Chapter 3 — The Silence Between Two Loves

“This is a birthday gift from Mr. Tham to Miss Niem Niem.”

“No need.”

I closed the lid and pushed it back.

“She can't wear it, it will scratch her skin.”

Assistant Tran was silent for a moment.

“Miss Tong, you know Mr. Tham's personality. He doesn't like to be rejected.”

“I don't need him to like it.”

I put the box back in his hands.

"You go home. Tell Tham Tri Ngam, Niem Niem is very good, no need for him to worry."

Assistant Tran stood up. Look at me for a long time.

“Miss Tong... you've changed a lot.”

“You... weren't like that before.”

I know what he means. Before, in front of Tham Tri Ngam, I was like a frightened bird. Speak softly. I'm afraid of stepping on an ant even when I walk around. I carefully pleased each person— Because I always felt like I didn't deserve to be in that house. And now— On my body is an apron covered in powder. Hair tied loosely. Closely cut nails. My eyes are bright.

"Previously, I was Tong Van of the Tham family."

“And now—”

“I am my own Tong Van.”

Assistant Tran did not say anything more. Just bowed... then left. After the Maybach left, I sat down and hugged Niem Niem. Bury your face into your baby's soft little belly.

“Niem Niem, will you sing my birthday song for me?”

“Happy birthday, happy birthday…”

Half of the song— Tears fell. Not because of sadness. The woman who sat in the parking lot two years ago, crying until she trembled— was no more. Three days after the Maybach left— Tham Tri Ngam… arrived himself. He arrived at dusk. The shop is about to close. I was cleaning the work table, Niem Niem sat on a small chair in front of the door, holding a lollipop in her hand, licking it until it covered her face. A black Range Rover stopped in front of the door— Not the Maybach from last time. Perhaps he found the Maybach too outstanding, so he changed to a more "modest" one. The shop door opened. The wind chimes rang softly. I raised my head. The ex-husband has not been seen for three years. He's gotten a little thinner. Chin lines are sharper. The shadow from the brow bone makes the eyes look deeper and colder than before. Dark gray suit, no tie, top button open. But the aloof aura that makes people not dare to get close— Still hasn't changed.

“Tong Van.”

He stood at the door, his voice low. I didn't reply. Still continuing to clean the table. He clearly wasn't used to being ignored. You frowned slightly. His eyes fell on Niem Niem sitting at the door. Niem Niem also saw him. The girl tilted her head, the lollipop stopped in mid-air. Black eyes as round as grapes blinked. A young voice asked:

“Who are you?”

The expression on Tham Tri Ngam's face... cracked a very small gap. So small that— If I hadn't lived with him for three years, learning to read his eyes— I wouldn't have noticed. But I realized. The pain of a father... When his own child asks: "Who are you?"

“I am your father.”

He said. Niem Niem looked at him, then looked at me. Then she slid down from the chair, trotted towards me, hugged my leg tightly, only showing half of her face, secretly looking at him.

“Mom… he lied.”

Nim Niem whispered.

"I don't have a dad. The other kids all have dads, but I don't. Grandma said... dad went to heaven."

Tham Tri Ngam's expression... was completely frozen. I sat down and picked up Niem Niem:

“Recite Niem, what you said is not correct. I have a father… he is my father.”

Nien Niem buried her face in my neck, refusing to look at him. Tham Tri Ngam stood there, his hands in his pockets, but his knuckles were white. His throat moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something... then he swallowed again.

“What did you come for?”

“To visit my daughter.”

"I haven't visited in two years, but suddenly I remember today?"

He pursed his lips:

"Tong Van, I know you resent me."

“I don't resent you.”

“I just find it strange. He said he would welcome Niem Niem back three years later, but in the past two years he had never visited her. I don't even know what my child looks like... how can I be a father?"

“You came to confirm whether the child is living well, right?”

I speak for him.

“Now I see it. You are very good. You can go home.”

Tham Tri Ngam looked at me. There was something in those eyes... I couldn't read it. Not disgusted. Don't lose patience. A bit… confused. Perhaps he discovered— The woman standing in front of him now, was no longer the one who signed the divorce papers with trembling hands three years ago.

“This shop... do you open it?”

He looked around.

“How is business?”

“Do you need help?”

“No need.”

Three questions in a row. Each of my answers... no more than three words. He finally understood— This was not the Tham family. I am no longer his wife. No… I was never a true “wife” in the first place. Just a title. But now— That title no longer exists.

“Tong Van, can you talk more kindly?”

“I'm speaking very kindly.”

“You're being rude to me.”

“I don't care.”

I put Niem Niem down so my child could go inside and play.

“Tham Tri Ngam, how do you want me to treat you? A little enthusiasm? Before, he criticized me for being annoying. A little cold? He talked to me again. So what do you want anyway?

He was silent for a long time. Outside, the sky gradually darkened. The streetlights turned on, yellow light shining through the glass windows, extending shadows of people on the floor.

“I came to tell you something.”

He suddenly spoke up.

“Three year agreement…cancelled.”

I stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“Nien Niem doesn't need to be picked up anymore.”

His voice was very low, as if he was holding back something.

“You can continue to stay with me.”

“Because she is my daughter.”

He said.

“Your feelings… are more important than the agreement.”

That sentence— From his mouth, it was like a stone thrown into still water. But I quickly… extinguished that ripple.

“Tham Tri Ngam, is something wrong with you?”

He looked at me. No reply. He did something that completely surprised me. He walked to the counter, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Give me a cup of coffee.”

“Your shop sells coffee, right?”

He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers lightly tapping on the table.

“Give me a drink. I drove four hours, needed to stay awake.”

I looked at him for five seconds. Confirmed… he wasn't joking. Then turn around and make him a glass of Americano. No latte art. Just a cup of black coffee. Put it down in front of him. He took a sip, frowned slightly:

“Didn't you still drink Americano before?”

“Before was before.”

He put the glass down.

“Is there any sugar?”

I took a packet of white sugar and placed it in front of him. He tore it open, poured it in, stirred gently, drank another sip.

“I didn't eat sugar before.”

“People... will change.”

That sentence, coming from his mouth, carried a strange weight. I leaned against the counter, crossed my arms and looked at him. He sat on a cheap folding chair, his long legs curled under the table, his wrist revealing a Patek Philippe watch, completely out of place with everything around him. He has no intention of leaving.

“How long are you planning to stay here?”

“Stay in the district tonight.”