My name is Nam, a third-year university student. Five years ago, my mother passed away, leaving my father alone in our village. I never imagined he would remarry. Yet one late afternoon, my phone rang, and his voice came through—calm, yet insistent:
“Nam, come home this weekend. I need to talk to you about something important.”
Something important? My heart skipped. My father rarely called without reason. That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
By Saturday morning, I found myself on the familiar road home—the rows of trees, the old tiled roofs. Everything should have felt familiar, but it didn’t. My pace quickened as I approached the yard, and the door swung open.
There he stood—my father. And beside him… a woman.
My eyes fell to her belly, rounded and unmistakable. My throat went dry.
“No… this can’t be…” I whispered.
And then I looked up at her face. It was Lan—Lan, my old schoolmate. The girl I had quietly admired throughout high school, the one I had dreamed about but never told.
Shock froze me. My heart pounded, my knees threatened to buckle. My father took a step forward, his voice fumbling.
“Son… let me explain…”
But I couldn’t hear him. Tears blurred my vision. I turned and ran, ignoring his desperate calls. I ran to the riverbank where my mother and I once spent warm afternoons flying kites, the place that had always felt like home. I collapsed there, sobbing, clutching my head, screaming at the empty sky.
Why Lan? Why now? The girl of my youth, now carrying my father’s child.
Twilight fell, and my father finally found me. He sat down, heavy with regret and exhaustion.
“Nam… I know this is a shock. I didn’t want to hide it from you. I’ve been alone for so long, and when I met Lan, we leaned on each other. She cares for me… and she cares for you too.”
I sprang to my feet, my voice trembling with bitter anger:
“Did you know I liked her? I treated her like my whole youth! And now she’s your wife… do you even understand what that feels like?!”
My father’s eyes glistened, his expression solemn.
“I didn’t know. Had I known, maybe things would have been different. But Lan and the baby need a family now. I hope you can understand that.”
His words cut me like a knife.
The next day, Lan came to see me. She spoke softly, her voice trembling:
“Nam… I’m sorry. I know you had feelings for me once, but we were young. Life took us down different paths, and in the end, I ended up with your father. I never wanted to hurt you.”
I clenched my fists.
“You say you didn’t want to, but you chose him. Do you know how much that hurts?”
Tears ran down her cheeks as she cradled her belly. Seeing her like that, I felt an impossible mix of anger, sorrow, and helplessness.
That night, I found a letter from my mother, tucked away in an old drawer. Her familiar handwriting read:
“Nam, my only wish is that you live kindly, love others, and cherish family. If your father ever remarries, forgive him. Don’t leave him alone.”
My tears soaked the paper. My heart felt both broken and comforted.
On the wedding day, I stood outside the gate, watching my father in a simple suit and Lan in a white áo dài, one hand resting on her belly. I wanted to storm in, to shout, “Stop!” But my feet wouldn’t move.
I left a letter instead:
“I cannot give my blessing, but I cannot hate you either. I am leaving. I hope you find happiness.”
Turning away, I walked down the road, each step feeling like a pound on my own heart. The music from the wedding faded behind me. That day, my youth, my family, and my dreams—all dissolved in an instant.