Chapter 5 — The Divorce ATM

My mother-in-law’s breath hitched, turning ragged and sharp in the silence of the room.

"You... you were spying on us?"

"I once heard you say something," I interrupted, my voice devoid of tremor. "You told others that Co Niem was merely a temporary stop-gap, a bridge to nowhere."

The silence on the other end of the line was absolute, heavy with the weight of the unspoken.

"I have saved every single entry from our group chat. Over three hundred screenshots, spanning from two and a half years ago until yesterday. Not a single line is missing."

Her tone shifted instantly, losing its earlier arrogance and curdling into a desperate, frantic urgency. "Niem Niem, listen to me... that is not what I meant. I was only—"

"Then what did you mean?"

She could not answer.

"There is more," I continued. "Thao Dao calls you Mother, and you told her to 'take good care of herself.' When I was miscarrying, you were on the third floor of that very hospital, helping her review her pregnancy results."

She hung up. Thirty minutes later, my sister-in-law called.

"Niem Niem, please, do not be impulsive. Chau Dien told me—"

"Sister, come to my house. The day after tomorrow, in the afternoon. And bring your mother."

"What are you trying to do?"

"Settling accounts. Face to face."

She hesitated for a long moment. "I need to ask my mother first..."

"No need to ask. She will come. She needs to know exactly what I hold in my hands."

She fell silent and ended the call. Over the next two hours, three more relatives called: Chau Dien’s aunt, his cousin, and his sister-in-law. They all sang the same chorus: "We are all family," "Men will be men," "Do not be so petty," and "Making a scene will benefit no one."

I listened to every single one. To each, I asked the same question: "Did you know he transferred two hundred and eighty thousand to his ex-girlfriend?" Nobody knew.

"Did you know that on the day I suffered my miscarriage, he was in the same hospital accompanying his ex-girlfriend for her prenatal checkup?" No one knew.

"Did you know he even bought a house for his ex-girlfriend to live in?"

Nobody had a word to say. The last one to call was his aunt, who added one more barb: "Niem Niem, a woman should not be so aggressive. If you make such a ruckus, who will ever want to marry you?"

I did not answer her. The sentiment was beneath a response, but I filed it away. When we confronted them directly, I would show her exactly what being "aggressive" meant. At five in the afternoon, Chau Dien sent a text: "I bought the next flight to Beijing. I will be home tonight."

I did not reply. Instead, I messaged Phuong Vien: "Three in the afternoon, the day after tomorrow. His family will be here. You must be here too."

Phuong Vien replied: "Understood. I have all the documentation ready." I went to the printer. I printed the bank statements for the two hundred and eighty thousand transfer, the flight history, the refund confirmations, the property title for the house in Thuy Dinh Uyen, the hospital records, and the screenshots of the chat group. I tucked everything into a folder, placed it on the coffee table, and wrote a single line on the cover: "This debt will be paid in full today."

At eleven that night, Chau Dien arrived. He pushed the door open, his eyes immediately locking onto the file on the coffee table and the chilling script written across it. He stood in the doorway, the wheels of his suitcase still spinning against the floor. He didn't reach for the file; he looked at me.

"Co Niem, please, try to be calm."

"I am perfectly calm."

"Let us talk this through reasonably..."

"The day after tomorrow, in the afternoon. Your mother and sister are coming. We will all talk together."

His face paled. "Why... why did you call my mother here?"

"To settle the debt. The debt you all owe me."

He said nothing else, rooted to the spot, his hand still gripping the handle of his luggage. I walked into the bedroom and locked the door. I slept inside; he slept on the sofa. The next day, he spent hours pacing the living room, whispering into his phone to his mother, his sister, and his relatives. I could hear him clearly: "Her mental state is quite fragile... too much pressure lately... she is overthinking things..."

"When you arrive, please help me talk some sense into her..."

"Do not provoke her..."

"Mental instability." That was his first maneuver. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Instead, he painted me as a person with a "problem," ensuring everyone walked through the door with the preconceived notion that I was deranged. I stood at the bedroom door, unseen, and listened. I did not interject. I simply returned to my room and messaged Phuong Vien: "He is telling his relatives that my mental health is deteriorating."

Phuong Vien replied: "A classic tactic. It changes nothing. The evidence will do the talking."

The third day arrived. At three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. Four people entered: my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, his aunt, and his cousin. As my mother-in-law entered, her gaze darted immediately to the coffee table. The file remained exactly where I left it. She looked away, sitting on the sofa. His aunt sat beside her, casting a glance my way—a look I recognized all too well. It was the look of pity one reserves for a "poor child who has lost her mind."

Chau Dien was already in the living room, sitting on the opposite side. He looked disheveled, his face unshaven, dark circles etched under his eyes. Yet, he still stood his ground. He spoke first.

"Niem Niem, I know you are angry. But this situation, I can explain—"

The doorbell rang again. It was Phuong Vien. She carried a leather briefcase, walked straight in, and sat beside me. Chau Dien saw her, and his expression froze.

"This is Phuong Vien," I said. "My attorney."

"Attorney?!" My mother-in-law’s voice pierced the air. "You brought a lawyer? Have you lost your mind?"