Chapter 11 — When the Wind Crosses the Porch

Hanh kicked Mai out of the house at noon, right after lawyer Thu sent the results of the signature examination. Not because she was angry with her child, but because a truck carrying materials stopped outside the gate and the driver said the company would set up a temporary fence.

“Go ahead,” Hanh said, still holding the report tightly. “If they see you here, they will say we intentionally obstructed you.”

“I won't go.”

“Mom told me to go.”

“You chased me away to protect me, the same way you hid your father's story?”

Hanh turned around. “I don't want to lose you again.”

When Mai heard that sentence, she found it both true and unfair. "I never lost you. I just never gave you a choice."

Hanh opened the back gate and pointed to her packed backpack. "Stay at Sau Luu's house for a few days. Mom will say you left town."

“And if they come?”

“Mom is here.”

Mai looked at the old awning, the height marks on the columns, the sewing machine. She didn't want to leave, but knew her mother wouldn't give in. The army waited outside the alley, the car started.

“I went with him,” Hanh said. “Don't come back before mom calls.”

Mai walked through the back gate without hugging her mother. Only when she reached the end of the alley did she hear the door close.

Sau Luu House became a workplace. Seven households brought documents, but no one knew Hanh had evicted Mai. Uncle Sau asked, she said her mother wanted quiet. Quan looked at her but did not expose her.

Nhi sent her grandmother's old home address, along with the message: "My mother doesn't want to hand over the box. She's afraid someone will come again."

Mai and Quan walked through the salt flats in the afternoon. The old house was abandoned, the wooden door was rotten, and the altar was covered with cloth. Nhi's mother, Hoa, stood in the yard, holding a broom.

“I don't keep other people's papers,” she said.

“Nhi told my father to send it to her grandmother.”

"Your father sent a box. He said he would only open it if someone brought the key."

Mai gave her a fish-shaped key. Ms. Hoa looked, then led them into the altar room. The altar box has a boat-shaped bronze lock. The key fits snugly.

Inside were family photos, a handkerchief and an oil envelope. No original. There was only one piece of paper Mai's father wrote: "Hoa, if I don't come back, please give the original to someone who can read my disadvantages."

Ms. Hoa said: "Grandma Nhi doesn't know how to read. She kept the box because of her promise, but before she died, she gave the paper to someone else."

"Who?"

“The carpenter's name is Bay.”

Mr. Bay lives in the neighboring village, is eighty years old, and his memory is sometimes clear and sometimes forgetful. He recognized Mai's father's name and took out an old bottom board. The original was pressed between two layers of wood, but only half remained; The part with seven signatures was eaten by termites.

Mai was disappointed, but Quan discovered that on the back there was a sign of the cooperative and the file box number. The incomplete original still proves the paper once existed.

“Your father told me to hide the rest,” Mr. Bay said. “He said torn paper is safer than intact paper if the holder is scared.”

“Where is the rest?”

He pointed to the old lighthouse. “A fishing boy found it and sent it to the lightkeeper.”

The lighthouse is closed. The lamp manager is Mr. Can, Hau's brother. Mr. Can did not like to talk, but when he saw the board, he took a file bag from the cabinet. The remainder of the original has seven signatures, although the edges of the paper are burned.

“I keep it because your father once saved my brother,” he said. “Hau didn't tell anyone.”

Mai placed two pieces of paper next to each other. The joint tear line is almost complete, but in the middle there is a section with a confirmation mark missing. The letter said the paper and ink needed to be examined, but it was enough to ask the court to preserve the land.

Meanwhile, Hanh called Mai. She said the material truck had left, but Phuc came home alone. He asked her to hand over the report, then said Mai had left.

“Did mom give it?”

"Are not."

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Mom is tired.”

Hanh's voice is weaker. Mai wanted to go back right away, but Thu advised her to take note of all exchanges. Quan called his mother's familiar doctor and asked for a remote examination.

Mai and Quan went home in the evening. The front door is locked, but the back door is open. Hanh lies on the chair with a slight fever. Next to it is a piece of paper that Phuc left behind: "You chose your daughter. Let's see how she chooses you."

Mai tore the paper. Hanh woke up and said, "Mom, I don't want you to come back."

“I came back because Mom had a fever.”

“Mom can take care of herself.”

“Mom, just take care of yourself until everyone thinks you don't need anyone.”

Hanh is quiet.

The doctor prescribed medicine and advised rest. Mai clears the table and cooks porridge. The house is sealed, but the kitchen can still cook. Mother and daughter ate in silence.

Then, Hanh gave Mai another key. "Your father hid it in the sewing machine. I found it today."

The key opens a compartment on the porch where the toolbox is. In the box were drawings of the house, repair lines, and an unsent letter to Mai.

Dad wrote: "Mai, if you read this letter, your mother chose the more difficult way of telling the truth. Don't blame her for too long. Adults sometimes use lies to build a wall, then forget that the wall also covers the way home."

Mai continued reading. Father said he once received money from Phuc to keep for his household, but he paid it off to seven households. The remaining money in the account is temporary waiting for reconciliation. He knew the map was altered, knew the signature was fake, but there wasn't enough evidence. He gave the original to people in the community so that no one could take it from his home.

“I do not ask you to keep the house,” the letter said. "If you sell, sell with the truth. If you keep it, keep it because this place has people who need it, not because of you."

Hanh sat next to Mai, listening to her read. “Your father never told me the last part.”

“He wanted me to choose for myself.”

“Mom made the wrong choice.”

"Mom chooses out of fear. No one chooses beauty out of fear."

Hanh burst into tears. Mai didn't hug her right away. She let her mother cry long enough, then gave her a towel. When Hanh rested her head on her shoulder, Mai placed her hand on her back.

The next day, they released Hanh's report to seven households and lawyers. People don't blame her. Mrs. Lai said: "Everyone has a debt of fear. As long as we pay it now with the truth."

An independent measuring team came and confirmed that the old land boundary was one and a half meters different from the new boundary. The company objected and requested a re-inspection. The letter requests the court to prohibit any changes to the status quo while examining the original.

Phuc sent a counter-notification against Hanh for "obstructing the project". Hanh read each line, then signed to confirm receipt. Mai asked her if she was scared.

"Have."

“Mom still signed?”

“Afraid of not making the signature disappear.”

Mai smiled. That quote resembles his father more than any photo.

In the evening, Quan brought a new map. He was able to connect the paths of three file boxes. One box goes to the salt factory, one box goes to the province, and the last box goes to the cooperative's warehouse. That warehouse is currently located in the basement of Huong Duong company building.

"If the box is still there, Phuc can't say he doesn't know."

“We need a search warrant.”

The letter said there was not enough basis. They must prove the company is holding community assets.

Mai looked at the original collage, Vinh's USB, the photo of the measuring station and Hau's words. “Then gather enough.”

Hanh stopped: "Don't turn your life into this case."

"My life already had it. I just didn't know it."

Hanh looked at her child and did not chase her away anymore.

Near midnight, Nhi sent the last text message: "I will go home and testify if you don't put my name in the newspaper. Grandma said your father was not a perfect person. But he was the only one who apologized when he took a bag of money by mistake."

Mai replied: "I promise."

That night, she placed the original in Sau Luu's small safe and divided the password among three people. Mom's house is still threatened, but the files are no longer in one hand.

Hanh opened the door and called Mai: "Sleep here."

“Mom, you don't chase me anymore?”

“I'm learning to speak frankly.”

Mai carried her backpack into her old room. On the wall, the height markings still remain. She added a new line, without the number. Just write the return date.

Outside on the porch, the wind changed direction. A roof tile fell into the yard and broke into two. No one ran out to clean up immediately. They stood and watched, knowing they would have to fix it tomorrow, but also knowing that this time they would fix it together.

Mai took a ruler to measure the crack on the column and recorded the data in the file instead of hiding it. Quan reminded her to take pictures of the whole item, not just the good part. They temporarily placed a strut, marking the location with blue paint. Hanh sat by the door, listened to the two people discuss resistance, then asked a very ordinary question: "If it rains more, where will it leak first?"

Mai showed her mother how to place the pot and how to move the filing cabinet to a high shelf. Hanh writes down the things she needs to do on the back of the calendar, without waiting for her child to remember them herself. Mrs. Lai brought a roll of canvas, Mr. Dat sent some screws, and Ms. Tam called an electrician to check the wires. Each contribution has a name, date and note, because the Hien Gio Room does not want to turn help into a debt that no one knows to repay.

That night, Mai called the team leader in Da Nang, saying she needed to work remotely for another month. The group leader asked if she was quitting her job. Mai looked at the broken roof tiles and replied: "I'm learning how to do the right job in the right place." She sent the structural drawings, then turned to the porch. Hanh was sleeping, still holding the pencil. Mai placed the blanket on her mother's shoulders and did not correct the messy notes. They are the first sign that mom is no longer just waiting for someone else to decide.