Chapter 24 — When the Spider Plant Turned Black

The wet stone tiles outside the police station still shimmered, reflecting a vast, overcast expanse of gray sky. My mother and I had arrived to submit additional paperwork, crossing paths with her just as she stepped out of a car. She was much thinner than I had imagined. Well into her fifties, her hair was pulled back into a severe, tight bun, and her face caked with a thick layer of powder, yet the corners of her mouth were perpetually curved into a faint, artificial smile. It was a smile I had already come to know over the phone—simultaneously weightless and slippery. Catching sight of me, her footsteps faltered slightly.

Ha Vu?

The accompanying police officer gently tugged at her arm.

Move.

She continued to stare fixedly at me, then suddenly broke into a thin smirk.

You are quite lucky, managing to avoid being soaked a few times.

My mother's expression darkened instantly.

Try saying one more word.

Liu Xuanha turned her gaze toward my mother.

Dear elder, you can protect her now, but can you protect her for the rest of her life?

I stepped forward, putting myself between them.

Whether my mother can protect me or not is hardly a matter for you to worry about.

I looked straight into her eyes.

You should be more concerned with figuring out how to explain the stack of documents inside your own suitcase.

The smile at the corners of her mouth slowly faded. In that precise moment, I finally caught a glimpse of genuine panic rippling across that powdered face. It was only much later that I learned the true nature of her so-called fertility healing rituals: they were predatory scams meticulously designed to exploit the desperate yearning for grandchildren harbored by traditional families. Whenever the fault lay with the husband, she would actively manipulate the in-laws into concealing the truth. If the wife resisted, she would weaponize those fraudulent commitment letters alongside crushing familial pressure to force compliance. Tea fees, labor-inducing concoctions, prenatal tonics—every single term had been carefully chosen to sound medically legitimate. Yet each step was a deliberate descent, pushing vulnerable women deeper into an abyss. Among her victims, some had their physical health permanently shattered, others were relentlessly tormented by their husbands' families for failing to bear a child, and a few remained entirely ignorant of their actual medical test results even long after their divorces were finalized. When the police finally managed to contact two of those women, they broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably over the phone. Listening to those fractured, weeping voices, a heavy weight pressed down upon my chest, as if a boulder rested against my ribs. It turned out that my delicate spider plant was not the only thing growing in a warped, frantic manner; thriving with equal madness was a profound malice disguised beneath a gentle veneer of care and concern.

Tran Nghien sought me out a few times later on. The first time was beneath the old apartment building where my mother lived. He stood in the pouring rain, clutching a box of pastries from the exact bakery I used to love. Catching sight of me heading out to take out the trash, he hurried forward.

Ha Vu.

I took a step back.

If you have something to say, say it.

He held out the pastry box.

You have grown so much thinner lately.

I refused to reach for it. Embarrassed, he slowly pulled his hand back.

About my mother... the lawyer says things might get quite complicated.

You want me to write a statement of leniency? I asked.

Awkwardness bled visibly across his face.

She is old, and her health is failing.

I stared at him.

When my health was failing, why didn't you say those words?

His lips parted, trembling slightly.

I know I have no right to ask this of you.

Then do not ask.

I turned on my heel, ready to walk away. He called out after me.

Ha Vu, I am undergoing treatment now.

I paused, though I did not look back.

I hope you recover soon.

His voice choked with emotion.

Do we truly have no chance left at all?

None, I replied.

A single word uttered without a shred of hesitation. It was neither a petty display of sulking nor a hollow threat. I had genuinely, unequivocally let go. The divorce proceedings dragged on far slower than I had anticipated. Initially, Tran Nghien hesitated, refusing to sign the papers. His mother even enlisted various relatives to call me, warning me that bearing the stigma of a divorced woman would ruin my reputation, accusing me of tearing their family apart, and insisting that if Tran Nghien lost his job, the blame would rest entirely on my shoulders. I blocked number after number. My mother sat beside me, steadily knitting a woolen sweater, and whenever the phone rang again, she did not even bother to lift her head.

If anyone else starts cursing, just record the audio.

I could not help but laugh.