Chapter 12 — The Light Keeper at the Sea Gate

A week later, Hoai An received a response from the central records department, with an attached file containing complete records of processing maintenance requests from Cua Vong station during the period she requested. She sat in the private office arranged for her, her heart beating rapidly as she opened each document to review.

She spent the whole morning comparing and analyzing each document meticulously and carefully. Gradually, a clearer picture began to appear before her eyes, a picture that made her feel both shocked and angry.

According to records, Khoi's father submitted an emergency maintenance request for the old backup generator three months before his death, warning of severe deterioration of the wires that could lead to the risk of sudden power outages in extreme weather conditions. This request was acknowledged, but placed on the pending list due to industry-wide maintenance budget cuts at the time, a decision made at a management level far above the station's scope of responsibility.

After Khoi's father passed away from a stroke, the request seemed to have been forgotten in the system, without any unit continuing to monitor and process it, perhaps because of a change in management personnel and shortcomings in the work handover process. Khoi, when he first took over the station at a relatively young age, was probably not fully aware of the seriousness of this technical problem, or simply did not have enough time or experience to closely monitor the condition of the old equipment his father left behind.

And then, nearly two years later, on that fateful storm night, the same degraded wire that Khoi's father had warned about caused a problem that prevented the backup generator from starting up in time.

Hoai An sat silently in front of the computer screen, her hands shaking as she realized all this harsh truth. This is not Khoi's fault. This is the consequence of a flawed management system, of mindless budget cutting decisions, of forgetfulness in the administrative process — factors completely beyond the control of a young man who has just lost his father and is shouldering the heavy responsibility of an entire lighthouse station alone.

She sat there for a long time, trying to calm down her rising emotions, both anger at the system's negligence and deep sadness when thinking that Khoi had to carry the burden of self-blame for this mistake for two long years.

She needed to check carefully and make sure she hadn't misunderstood any details before deciding what to do next in this sensitive situation. She spent a few more hours reviewing the entire chain of documents, comparing dates, signatures, and file codes, to ensure the absolute accuracy of what she had just discovered.

In the afternoon, when Khoi came down from the tower and looked for her to have a late lunch with, he immediately noticed her unusually tense expression. "Are you okay?" he asked, sitting down across from her, his eyes filled with worry.

"I'm fine," Hoai An replied, trying to keep her voice normal, even though her mind was still full of unorganized thoughts. "It's just that work is a bit stressful today."

She wasn't ready to tell the truth right now, not because she wanted to hide it from him, but because she felt she needed to be more prepared, both in terms of evidence and communication, before putting him in a situation that could bring back all the old pain in a completely different way.

"You seem to have something to worry about," Khoi said, his eyes searching, full of sincere concern. "You know you can share anything with me, right?"

Hoai An looked at him, feeling her heart tighten at the sincere trust in his eyes. "I know," she replied, trying for a reassuring smile. "I just need more time to process some things, then I'll tell you everything, I promise."

Khoi nodded, not asking further questions, although his eyes were still a little worried. He trusted her, and that trust made Hoai An feel even more responsible in handling this truth properly and carefully as possible, so as not to betray the precious trust he had given her.

That evening, after Khoi had gone up to the tower for night shift, Hoai An sat alone, calling the only person she thought could give her the right advice in this sensitive situation — Mrs. Tu Nhan, who had known Khoi since he was a child, who understood his personality and emotional wounds better than anyone else in the village.

"You're calling me at this hour, there must be something very important," Mrs. Tu Nhan said as soon as she picked up the phone, her voice was somewhat worried, realizing the unusualness in Hoai An's voice.

"Yes, I... I just discovered something related to that stormy night, the night Khiem died," Hoai An began, her voice trembling. "I found evidence that the generator problem was not Mr. Khoi's fault. It was due to a maintenance request that had been shelved by superiors due to budget cuts, since before his father passed away."

The other end of the line was silent for a long time, only the heavy sigh of Ms. Tu Nhan rang out. "I've always suspected something was wrong," she said finally, her voice low with emotion. "Khoi's father is the most careful person I've ever known. There's no way he would let such a serious matter pass without reporting it."

"I don't know how to tell Mr. Khoi," Hoai An admitted, her voice filled with worry. "I'm afraid, this truth, although it can free him from the burden of self-blame, can also bring a new pain - knowing that Khiem's death could have been avoided, if the system was not so irresponsible."

Mrs. Tu Nhan thought silently for a moment before speaking. "Honey, I think, no matter how painful the truth is, Khoi deserves to know," she said, her voice firm. "It has confined itself to mistakes that are not its own for the past two years. It's time for it to be freed from that burden, no matter how bumpy the road to get there is."

"I think so too," Hoai An replied, feeling somewhat relieved that someone agreed with his thoughts. "But I want to find a way to convey this as gently as possible, I don't want it to come as a sudden shock."

"You are the person who understands it the most right now, besides me," Mrs. Tu Nhan said, her voice full of confidence. "I believe you will know how to do it at the right time, in the right way. Perhaps, you should prepare enough evidence in advance, so that it doesn't feel like this is just a guess, but a clearly grounded truth."

"Thank you," Hoai An said, feeling stronger after that sincere conversation. "I will try to fully complete the documents before talking to him."

"And you," Mrs. Tu Nhan added before ending the call, her voice filled with deep affection. "No matter what happens, remember, you're not alone in this. The entire Ha Trieu village is here, ready to support you two through anything."

After ending the call, Hoai An sat quietly for a long time, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but also feeling a new determination. She knows that she needs to continue to collect more evidence and prepare carefully, so that when the right time comes, she can bring Khoi not only the truth, but also complete liberation from the burden that has weighed on his soul for so long.

She reopened the file on her laptop and began drafting a detailed summary, arranging the documents in clear chronological order, highlighting the most important key points. She wanted everything to be clear and well-founded when presenting it to Khoi, without leaving any space for doubts or misunderstandings to arise, because she understood that a great truth like this needs to be received in clarity, not in ambiguity.

Outside the window, the light of the lighthouse still steadily swept across the night sky, and Hoai An looked up, silently promising herself that she would do everything in her power to ensure that this truth, when revealed, would bring healing, not a new wound, to the man she loved deeply, the man who taught her what it means to be resilient in the midst of loss.