The discovery of the phở recipe’s betrayal burned a hole in my gut. It cemented my understanding of Khiem’s depravity. This wasn’t just a fling; it was an organized heist of my family’s identity. Ba Loan’s reluctant admission, her desperate attempt to justify Khiem’s actions, only fueled my anger and resolve.
I showed the loan documents to Minh. He gasped, running a hand through his hair.
“Exclusive licensing rights? To Hanh’s company?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with disgust. “He truly sold his soul, Lien. And ours.”
“This proves Hanh’s deeper involvement, doesn’t it?” I said, pointing to her company’s name. “She wasn’t just his mistress. She was his accomplice, perhaps even the architect of this whole scheme.”
Minh nodded grimly. “They’ve been working together to strip you bare, Lien. To take everything.”
My mind raced. Hanh’s motivation couldn’t just be the restaurant’s profits. Her company was already a giant. This felt personal, something beyond simple business expansion.
Then, the news broke like a bombshell in the small, tight-knit Vietnamese community. Hanh was pregnant.
The announcement was carefully orchestrated, appearing on a local community news website, accompanied by a photo of Hanh, radiant and smiling, with Khiem’s arm around her, beaming proudly. The caption spoke of “new beginnings” and “blending families.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. Khiem was flaunting his new life, his new family, even as he systematically destroyed mine.
Immediately after the announcement, Khiem’s lawyer contacted mine. He was seeking full custody of Dinh.
“He’s claiming you’re financially unstable and emotionally erratic,” Ms. Chen informed me, her voice tight with indignation. “He’s using the restaurant’s closure and the stress of your ‘breakdown’ as leverage.”
“Emotionally erratic?” I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping me. “He’s the one who betrayed his family, sold our heritage, and now he wants to take my son away?”
“He’s trying to make you look unfit,” she explained. “The pregnancy gives him a convenient narrative: he’s building a new, stable family, while you’re unraveling under pressure. He’s arguing Dinh would be better off with him.”
A cold dread settled in my stomach. Dinh was my world. I would fight Khiem to my last breath for him. But a new suspicion began to prick at my mind, a tiny, unsettling whisper. Hanh. Her timing. Her carefully crafted image.
Why the sudden, public pregnancy announcement? Why now, when Khiem was already facing a potential scandal? And why was she so eager to “blend families,” when her goal was to take over my family’s business? It felt too perfect, too convenient.
Could Hanh’s pregnancy be another layer of her manipulation?
The thought, once unthinkable, now felt chillingly plausible. I remembered Mr. Tanaka’s words about Khiem’s layers of deceit. Perhaps Hanh had her own.
I confided my suspicion to Minh. “Doesn’t it feel… orchestrated? The timing of Hanh’s pregnancy, right as Khiem is trying to paint me as unstable?”
Minh rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It does seem a little too convenient, Lien. A new baby would certainly solidify Khiem’s claims of a ‘stable’ new life and make his bid for Dinh’s custody stronger.”
“But what if it’s not Khiem’s baby?” I whispered, the words feeling foreign and dangerous on my tongue.
Minh’s eyes widened. “That would be… an astonishing deception.”
“It would be the ultimate play,” I said, a plan forming in my mind. “To solidify her hold on Khiem, gain control of his assets, and potentially even strengthen her claim to our phở recipe through a ‘family’ connection. If she presents this child as Khiem’s heir, it adds another layer to her ambition.”
“But how would you ever prove such a thing?” Minh asked.
“A DNA test,” I stated, my voice firm. “We need a DNA test. Not just for Khiem, but for Hanh too.”
Minh looked at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Lien, that’s a dangerous path. If you’re wrong…”
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” I interrupted. “But if I’m right, it exposes Hanh’s entire scheme, and it might just save Dinh from being dragged into Khiem’s destructive new life.”
The challenge was how to get DNA samples without arousing suspicion. It required stealth, precision, and a bit of luck.
Minh, ever resourceful, managed to get me access to Khiem’s temporary apartment – a place he rented after leaving our home, where he occasionally met Dinh for supervised visits.
“He’s usually very neat,” Minh whispered, handing me a key. “But men can be careless. Look for a toothbrush, a used coffee cup, a hairbrush.”
I went to the apartment late one night, my heart pounding. The place felt cold, sterile, devoid of any real warmth. I found a used coffee mug in the sink, a few strands of hair on his pillow, and a discarded napkin with a smudge of lipstick in the trash can. The lipstick wasn’t a shade Hanh usually wore. It was a darker, more dramatic color. I collected everything carefully, placing them into separate, labeled bags. I was casting a wide net.
Next, Hanh. She was harder to get close to. But she often frequented a particular upscale spa for manicures. Minh, using his network, found out her regular appointment time.
It was risky, but I needed that sample. I disguised myself slightly, wearing a large hat and sunglasses, and booked an appointment at the same spa, timing it just after Hanh’s usual slot. I watched her leave, her phone on the table. She had left a used cuticle stick, a few stray nail clippings from her manicure. I discreetly gathered them, my hands shaking. The lipstick on the napkin from Khiem’s apartment bothered me. It wasn’t Hanh’s usual shade. This only deepened my suspicions about the sheer complexity of the web of deceit.
I packed the samples carefully, labeled them, and then, remembering Mr. Tanaka’s quiet offer, I reached out to him. He didn’t express any surprise or judgment when I explained what I needed. He simply provided me with the contact details for a reputable, discreet genetics lab run by Dr. Anya Sharma, emphasizing her integrity and professionalism.
“Dr. Sharma is a stickler for ethics,” he said. “She will not cut corners. The results will be accurate.”
I sent the samples to Dr. Sharma’s lab, paying an exorbitant fee, pouring every last cent I had into this desperate gamble. Every day that passed was agony. Khiem’s legal team was relentless, painting a picture of me as an unstable, vengeful wife. The community gossiped, divided, some whispering about my “madness,” others showing quiet sympathy.
But I held onto the chilling suspicion. Hanh’s pregnancy felt like a meticulously placed piece on a chessboard, designed to checkmate me. If that child wasn’t Khiem’s, then her entire edifice of deception would come crashing down, and with it, Khiem’s new, “stable” future. This paternity test was my last, desperate stand, a silent prayer for a truth that would expose not just Khiem’s betrayal, but Hanh’s even deeper, more insidious manipulation. The fate of Dinh, the restaurant, and my own sanity, all hinged on a few strands of DNA.
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