Chapter 1 — Thirty Years Later, We Brought Mom Home

The year my father remarried, I had just turned sixteen years old. That day, in front of all family members, father without hesitation signed a document transferring assets worth 10,000,000 yuan to his stepmother for free. He didn't even look at me, he just calmly said:

"The children are all grown up now. In the future, build your own lives."

The stepmother held a cup of tea, her smile was so gentle and dignified that no one could refute her. I slowly stood up and calmly replied:

"Okay. We won't take any money from you."

The very next day, I took my younger brother and younger sister, carried three suitcases, and boarded a flight to Melbourne. That departure... lasted a full thirty years. Thirty years later, I sat in a nursing home in Melbourne examining the books. Outside the window, light rain fell. Workers at the vineyard are pushing the last cart of crates into the warehouse. The phone suddenly rang. I picked up the phone, and a young man's voice rang out on the other end of the line.

"Miss Hua Tri Chanh? I'm Tham Gia Thu."

The pen in my hand stopped. Tham Gia Thu. Son of stepmother Tham Ngoc Nhu. That year he was only twelve years old, wearing brand new sneakers bought by my father, standing in the middle of the living room whistling teasingly at my younger brother. He once held his head high and declared:

"From now on, this will be my home."

Thirty years have passed, and that voice is now a little colder and full of work.

"Dad has a cerebral infarction and is in Hai Thanh Hospital No. 1. Mom said, after all, everyone has the last name Hua, so we should go visit him."

I didn't speak up. He continued:

"Also, the ancestral house needs to go through procedures to transfer its name. I can't say it clearly right now. I need the three sisters to sign a commitment to waive all rights to complain."

I laughed.

"Visiting a sick person is just an excuse, signing a paper is the real purpose, right?"

The other end of the line was silent for two seconds. Tham Gia Thu lowered his voice.

"You've been gone for thirty years, those things no longer have anything to do with you. Don't just come back and make things unsightly."

I closed the accounting book.

"Send the commitment to me."

It seemed like he breathed a sigh of relief. Ten minutes later, the email arrived. The title is very polite. Confirmation of the disposal of the Hua family's ancestral house and affiliated assets. I open the attachment. The content is written very clearly. We three sisters confirm that our father's gift of all his assets in the past is legal and valid; give up all rights to all assets of the Hua family; At the same time, he agreed to let Tham Ngoc Nhu have full authority to handle the ancestral house, row of shops and land of the Hua family's old factory. I immediately forwarded the document to Hua Tri Dao. She is currently a lawyer specializing in family dispute resolution in Sydney. Being woken up by my call in the middle of the night, my voice was cold as ice.

"Sister... they are impatient."

"That's right."

Hua Tri Chau also joined the call. As soon as he stepped out of the operating room, his voice was hoarse.

"Did dad really have a cerebral infarction?"

"It must be true."

Tri Chau was silent for a moment then said: Tri Dao also immediately spoke:

"I'm coming too."

The whole call suddenly fell silent. No one mentioned what happened thirty years ago. That year, less than a year after my mother passed away, my father brought Tham Ngoc Nhu home. He said she was gentle and would take good care of us three sisters. But on the first day When she entered the house, she ordered someone to take down the picture of my mother from the living room. She smiled faintly:

"If the dead keep taking up space like this, how can the living live?"

My father heard it. But he didn't say a word. Then, in front of everyone, he signed a paper gifting all the company's shares, the store chain, the ancestral house and all the cash accounts to Tham Ngoc Nhu. I asked him:

"What about the things I left for you three sisters?"

He frowned.

"Your mother's things are also mine. It's not your turn to arrange them however I want."

That day, Tri Chau was only fourteen years old. Tri Dao was only nine years old, trembling and clinging tightly to the hem of my shirt. I put down the tea cup.

"Okay. We won't take any money from you."

The next day, I took the two children out of that house. Not because of anger. It's to keep my life. For the past thirty years, I have washed dishes, worked as a nurse, and opened a small restaurant. Later, he built a nursing home and bought his first vineyard. Thanks to a scholarship, Tri Chau finished medical school and became a cardiovascular surgeon. Tri Dao studied law and is best at dissecting each debt and asset between broken families, clearly calculating every penny. It's not like we've never returned. No one has ever called us back. Now, they call. Because they need our signature. Three days later, the plane landed in Hai Thanh. I pushed my suitcase and walked out the door. On my left is Tri Chau in a gray windbreaker, with a straight spine. On the right is Tri Dao in a black suit, holding only a briefcase in his hand. Outside the door, Tham Gia Thu was leaning against the black car, looking down at his phone. Seeing us, his eyes glanced over the suitcases, then looked at the clothes on all three of them. Finally stopped on my face.

"Really looks good."

I walked in front of him.

"Go to the hospital."

Tham Gia Thu frowned.

"Go home first. Mom is waiting for everyone to eat. By the way, let's talk about signing the contract."

Tri Dao smiled softly.

"The patient has a cerebral infarction, his biological child just got off the plane, yet you want us to go to your house to sign the property relinquishment papers first?"

Tham Gia Thu's face immediately changed.

"What do you mean?"

Tri Chau pushed the suitcase in front of his feet. Tham Gia Thu glared at my younger brother.

"What the hell are you?"

Tri Chau raised her eyes.

"I am Hua Hongyuan's son."

"Also a doctor."

The corner of Tham Gia Thu's lips twitched slightly. In the end, no more words were said. The car smelled faintly of the perfume Tham Ngoc Nhu often used. Thirty years have passed. Yet that suffocating sweet scent... still hasn't changed.