Chapter 4: The Last Straw
Chapter 4: The Last Straw
The morning began with silence.
That should have been Nhã Phương's first warning.
The Huỳnh household was never truly quiet.
There were always footsteps in the corridors, servants opening doors, telephones ringing, cars arriving through the gates, and the distant murmur of employees discussing the family's schedule.
But that morning, there was nothing.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No clatter from the kitchen.
Nhã Phương opened her eyes slowly.
Minh was already gone.
She glanced at the clock.
7:42 a.m.
For the first time since she had married into the Huỳnh family, she had slept late.
She sat up.
Her body still felt heavy from the previous night's discovery.
The photograph was hidden inside the drawer beside her bed.
The mysterious man.
Madam Huỳnh.
The message on the back.
She had barely slept.
Nhã Phương reached for her robe.
Then—
Bang!
The bedroom door slammed open.
She turned sharply.
Madam Huỳnh stormed into the room.
Two servants stood behind her, visibly frightened.
“Get up.”
Nhã Phương froze.
“Mother?”
“I said get up.”
Madam Huỳnh marched toward the bed.
“You've been sleeping until this hour?”
Nhã Phương glanced at the clock.
“It's almost eight.”
“And?”
“I apologize. I didn't realize I had slept so late.”
“You didn't realize?”
Madam Huỳnh's voice rose.
“My son has been awake since six.”
Nhã Phương stood.
“I'll go downstairs.”
“You will do more than that.”
Madam Huỳnh grabbed the front of her pajama shirt.
The sudden movement pulled Nhã Phương forward.
She gasped.
“Mother!”
“Get dressed.”
Madam Huỳnh's fingers tightened around the fabric.
“Go to the kitchen and make breakfast for my son.”
Nhã Phương stared at her.
“I can do that.”
“Then move.”
Madam Huỳnh released her.
Nhã Phương took one step backward.
Her heart was pounding.
Not because she was afraid.
Because something inside her had finally reached its limit.
She had endured insults.
She had endured accusations.
She had endured humiliating comments about her parents.
She had endured the ceramic pot.
The notes.
The accusations.
She had even apologized for things she hadn't done.
But being grabbed like a servant who had failed to obey?
That was different.
Madam Huỳnh looked her up and down.
“What are you waiting for?”
Nhã Phương slowly straightened her shirt.
“I'll change.”
“You should have been downstairs already.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Madam Huỳnh scoffed.
“Girls from families like yours are always taught to sleep late and expect other people to serve them.”
Nhã Phương's eyes hardened.
“My mother taught me to work.”
Madam Huỳnh laughed.
“Work?”
She looked around the luxurious room.
“Your mother runs a tiny tailoring shop, doesn't she?”
“Yes.”
“A shop where she sits behind a sewing machine all day?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect to enter the Huỳnh family and behave like a lady?”
Nhã Phương remained silent.
Madam Huỳnh stepped closer.
“Don't forget where you came from.”
The words were quiet now.
More dangerous because of it.
“You married into this family because Minh chose you. That doesn't mean you suddenly became a Huỳnh.”
Nhã Phương lowered her eyes.
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
Madam Huỳnh pointed toward the door.
“Until you understand your position, you will continue to be reminded.”
Then she walked out.
The servants followed.
The door closed.
Nhã Phương stood alone.
Her hands were trembling.
She looked down at them.
Then slowly clenched them.
For years, she had been proud of how well she controlled herself.
That morning, she realized control could become another kind of prison.
She changed into a simple cream blouse and black trousers.
When she entered the kitchen, Madam Huỳnh was already there.
The cook stood near the stove.
Minh was nowhere to be seen.
Madam Huỳnh pointed toward the counter.
“Eggs.”
Nhã Phương nodded.
“Coffee.”
“Yes.”
“Toast.”
“Yes.”
“And make the congee yourself.”
The cook looked at Nhã Phương apologetically.
Nhã Phương gave her a small smile.
“It's fine.”
She tied her hair back.
Then started working.
Eggs.
Coffee.
Toast.
Congee.
Her movements were calm and precise.
Madam Huỳnh watched.
“You know how to cook?”
“My mother taught me.”
“What can she afford to teach you?”
Nhã Phương paused.
“My mother taught me everything she knew.”
Madam Huỳnh gave a dismissive laugh.
“That explains why you cook like a common household girl.”
Nhã Phương continued stirring the congee.
She said nothing.
Madam Huỳnh stepped closer.
“My son grew up with professional chefs.”
“I know.”
“He is accustomed to quality.”
“I know.”
“He shouldn't have to eat food prepared by someone who was raised in a small apartment.”
Nhã Phương placed the spoon down.
Then looked at her mother-in-law.
“I can order breakfast from the chef if you prefer.”
Madam Huỳnh's eyes narrowed.
“I told you to cook.”
“Yes.”
“Then cook.”
Nhã Phương turned back to the stove.
“Yes, Mother.”
At eight fifteen, Minh finally entered the kitchen.
He stopped when he saw his wife standing at the stove.
“Phương?”
She turned.
“Breakfast is ready.”
He looked at his mother.
“What happened?”
“Your wife slept until almost eight.”
Minh frowned.
“She's been exhausted.”
Madam Huỳnh's expression changed.
“Don't defend her.”
“I'm not.”
“You always do.”
Minh looked uncomfortable.
Nhã Phương placed the breakfast tray on the table.
“It's okay.”
He looked at her.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Phương.”
She shook her head.
“Eat before it gets cold.”
Minh sat.
He picked up the coffee.
Took one sip.
Then looked at her.
“It's good.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Madam Huỳnh watched them.
Then said:
“Don't praise her too much.”
Minh put the cup down.
“Mother.”
“What?”
“She made breakfast.”
“I asked her to.”
“She did it.”
Madam Huỳnh crossed her arms.
“And?”
“And that's enough.”
Nhã Phương looked at him.
For once, he sounded firm.
Madam Huỳnh stared at her son.
Then turned away.
“I'm going upstairs.”
She left.
Silence returned.
Minh looked at Nhã Phương.
“Did she hurt you?”
Nhã Phương's expression didn't change.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He noticed the wrinkle in her blouse.
The place where his mother's hand had grabbed it.
His expression darkened.
“She grabbed you.”
Nhã Phương looked away.
“It's nothing.”
“Phương.”
“Please eat.”
He stood.
“I'm going to talk to her.”
Nhã Phương caught his wrist.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want another argument.”
“This isn't an argument.”
“It will become one.”
“I don't care.”
She looked at him.
“I do.”
He was silent.
Then she released his wrist.
“Please.”
He sat down again.
But his face had changed.
Something had finally begun to crack.
After breakfast, Nhã Phương returned to the bedroom.
She opened the drawer.
The photograph was still there.
She took it out.
The young man beside Madam Huỳnh looked even more familiar in daylight.
She had seen that face somewhere.
She just couldn't remember where.
A knock came.
She quickly put the photograph away.
The door opened.
Minh entered.
“I need to tell you something.”
Nhã Phương turned.
“What?”
“My mother wants you to attend the family foundation meeting tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“She says you need to learn how the family operates.”
Nhã Phương smiled faintly.
“That's convenient.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
He watched her.
“You're hiding something.”
She looked at him.
“I'm thinking.”
“About what?”
“Your family.”
He sighed.
“Phương…”
“Minh.”
She interrupted gently.
“Do you trust me?”
He didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
“Then trust me enough to let me ask questions.”
“What questions?”
She studied him.
“Who was your father's closest friend twenty years ago?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Your father.”
“Why are you asking?”
“I saw an old photograph.”
“What photograph?”
She hesitated.
Then decided not to show him.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You just said you wanted me to trust you.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me.”
She walked toward the window.
“I will.”
“When?”
“When I know what I'm looking at.”
Minh stared at her.
“You're investigating my family.”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Nhã Phương turned.
“Trying to understand why someone keeps leaving things in our bedroom.”
His face became serious.
“What did you find?”
“A photograph.”
“Of?”
“Your mother.”
Silence.
“And a man.”
Minh's expression changed immediately.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Show me.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't know who I can trust.”
The words hurt him.
He looked away.
“Do you trust me?”
Nhã Phương's expression softened.
“I want to.”
That answer was worse than a no.
That afternoon, Nhã Phương went to the small room where the old household records were kept.
She had discovered it the previous week.
It was rarely used.
Boxes of receipts.
Old photographs.
Property documents.
Family correspondence.
She began searching.
She didn't know exactly what she wanted.
A name.
A date.
A clue.
Anything.
After nearly an hour, she found an old newspaper clipping.
The headline was faded.
HUỲNH GROUP FOUNDER DIES IN PRIVATE ACCIDENT
She read the article.
Minh's father had died twenty years earlier.
Officially, it had been an accident.
His car had lost control on a mountain road.
But there was another name in the article.
A business partner.
Trần Đức Vinh.
Nhã Phương's heart stopped.
She looked at the photograph beside the article.
It was the same man.
The same face.
The same man standing beside Madam Huỳnh.
She quickly looked at the back of her photograph.
There was no date.
No name.
Only the message.
ASK HER WHO HE IS.
Nhã Phương suddenly understood.
The photograph wasn't meant to tell her who the man was.
It was meant to make her ask.
And someone had chosen her because they knew she would.
She closed the folder.
Then heard footsteps.
She turned.
Tuấn stood in the doorway.
He looked at the documents in her hands.
His expression was no longer playful.
“You shouldn't be here.”
Nhã Phương calmly closed the file.
“Why?”
“Because some things aren't meant for you.”
“Who decides that?”
He stepped inside.
“My family.”
She stared at him.
“I am part of your family now.”
Tuấn smiled.
“Are you?”
The question was chilling.
Nhã Phương didn't move.
“What do you know about this man?”
Tuấn's smile disappeared.
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
“You should stop digging.”
“Why?”
“Because people who dig into the Huỳnh family usually regret what they find.”
He turned to leave.
Nhã Phương called after him.
“Was he responsible for your father's death?”
Tuấn stopped.
He didn't turn around.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then he said quietly:
“Ask your mother-in-law.”
And walked away.
That evening, Nhã Phương sat alone in the bedroom.
She thought about the morning.
Madam Huỳnh grabbing her shirt.
Calling her family insignificant.
Ordering her to cook.
Then she thought about the photograph.
The dead patriarch.
The mysterious man.
Tuấn's warning.
Something connected them.
Something twenty years old.
Something powerful enough that people were still afraid to talk about it.
Minh entered quietly.
He sat beside her.
“I spoke to Mother.”
Nhã Phương looked at him.
“What did she say?”
“She said she was angry.”
“That isn't an apology.”
“I know.”
“Did she apologize?”
“No.”
Nhã Phương nodded.
She wasn't surprised.
Minh looked down.
“She said you need to understand your place.”
Nhã Phương gave a quiet laugh.
“That's what everyone keeps saying.”
“I told her she can't touch you again.”
Nhã Phương looked at him.
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it makes your mother angry?”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
For a moment, she believed him.
Then he reached for her hand.
“I should have protected you sooner.”
She squeezed his fingers.
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of upsetting her.”
“I know.”
“I thought keeping peace would make everything easier.”
“It didn't.”
“I know.”
Nhã Phương leaned back.
“Minh.”
“Yes?”
“If you really want this marriage to survive…”
She paused.
“You need to stop asking me to survive your family.”
His eyes reddened slightly.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Stand beside me.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
She looked at him.
“Then tomorrow, stand beside me when I ask your mother about Trần Đức Vinh.”
Minh froze.
“How do you know that name?”
Nhã Phương watched his face.
And in that single moment, she knew.
He knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
“Minh?”
He swallowed.
“Where did you hear that name?”
She stared at him.
“You recognized it.”
He didn't answer.
She slowly stood.
“Tomorrow's meeting just became more interesting.”
The next morning, the family gathered in the main dining room.
Madam Huỳnh sat at the head of the table.
Minh beside Nhã Phương.
Tuấn across from them.
The atmosphere was unusually tense.
Madam Huỳnh looked at Nhã Phương.
“Before we discuss the foundation, I want something understood.”
Nhã Phương waited.
“You are a member of this family because my son married you.”
“Yes.”
“You will respect our traditions.”
“Yes.”
“You will not investigate matters that do not concern you.”
Nhã Phương looked directly at her.
“Then perhaps you should stop putting things in my bedroom.”
Madam Huỳnh's face went pale.
Tuấn looked down.
Minh stiffened.
Nhã Phương reached into her bag.
She placed the old photograph on the table.
“Who is he?”
Nobody spoke.
Madam Huỳnh stared at the photograph.
Then at Nhã Phương.
For the first time since the wedding, the older woman's arrogance disappeared.
What replaced it was fear.
Pure, unmistakable fear.
Nhã Phương saw it.
So did Minh.
And so did Tuấn.
Madam Huỳnh slowly picked up the photograph.
Her fingers trembled.
Nhã Phương's voice remained calm.
“Who is Trần Đức Vinh?”
Madam Huỳnh looked at her son.
Then at Tuấn.
Finally, she looked back at Nhã Phương.
“You have no idea what you're asking.”
Nhã Phương held her gaze.
“Then tell me.”
Madam Huỳnh's lips parted.
But before she could answer, the dining room doors suddenly opened.
A servant rushed inside.
“Madam!”
Everyone turned.
“What is it?”
The servant was breathing hard.
“There is someone at the front gate.”
“Who?”
The servant looked terrified.
“He says he knew Mr. Huỳnh before the accident.”
Madam Huỳnh dropped the photograph.
The ceramic frame beside her shook.
And Nhã Phương knew immediately.
May you like
The man at the gate had come back.
Twenty years after everyone believed he had disappeared.
