My father remarried and urgently called me home — the moment I saw my stepmother and her pregnant belly, I went pale, burst into tears, and ran away…

My name is Nam, I’m a third-year university student. Since my mother died five years ago, my father has lived alone in our village. I thought he would remain alone forever and never remarry. Then one late afternoon the phone rang.

“Nam, come home this weekend, I have something important.” My father’s voice was low and firm.

My heart skipped. Something important? He rarely called except to ask after me. I tossed and turned that whole night and couldn’t sleep.

On Saturday morning I took the trip home. The familiar road, the rows of trees, the old tile roofs — suddenly everything felt strange. I hurried into the yard. The door opened…

My father was standing there. Beside him was a woman. For a moment I was dazed. Then my eyes dropped… to her belly — round, large — hiding an undeniable secret. I stammered, my heart racing.

“No… this can’t be…”

The woman looked up. I froze. It was Lan. Lan — an old schoolmate. Lan — the girl I’d harbored a secret crush on throughout high school but never dared to tell.

My legs went stiff and my head spun. The scene in front of me felt like it was tearing me into tiny pieces. My father started to step forward, his mouth fumbling.

“Son… let me explain…”

But I couldn’t hear him. Tears flooded my eyes; I turned and fled, ignoring my father’s desperate calls behind me.

I ran straight to the riverbank where I used to fly kites and sit with my mother on warm afternoons. I collapsed, clutching my head, screaming into the void. Why Lan? The girl who had drifted through my youthful dreams was now beside my father, carrying his child.

Twilight fell and my father found me. He sat down and sighed.

“Nam, I know you’re shocked. But I didn’t want to hide this from you. I’m getting old… I’ve been alone for many years and it’s been lonely. I met Lan by chance, and we leaned on each other. Lan cares for me, and… she cares for you too.”

I shot to my feet and looked him in the eyes, my voice bitter and choked.

“But did you know… I used to like her? I treated her like my whole youth! Now she’s your wife… do you understand how that feels?!”

My father went silent. His eyes were red, but he was resolute.

“I didn’t know. If I had known… maybe I would have done things differently. But Son, you must understand — youthful feelings are memories. Right now, Lan and the baby need a home.”

His words felt like a blade twisting in my chest.

The next day Lan came to see me. She looked at me with hesitation; her voice trembled.

“Nam… I’m sorry. I know you had feelings for me once, but we were so young then. I cared for you too, but I never imagined we would end up together. Life took us on different paths… and in the end I was with your father. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

I swallowed hard, clenching my hand.

“You say you didn’t want to, but you chose my father. Do you know how much that hurts?”

Lan began to cry and hugged her belly as if shielding the child. Seeing her, I felt hatred and pity, anger and helplessness all at once.

That night I rifled through an old drawer and found a letter my mother had left. Her handwriting was as familiar as ever: “Nam, my only wish is that you live kindly, love others, and cherish family. If one day your father remarries, forgive him. Don’t leave him alone.”

My tears soaked the page. My heart felt both shattered and saved.

On the wedding day I stood outside the gate and watched: my father in a simple suit, Lan in a white áo dài, one hand gently stroking her pregnant belly. My chest roiled. I wanted to storm in and shout, “Stop!” But my legs felt nailed to the ground.

In the end I left a letter.

“I cannot give my blessing, but I cannot hate you either. I am leaving. I hope you find happiness.”

I turned my back and walked away. The wedding music echoed behind me; each step felt like I was trampling my own heart.

My youth, my family — everything dissolved in that instant.