Chapter 3 — When He Chose Her

I nodded, telling her to head home first. Glancing at my phone, I saw a message from Chu Tu:

"I have arranged for someone to pick you up. Go home and wait for me."

I did not head back to the law office. Instead, I called a moving company directly. When I arrived home, Chu Tu had clearly not yet returned. The motion-sensor lights in the foyer flickered to life. My slippers were still sitting neatly at the edge of the shoe cabinet, their toes pointing outward. That was exactly how Chu Tu made sure to place them every night before bed, claiming it would save me from having to lean over to find them when I got home. As the movers hauled the last of the boxes downstairs, I dialed Chu Tu’s number. I did not let him speak first.

"Chu Tu, please buy some chestnut cakes on your way home."

A sudden silence fell on the other end of the line. During our first five years together, whenever I suffered from stomach cramps so severe I couldn’t stand, he would rush from the east side of the city to the west just to bring me a box of chestnut cakes. Later, we made an unspoken pact: if I asked for those cakes, it meant I was truly in distress. He was not to ask why, not to suggest waiting, and he was required to return immediately. Chu Tu seemed to grasp the implication, and a flicker of panic colored his voice.

"Xan Xan, stay right there. I am coming home now."

Then, Kieu Nguyet’s voice cut through from his side.

"Tu, where are you going?"

This time, he did not answer her. The call disconnected. The final sound I heard through the receiver was the frantic rhythm of his running footsteps. When he jammed his key into the front door lock, his hands were visibly shaking.

"Xan Xan!"

No one answered. The living room was hollow. The slippers by the sofa were gone. The walk-in closet stood slightly ajar, holding nothing but his own clothes. Sitting squarely in the middle of the dining table was the divorce agreement, the asset distribution proposal, and the spare house key. Like a madman, he began to dial my number repeatedly. All he received in response was the cold, hollow chime of the automated system.

"The number you have dialed is currently powered off."

Chu Tu gripped that key tightly, standing before the dining table for a long, frozen moment. The sharp edges of the key dug deep into his palm, but he seemed unable to feel the pain, continuing to call out to Tu Xan Xan again and again. The first time, it went to voicemail. The second, still off. By the third attempt, he could hear his own ragged, erratic breathing. The house was too quiet—so quiet that he could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the gentle brush of the curtains against the wall as the night breeze stirred them. In the past, at this hour, Xan Xan would have poked her head out of the study, wrapped in that pale grey throw blanket, frowning as she scolded him for returning so late.

"Chu Tu, if you do not get some sleep, don't blame me when I laugh at your dark circles in court tomorrow."

Back then, he would always walk over and close her laptop for her.

"Mrs. Chu, lawyers have to follow labor laws, too."

But now, the study door stood ajar and the desk was barren. The fountain pen she favored was gone, her files were missing, and even her favorite coaster had been taken. Only a small sticky note remained at the corner of a drawer. Chu Tu reached out to retrieve it. It was a note he had written for her a long time ago:

"The chestnut cakes are in the fridge. Take your medicine if your stomach hurts; don't try to suffer through it."

The edges of the paper had yellowed with age, but the handwriting remained stark and clear. His throat bobbed as if he had been burned; he squeezed the note in his palm. He tried calling one more time. Still off. He moved into the bedroom, where the closet held only his suits, his shirts, and his ties. The side belonging to Tu Xan Xan was clean and desolate, as if no one had ever lived there at all. Chu Tu stared at that empty space, his eyes rimmed with red. Finally, the realization shattered him: Tu Xan Xan was not merely throwing a tantrum. She had truly left. When the doorbell rang, he spun around, lunging toward the entrance.

"Xan..."

Standing at the door was Kieu Nguyet. She was still wearing his coat, her face pale and her eyes reddened, looking as though she had been weeping the entire way there. Seeing the signs of moving and the empty spaces in the house, she hesitated for a heartbeat before regaining her gentle demeanor.

"Tu, I heard that Xan Xan had moved out, so I came to check on you."

Kieu Nguyet stepped inside and caught sight of the divorce agreement on the table. Her gaze flickered, then she quickly masked it.

"She is probably just angry for the moment, out somewhere to clear her head."

She pushed the agreement aside with a flick of her hand, as if it were nothing of importance.

"Xan Xan loves you so much; she would never truly have the heart to leave you."

The moment those words left her lips, Chu Tu’s expression shifted violently. Xan Xan loved him so much. Yes, that was true. Everyone knew how much Tu Xan Xan loved him. That was why he had dared to keep her waiting time after time, why he had dared to take her endurance for granted. He had been convinced that as long as he turned back and offered a single word of comfort, she would still be waiting exactly where he left her. Chu Tu lowered his head to look at the table. On the first page of the divorce agreement, Tu Xan Xan had signed her name—neat, decisive, without a flicker of hesitation. She had even detailed the asset division herself, with the same cold, analytical precision she used when handling a client's divorce case. Kieu Nguyet gently tugged at his sleeve.

"Did I cause you more trouble again?"

In the past, that question had always worked. Whenever she lowered her head, eyes welling with tears, Chu Tu would soften his tone. But this time, his gaze landed on the coat draped over her shoulders. Suddenly, he remembered the sight of Tu Xan Xan clutching her dress as she stood downstairs—her eyes had been red, yet she had not shed a single tear. Chu Tu closed his eyes.

"You should go home first."