Chapter 2 — The Divorce ATM

Mother-in-law: “Go now, go quickly and return quickly. Nien Nien is on the fifth floor, I am keeping watch on the third.”

I was on the fifth floor. She was on the third, keeping watch. That day, my mother-in-law came to the hospital to visit me. She sat for an hour. Halfway through, she stepped out once, claiming she needed to “ask the nurse about the results for tomorrow’s tests.” She was gone for twenty minutes. She did not go to the nursing station. She went to the third floor to help her son’s former lover check her pregnancy test results. Meanwhile, I lay in my hospital bed, foolishly believing she had come because she cared about me.

I continued scrolling through the chat history. Last September, my mother-in-law sent a very long voice message. I pressed play, turning the volume to the lowest setting.

“Dien, how much of your and Nien Nien’s mortgage have you paid off?”

Chau Dien replied with text: “Paid for two years, eighteen more to go.”

Mother-in-law: “Then just pay it slowly. Don’t tell her until it’s nearly finished. No rush.”

Chau Dien: “Tell her what?”

Mother-in-law: “About the divorce, of course. Co Nien is just a transition. You and Dao Dao are the ones meant to live a serious life together.”

A transition. That word. I stared at the screen for ten seconds. Co Nien is just a transition. I was a transition. The house where I paid four hundred and fifty thousand for the down payment. The mortgage I paid every single month. The flight tickets I saved for by working overtime. The baby I miscarried. It was all just a “transition.”

I continued scrolling. I scrolled down to a message sent by Chau Dien himself, dated May of last year.

“Mom, sometimes I feel quite guilty toward Co Nien. She is actually not a bad person. I want to be clear with Dao Dao; we cannot go on like this.”

My hand froze. He had once thought about ending it. He had said “she is actually not a bad person.” The next message was from my mother-in-law:

“Are you confused? What can Nien Nien give you? Your combined salaries don’t even equal yours alone. Dao Dao’s family has connections; they can help you in the future. Think clearly.”

Chau Dien did not reply. The next message was from the following day, sent by Tham Dao.

“Husband, Mom has already talked to me. Don’t worry, I won’t leave.”

He did not end it. He had thought about it, but a single sentence from his mother pulled him back. His kindness only extended as far as saying she was “not a bad person.” It was not enough to make him do anything.

I scrolled to the last page. Yesterday’s history. Chau Dien sent a message: “Regarding the flight tomorrow, don’t tell Nien Nien. I told her we are going together. I will come up with an excuse for her not to go when the time comes.”

Mother-in-law replied: “Fine, handle it well. Don’t let her be suspicious.”

Tham Dao sent a smiley face emoji, followed by a voice message. I opened it. It was Tham Dao’s voice—clear and carrying a hint of laughter.

“Husband, the place I want to visit most in Paris is Montmartre. Help me look up some good hotels nearby.”

Then she sent a text message: “Oh, by the way, are the tickets Nien Nien bought first class?”

Chau Dien replied: “Yes. Two first-class tickets. Thirty-eight thousand each.”

Tham Dao: “Haha, this ‘ATM’ is certainly easy to use.”

Chau Dien sent a shy emoji. He did not deny it. He did not correct her. An ATM. He did not say, “Don’t talk about her like that.” He laughed.

I placed the tablet on the table. From the first message to the last, I took screenshots of everything—over three hundred images. I sent them to my email, then logged out of WeChat and deleted the notifications. I returned the tablet to his office.

I stood in the living room. It was already dark. Inside my phone, over three hundred screenshots and a spreadsheet showing two hundred and eighty thousand in cash flow sat silently in my inbox, along with refund confirmations, flight change records, and hospital payment files. Tomorrow, he would head to the airport.

I picked up my phone and searched for a name: Phuong Vien, a college friend and lawyer. I called her.

“Vien, I want a divorce.”

“Come to my office. Bring everything you have.”

“I will.”

I hung up. The door clicked. Chau Dien had returned. He changed his shoes and walked into the living room.

“Why aren’t the lights on?”

I turned them on. He looked at me and smiled.

“For the flight the day after tomorrow, have you packed your suitcase yet?”

The flight the day after tomorrow. He asked so naturally, as if my name were still written on those two tickets.

“Not yet,” I said. “I’ll pack tomorrow.”

“Good, don’t forget your passport.”

He walked over and gently hugged my shoulders. “Are you looking forward to it?”

I looked at him. His eyes held a smile—a genuine one. It didn’t look entirely like an act. Perhaps there was a moment where he really felt that taking me along wouldn’t be so bad. But that moment was worthless, because in the end, he chose Tham Dao.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said.

He laughed. “Then get some sleep.”

He went into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the room. I sat on the sofa, staring at the wedding portrait on the wall. Then I picked up my phone and opened the contact for the management office of Thuy Dinh Uyen. I needed to confirm one thing.

The next morning, I arrived at Phuong Vien’s office. After reviewing the cash flow, the screenshots, and the hospital records, she remained silent for a long time.

“How many houses are in your husband’s name?”

“I know of one. The one we are currently living in.”

“What about the property at Thuy Dinh Uyen?”