference with a client when the secretary knocked on the door and walked in.

"Mr. To, there's someone at the reception looking for you, without an appointment. They say it's... a member of your family."

My hands stopped on the keyboard.

“Let him up.”

“Yes, you need to register, it will take a few minutes—”

"No need. Put it on now."

The secretary nodded and left. I turned off the screen, stood up and went to the window. Looking down from the eighteenth floor to the square below. I see To Hao. He stood next to the flower bed in front of the building, carrying a nylon bag—he probably bought a bottle of water and a sandwich at the station. The dark blue jacket was old, the pant leg had a ring of dust on it. He looked around. Look at the company logo, look down at the phone, then look up again. Like a person lost in a world that does not belong to him. Three years no see. He got thinner. Her hair is no longer neat, her temples are speckled with silver. His chin is covered with stubble, maybe he just sat on the train all night and hasn't had time to shave yet. I looked at him for about ten seconds. Then turned around, returned to the desk, and sat down. When the knock on the door rang, I was drinking water. To Hao stood in the doorway and paused. His eyes glanced over my face, then down to the wooden table—computer, document rack, small photo frame. Glide out the back window again—half the sky of Hangzhou. Then stopped at the nameplate next to the door: "Deputy General Sales Officer - To Niem". He didn't come in right away. It may take a few seconds to fully understand. I don't stand up. He walked in. The footsteps were much lighter than I remembered. The day before, at home, he wore flat slippers, was loud and blatant. Now, every step is cautious, as if afraid of dirtying my floor. He sat down. The nylon bag was placed under my feet, making a rustling sound. I poured him a glass of water. Place in front. He looked at me. I also looked at him. Three years pulled us apart. On one side there's him—in debt, messy. On one side was me—sitting in front of the glass door on the eighteenth floor. But the widest thing is not distance. But silence.

“Nem Niem…”

He spoke first. The voice is much hoarse than before.

“You've changed so much.”

I don't accept that sentence. He bowed his head. Both hands clenched, rubbing until the knuckles made a crunching sound. Then he said—was tricked into investing, was in debt, Vuong Le divorced, raised Trang Trang alone, mother discovered a liver tumor, needed surgery, two hundred thousand yuan, he couldn't handle it. Each thing is like a stone rolling down a slope—one on top of the other, getting heavier and heavier. The glass of water went from hot to warm, then cold. He finished speaking. Silence for a few seconds. Then he looked up at me, eyes red, lips trembling. The first time I couldn't say it. The second time I burst out into words:

“Nim Niem, can you—”

“What could it be?”

I speak for him.

“You can give me money again.”

He doesn't deny it. The smile made him shrink—I knew it wasn't a smile pleasant smile.

“Three years ago, when you took 180,000 yuan from me, did anyone ask me ‘do I agree’?”

He opened his mouth.

"Three years ago, you said, 'I can't spend it all on my own anyway'. Three years ago, my sister-in-law said, 'What's the point of keeping a lot of money for a single girl?'. Three years ago, my mother said, 'I'm determined to help you'."

I remember every sentence clearly. Not a single word wrong. They were like nails, driven into my bones for three years, not a single one rusted.

"Nien Niem..." his voice trembled, "I know. It was me who was wrong. It was... we were at fault with you."

"We."

Not “you”. Even now he still uses "we". I won't say more. Because there's something more important.

"Tran Vy said, I found an envelope."