The Fateful Flight of Mrs. Phượng’s Family

People often say that an airplane is the closest place to the sky, and also the closest place to the departed souls. At an altitude of $10,000 \, \text{m}$, amidst the vast, undefined white clouds, one easily feels lonely, easily confronts the naked conscience. Yet, there are some whose conscience, even when standing at the gates of heaven or hell, has been utterly gnawed away by greed and selfishness.

Today was a beautiful day to begin the lavish resort vacation of Mrs. Phượng’s family. The first-class cabin of the five-star airline was quiet and cool, faintly scented with luxurious sandalwood oil, completely separated from the noise and chaos of the economy section behind.

Mrs. Phượng leaned back in her soft leather seat, her fingers, laden with gold and jade rings, rhythmically tapping on the armrest. She narrowed her eyes at the shimmering red wine in her glass, then glanced at her son sitting beside her. Tuấn, her only son, was 33 years old but still exuded a look of weakness—indecisive, just like the day she led him to ask for his wife’s hand 10 years ago.

“Who are you putting on that funeral face for, Tuấn?” Mrs. Phượng snapped, though her voice, despite her effort to lower it, was sour like spoiled vinegar. “You look like you’re attending a burial, not going on a trip with your mother and wife. Your wife is in the lavatory putting on makeup; if she comes out and sees this face, she’ll get sulky, and then I’ll have the chore of coaxing her.”

Tuấn flinched, quickly adjusting his posture, but his eyes remained vacant, staring out the window. “I’m just a little tired, Mother. The work at the company has been too stressful lately.”

“Stressful about what?” Mrs. Phượng curled her lip and sipped her wine. “You’re lucky but don’t know how to enjoy it. You married Lam; her family is filthy rich. Her father promoted you to the director chair. What more could you ask for? It’s just that…” Her eyes flashed with coldness. “It’s just that you’ve been married for three years, and her stomach is still flat. Truly, a big house without the sound of children is no better than an abandoned temple.”

His mother’s words were like a needle piercing Tuấn’s core vulnerability. He lowered his head, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. For three years, Lam, his noble-born wife, had sought treatment everywhere but still had no good news. The doctor said her constitution made it difficult to carry a pregnancy, compounded by severe damage to her uterus from a reckless lifestyle in her youth.

Tuấn sighed, a memory of three years ago suddenly surfacing—a memory of another woman, a kind, submissive woman who cooked, washed dishes, and served his mother like a queen every day: Hân. That name had been forbidden in this family for a thousand days.

Back then, Hân was pregnant, but Mrs. Phượng consulted a fortune-teller who predicted the baby would be cursed, bringing ruin to the family and imprisonment to Tuấn if born. Driven by superstition and her disdain for the poor background of her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Phượng heartlessly forced Hân to abort the five-month-old fetus.

Tuấn remembered vividly that stormy night. Hân knelt at the door, her forehead bleeding from slamming it in desperate pleas, rain mingling with her tears. “Tuấn, please, this is our child. I beg you, just say one word to your mother. I will leave. I will raise the child alone. I don’t need any assets.”

But Tuấn remained silent. The cowardly silence of a man hiding behind his mother’s skirt. He stood behind the glass door, watching his mother order men to drag Hân to a back-alley clinic. Hân broke free and ran into the rain. The next morning, her sandals were found by the railing of Chương Dương Bridge. The surging, muddy waters of the Red River in flood season had washed everything away. Her body was never found, leaving only a lingering verdict of conscience hanging over Tuấn’s head.

“Why are you so distracted?” Mrs. Phượng’s voice pulled Tuấn back to reality. “Forget the children for now. At worst, we’ll do in vitro fertilization or surrogacy; Lam’s family has plenty of money.”

Just then, the announcement system chimed, the lead flight attendant’s voice sweet yet formal: “Dear passengers, welcome to flight VN868. On behalf of Captain Vũ Ngọc Hân and the Crew, we wish you a pleasant flight.”

The name Vũ Ngọc Hân brushed past Tuấn’s ear like a faint breeze, yet it sent a chill down his spine. He swung his head around to look at his mother, whose hand, holding the wine glass, froze mid-air.

“Mother, did you hear that?” Tuấn stammered. “The Captain’s name is…”

“It’s just a coincidence!” Mrs. Phượng snapped, though her voice wavered slightly. “Are all people named Hân dead in this world? Besides, that girl drowned in the river; her body was never recovered. How could she be a Captain? Stop being so paranoid.” She spoke firmly but her hand began to tremble lightly. She quickly drained her wine glass to steady her nerves. “Yes, she’s dead. It’s been three years. Don’t try to frighten me.”

But destiny always finds a way to stage the cruelest dramas when people least expect them. From the cockpit door, the velvet curtain was drawn back, and the sound of deliberate footsteps clop, clop, clop echoed steadily, resonating on the luxurious carpet but pounding in Tuấn’s chest like a sledgehammer.

A woman in a crisp white pilot’s uniform stepped out, her peaked cap neatly positioned, her shoulder epaulets shining with four gold stripes—the symbol of a Captain, the highest authority on this flight. Her figure was tall and slender, yet exuding an overwhelmingly commanding presence.

She was not alone. She held the hands of two twin children, a boy and a girl, about three years old. The children were dressed stylishly like little fashionistas, wearing dark sunglasses, their cherubic faces possessing a cool, sophisticated aloofness identical to their mother’s.

The woman took off her sunglasses, revealing sharp, dark, abyss-like phoenix eyes. She swept her gaze across the VIP rows.

Shatter!

The crystal wine glass in Mrs. Phượng’s hand fell to the floor, breaking into pieces. Red wine spread across the cream-colored carpet like a pool of fresh blood. Mrs. Phượng gasped, her face drained of color, her entire body shrunken into the corner of her seat. She pointed at the woman, her finger trembling violently as if struck by a seizure.

Tuấn was stunned into silence. His eyes wide, his mouth agape, he couldn’t utter a word. That face—even with sharper makeup and a thousand times more glamorous aura—he could never forget it. It was the face that had haunted his dreams for three years.

It was Hân, his ex-wife, the woman who had supposedly died in the Red River that year.

Hân stood there, just a few steps away from Tuấn and his mother, showing no surprise. The corner of her dark red lipstick-stained mouth curved slightly, forming a half-smile full of irony and enigma. Her eyes held no explosive hatred for Mrs. Phượng, but rather the condescending pity of a superior looking down upon a small insect.

“Good afternoon, honored guests,” Hân spoke. Her voice was deep and resonant, devoid of the timidness of years past. “I apologize for the inconvenience of this breakage. Chief Purser, please kindly clean up for this passenger. It seems she saw something unclean perhaps?” She emphasized the phrase “unclean” then calmly turned to the two children, her tone softening completely.

“Ken, Bống, sit here nicely and wait for Mommy. I’ll go into the cockpit to prepare for takeoff. I’ll come out and play with you two once we’re at cruising altitude.”

“Yes, please go ahead, Mommy Hân. We can take care of ourselves,” the little boy, Ken, replied with a clear, crisp voice.

Hân patted his head, then stood straight, glancing once more toward Mrs. Phượng, who was hyperventilating and rolling her eyes. She gave a slight nod—a provocative, perfunctory greeting—then turned and walked straight into the cockpit. The door closed, separating the two worlds.

Outside, the air seemed sucked out of the space. Mrs. Phượng clutched her chest, cold sweat pouring down her body. She viciously clawed at Tuấn’s arm, her sharp nails digging deep into his skin.

“Tuấn, Tuấn, did you see that? It’s her! It’s Hân! She’s not dead… she’s become a demon!”

Tuấn gently removed his mother’s hand, his face blank. “Mother, you’re hurting me… It is Hân, but why is she a Captain? How is she alive?”

But the true horror was not the return of the dead. What utterly stunned Mrs. Phượng, causing the greed in her to begin to overpower her fear, were the two children perched, playing on their iPads, in the opposite row.

Mrs. Phượng stared intently at the boy, Ken. He took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes—those eyes, that nose, and especially the slight cowlick on the left side of his hair… Mrs. Phượng looked at Tuấn, then back at the boy. They were identical, like two drops of water. No, the boy was the exact image of Tuấn at age three, cast from the same mold. And the little girl, Bống. That pouty mouth was unmistakably a feature of her Nguyễn lineage.

An electric current shot down Mrs. Phượng’s spine. The child she had forced Hân to abort three years ago. Hân hadn’t aborted it; she had run away and given birth. And these were her grandchildren, the blood of her clan.

In Mrs. Phượng’s mind, the image of the vengeful ghost vanished, replaced by the glistening of gold bars. Tuấn’s new wife, Lam, was sterile. This enormous family fortune had no heir. If Tuấn died, the assets would fall to outsiders. But now, heaven was watching; destiny had brought her true heir right before her eyes. These two children were not just children; they were golden keys to a treasure vault, permanent insurance for her regal old age.

Fear dissolved, yielding to absolute greed and possessive authoritarianism. Mrs. Phượng sat up straight, adjusted her dress, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her eyes narrowed, gleaming with the sharp, calculating look of a predator smelling fresh blood.

“Tuấn,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but full of menace. “Look closely at them. They are your children, my rightful heirs!“

“Mother, but…”

“No buts!” Mrs. Phượng clenched her fist. “Lam can’t give birth. I cannot let this family die out. These two children, we must get them back at all costs. I will snatch them away from Hân if I have to.”

Just then, Lam, the new wife, emerged from the lavatory, heavily scented with perfume, completely oblivious to the storm that had just erupted and was about to tear this patched-up family apart.

The plane began to taxi, its powerful engines roaring, preparing to hurtle into the sky, carrying with it a bloody and tearful family drama that was about to conclude.

The plane stabilized, gliding smoothly above the clouds like a gigantic whale swimming in a white, fluffy ocean. The fasten seatbelt sign went out. The first-class cabin returned to its characteristic luxurious silence, broken only by the low, deep drone of the engine, like the sigh of the sky.

But this peace was just a fragile shell covering the violent storm raging in rows 1A and 1. Mrs. Phượng could not sit still. Her second glass of wine was empty, but her thirst was not for alcohol; it was for the blazing fire of greed.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, feigning a trip to the lavatory, but actually approaching the children’s seats. Ken and Bống were sitting quietly, in front of them two trays of premium pastries reserved for the crew’s children. The way Ken held the silver fork, the way he brought the cake to his mouth, the slight frown when cream got on his lip… everything, absolutely everything, was identical to Tuấn when he was young. Mrs. Phượng stood still, clutching the seat back, her eyes wide, as if wanting to devour the two children.

“What are you looking at?” A childlike yet sharp voice rang out, making Mrs. Phượng jump. It was Ken, who had fully removed his sunglasses. His dark eyes stared straight at her, devoid of the fear expected from a three-year-old.

Mrs. Phượng stammered, forcing a twisted, withered smile like a dried jujube. “Oh, Grandma… Grandma thinks you two are so cute. Can Grandma ask if your mother’s name is Hân?”

Little Bống, sitting next to her brother, clutching her teddy bear, coolly answered for him. “Mommy told us not to talk to strangers, especially people with sneaky eyes.”

The little girl’s words felt like a slap in Mrs. Phượng’s face. She flushed, rage flaring up but instantly suppressed by her overwhelming greed. “Very good, lots of personality! Just like the Nguyễns. My grandchildren must be like this!”

Just then, the cockpit door opened. Hân stepped out. She had taken off her uniform jacket, wearing only a crisp white shirt and a neat black tie, highlighting her slender yet authoritative figure. In her hand were two boxes of fresh milk. Seeing Mrs. Phượng lingering around her children, Hân’s eyes sharpened like a machete cutting stone. She quickly walked over, positioning herself between the woman and the children.

“Passenger, please return to your seat. This area is not for free movement.” Hân’s voice was frigid, utterly devoid of warmth.

Mrs. Phượng looked up, confronting Hân. In the three years, their status had completely reversed. Before, Hân bowed, and she looked down. Now, Hân stood tall, looking down at her with the eyes of someone holding life-and-death power, while Mrs. Phượng looked miserably small and pathetic.

But who was Mrs. Phượng? She was a ruthless, self-made woman who never knew the meaning of shame when facing profit.

“Hân!” Mrs. Phượng called out abruptly, abandoning all courtesy. “Don’t use that Captain voice to threaten me. I’m asking you: Are these two Tuấn’s children?”

Hân smirked faintly, leisurely putting a straw into her daughter’s milk box, without even looking at Mrs. Phượng. “What does that have to do with you?”

“How is it not related!” Mrs. Phượng hissed, pointing directly at the children. “Blood is thicker than water! Look at that boy; he is the spitting image of his father. You hid them from me for three years! Were you planning to let the rightful heir of the Nguyễn clan wander outside? You’re being too cruel!”

The commotion caused Tuấn and Lam in the front row to turn around. Tuấn rushed over, his face ashen. “Mother, what are you doing? We’re on a plane!”

“Shut up!” Mrs. Phượng violently pushed her son away, then glared at Hân. “Meeting you here today is fate. Hân, let me tell you, I have the right to claim my grandchildren. You have no right to forbid this blood relationship! Give me back my grandchildren!“

Lam, the new wife, now staggered over, her heavily powdered and expensive makeup-laden face now smeared with terror. She looked at Hân, then the two children, then her mother-in-law, who was going mad with lust for a successor. Humiliation and jealousy swelled inside Lam.

“Mother…” Lam trembled. “What are you saying? Whose children? Why are they your grandchildren?”

“You keep your mouth shut!” Mrs. Phượng spun around and delivered a devastating slap right across Lam’s face—SMACK. The entire first-class cabin fell silent. The other VIP passengers began to remove their headphones, looking on curiously. “You’ve been a daughter-in-law for three years and haven’t laid a single egg. Now my grandchildren are right here. Are you trying to stop me? I’m telling you. If you can’t give birth, move aside for someone else to!” Mrs. Phượng screamed, tearing open the civilized veneer of the family to reveal a chilling cruelty.

Lam clutched her cheek, tears streaming out, collapsing onto the seat, sobbing hysterically. Tuấn stood between them, his hands uselessly, watching his new wife being struck, his mother screaming, and his ex-wife standing with her arms crossed, utterly calm. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Hân laughed. Her laughter was light but resonated, chilling the skin in the tense atmosphere.

“Mrs. Phượng,” Hân called her by name, no longer “Mother,” no longer polite. “You speak very well. Blood is thicker than water, is it? The rightful heir?” She took a step closer, pushing her face right up to Mrs. Phượng’s, her eyes blazing with hatred, yet her voice remained soft, like telling a scary fairy tale.

“Three years ago, on that stormy night, when I knelt down and begged you to spare their lives, what did you say? You said they were bastards, cursed to bring ruin to your family. You ordered men to drag me away for an abortion, driving me to the point of jumping off a bridge.” Hân tilted her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, condensing into a palpable sorrow. “Where was your blood relationship then? Where was your grandmotherly affection then? Or were they just pieces of meat you wanted to throw into the medical waste bin?”

Hân’s question was like a knife plunged directly into the dark heart of Mrs. Phượng. Tuấn lowered his head, not daring to look up. The surrounding passengers began to whisper. Scornful glances were directed at the elegant but viper-hearted woman.

But Mrs. Phượng, with the resilience of a shrewd businesswoman, quickly regained her composure. She shamelessly dismissed the past with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Why bring up old matters? The fortune-teller was wrong; I was temporarily superstitious. Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is the present.” She pointed at the two children, her greedy voice returning. “They are alive and well now. They bear the Nguyễn surname. Our family is filthy rich, with billions in assets and no heir. Are you going to raise them to be pilots or flight attendants? With me, they will be princes and princesses, future chairmen of the corporation. If you love your children, you must sacrifice for them.”

“Sacrifice?” Hân raised an eyebrow. “I already died once. Is that sacrifice not enough?” She turned to Tuấn, the man standing like a stone statue. “And what about you, Tuấn? Are you worthy of being the father of these two children? When your wife was forced by your mother to abort our child, where were you? You hid in your room, covering your ears so you wouldn’t hear my cries.”

Tuấn trembled, lifting his red-rimmed eyes to Hân. “Hân, I—I apologize. I know I was a coward, but if they are truly my children, please give me a chance to atone.”

“Atonement by stealing my children and handing them over to your mother for further torment?” Hân shouted, raising her voice for the first time, making the three family members recoil. “Listen closely, all of you. These two children are named Vũ Gia Khang and Vũ Gia Bảo. They bear my surname, Vũ, and have nothing to do with your rotten, heartless Nguyễn clan. Don’t even dream of touching a single strand of my children’s hair!”

Seeing that soft approach failed, Mrs. Phượng resorted to thuggery. She lunged, trying to grab the boy, Ken. “I will take them! They are my grandchildren. I have the right! I will sue you! I will get a DNA test!”

“Stop!” Hân yelled. But before she could intervene, two tall, strong male flight attendants quickly appeared, blocking Mrs. Phượng.

Hân adjusted her collar, returning to the cold demeanor of a Captain. “Ma’am, you are engaging in behavior that disrupts the security and order of the flight, threatening passengers and crew. As the Captain of this flight, I have the right to request that you be restrained in your seat until landing and handed over to the police.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Mrs. Phượng gasped, her face crimson.

“I dare!” Hân looked directly into her eyes. “On this plane, my word is the law. Please return to your seat.”

Immediately, the pressure from Hân, coupled with the intimidating gaze of the security attendants and the murmuring criticism from the surrounding passengers, made Mrs. Phượng back down. She angrily pulled her arm away from the attendant, glaring at Tuấn and Lam. “Useless!”

Before turning to leave, she threw Hân one last look, full of resentment and calculation. “Fine, you’re good. Wait until we’re on the ground. We’ll see if your Captain title can fight off my corporate legal team. DNA doesn’t lie, girl. My grandchild will forever be mine.”

Hân didn’t respond. She merely watched the family’s retreating backs. As they disappeared behind the partition, her thin shoulders subtly shook.

The boy, Ken, climbed off his seat and took his mother’s cold hand. “Mommy Hân, that old lady is so mean. Don’t be sad. Bống and I only have you.”

Hân knelt down, hugging her two children close, inhaling the sweet, milky scent of their hair to calm her frantically beating heart. “That’s right, DNA doesn’t lie, but can she endure the truth that the DNA reveals?” She smiled, a mysterious smile reflected in the plane window. Outside, the sky was already growing dark. Night was falling, hiding the shocking secrets about to be exposed.

“Mommy is fine,” Hân whispered into her son’s ear. “The real show is just beginning.”

She stood up, straightened her peaked cap, and returned to the cockpit. There was still a long way to land, but in Hân’s mind, this chess game had reached checkmate.

In row 1A, Mrs. Phượng sat sulking and drinking, pulling out her phone despite the lack of signal to draft a message to her private lawyer, preparing the documentation. “I’ve found my heir. Get them back for me at all costs.”

The plane shook slightly as it passed through a patch of turbulence. The jolt signaled an impending fierce collision right at the international airport terminal.

The landing gear wheels hit the runway with a heavy impact, creating a violent jolt before the screeching of brakes brought the colossal iron beast to a halt. Passengers in the cabin began to unbuckle their seatbelts. The clicking of metal buckles sounded like the cocking of guns for a battle about to erupt.

Hân sat in the cockpit, her hand still on the controls, her eyes fixed on the long line of red and green guide lights ahead. In her ear was the co-pilot’s professional chatter, but in her mind, she was rewinding the film of the past. Three years ago, she left in the dark, penniless, carrying profound shame. Today, she returned under the airport’s brilliant floodlights, holding power and the two chess pieces that would decide her enemy’s fate.

“Captain, are you alright? You look a little pale.” The young Co-Pilot asked with concern.

Hân smiled, taking off her headset. “I’m fine, just about to face some very special passengers.”

She stood up, adjusting her uniform—the crisp black jacket, the shining gold epaulets, the peaked cap partially concealing her sharp gaze. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the cockpit.

As she walked out of the jet bridge door, the hot, humid air of the ground rushed in, bringing with it a familiar stuffiness. But even more suffocating was the scene unfolding in the VIP arrival hall.

Mrs. Phượng had not gone home immediately; she had mobilized a formidable team ready and waiting. Three lawyers in black suits, carrying leather briefcases, stood with the cold, murderous look of assassins. Beside them were a few tabloid reporters and YouTubers specializing in sensational news, whom she had hastily hired through a few phone calls as soon as the plane gained signal.

Seeing Hân lead the two children out, Mrs. Phượng immediately signaled. The crowd swarmed like a flock of vultures, surrounding the mother and children. Camera flashes popped incessantly, making Bống frightened and clutch her mother’s leg.

“Ms. Vũ Ngọc Hân,” a lawyer with gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward, presenting a document. “I am the representative lawyer for Mrs. Nguyễn Thị Phượng. My client requests temporary guardianship of these two children, who are suspected to be the biological children of Mr. Nguyễn Tuấn, Mrs. Phượng’s son. We demand your cooperation in immediately conducting a DNA test to confirm the biological relationship.”

Mrs. Phượng stood with her arms crossed behind them, her face turned up to the sky, her eyes triumphant. “Where are you going to run, girl? Did you think I couldn’t touch you just because you’re a Captain? In this country, what money can’t buy, lots of money can.”

Tuấn stood next to his mother, head bowed, not daring to look Hân in the eye. Lam stood far back, her face distraught. She knew that if these two children turned out to be Tuấn’s, her marriage was over.

The curious crowd began to gather. Phones live-streaming were raised, whispers circulating: “What’s the drama? A jealous fight?” “No, the mother-in-law is claiming her grandchildren.” “That Captain looks familiar.”

Hân calmly took off her sunglasses and handed them to the accompanying flight attendant. She bent down, lifting Bống into her arms, holding Ken’s hand tightly with the other. She showed no sign of nervousness or fear toward the hostile crowd. Instead, she looked directly into the camera lens, then swept her gaze towards Mrs. Phượng.

“You want a DNA test?” Hân asked, her voice clear and forceful.

“Yes, right now! I’ve called the Genetic Identification Center. They are waiting in the medical van outside,” Mrs. Phượng declared aggressively. “Don’t you dare switch samples; I will personally supervise every step.”

Hân let out a soft laugh, a sound that made Tuấn shiver. It was not the laugh of someone backed into a corner, but the laugh of a hunter seeing her prey walk willingly into the trap.

“Fine,” Hân nodded. “I agree.”

The crowd gasped in astonishment. Mrs. Phượng was also stunned for a second, not expecting Hân to agree so easily. She had thought Hân would hysterically refuse, make excuses, and try to stall. Hân’s confidence momentarily unsettled her, but blind greed quickly suppressed that slight doubt.

“Good. That’s reasonable,” Mrs. Phượng sneered. “If the results match, the children will come to live with me. You’re just a woman with a job that keeps you flying all the time; how can you care for them better than I can? My family will send them to international schools, where they will live in luxury. If you love your children, you must sacrifice for them.”

“Wait a minute,” Hân raised her hand, interrupting the ex-mother-in-law’s delusional monologue. She stepped closer to Mrs. Phượng, her dagger-like eyes fixed on the woman’s heavily powdered face. “I agree to the test, but I have a condition.”

“What condition? How much money do you want?” Mrs. Phượng scornfully curled her lip. “Just name your price. One billion, two billion, or ten billion to get you out of their lives.”

Hân shook her head, her eyes conveying profound pity. “I don’t need your money. The money I earn is enough to raise my children like a prince and princess for life. My condition is…” Hân paused, glancing at Tuấn then looking directly into Mrs. Phượng’s eyes. “If the test results prove the two children are not Tuấn’s, you must publicly kneel and apologize to me right here in front of everyone and the media. And you must sign a lifetime commitment never to approach my children or me again. Do you dare to play?“

The atmosphere froze. Hân’s challenge was too arrogant, too certain. Tuấn flinched, pulling at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, maybe we should stop. Hân is so confident; what if…”

“You are a coward!” Mrs. Phượng threw Tuấn’s hand away. She looked at the two children. That nose, those eyes, that cowlick. How could she be wrong? Hân must be trying a psychological tactic. She wanted to scare her into retreating. “I’ll play!” Mrs. Phượng roared, her gambling blood boiling. “I don’t believe my own eyes could mistake my own lineage. If they are not my grandchildren, I’ll bow to you three times. But if they are my grandchildren, you must hand over full custody to me and get out of this country!“

“Deal,” Hân responded concisely. She turned to the lawyers and reporters. “You are all witnesses. Words are wind, but cameras don’t lie.”

Then she turned to Tuấn, her eyes holding a complex emotion. “Tuấn, you should prepare yourself, too. The truth is often far more brutal than you think.”

Tuấn stood frozen, his heart pounding. He looked at Hân, searching for a trace of old affection or a slight waver in her eyes, but found only a still, deep, cold lake. A vague premonition of unease rose in his throat. Why was she so confident? Could they not be his children? But if not his, then whose?

The group moved to the mobile medical van parked outside the hall. Doctors in white coats were ready; the atmosphere was as tense as an operating room. Mrs. Phượng closely supervised every step. She made Tuấn pluck his own hair and personally submit his cheek swab. She scrutinized the doctors’ every action while taking samples from Ken and Bống. “Be careful! Don’t mix up the samples!” she repeated relentlessly.

Hân sat aside, holding her children, whispering stories to them, completely ignoring the surrounding clamor. Her composure was strangely unnerving.

“Mommy Hân, why is that lady staring at me?” Ken whispered.

“She’s looking for a treasure, my love,” Hân smiled, stroking her son’s hair. “But she doesn’t know this treasure comes with a curse.”

The wait for the mobile PC quick-test results lasted about two hours. Those two hours felt like two centuries to Mrs. Phượng. She paced, drenched in sweat despite the airport’s air conditioning running at full capacity. She was both anxious and excited, already planning the rooms for her grandchildren and the celebratory feast. Tuấn sat hunched in a corner, his mind blank. Lam sat beside him, eyes swollen, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She knew that regardless of the results, this family was already shattered.

Finally, the medical van door opened, and the chief doctor stepped out, holding a sealed file. The crowd of reporters surged forward. Mrs. Phượng pushed everyone aside, grabbing the results first. “Give it here! Give it to me immediately!”

She tore open the envelope, pulled out the test paper, and her eyes quickly scanned the convoluted technical jargon, searching for the final conclusion.

Hân stood up, adjusted her dress, and slowly walked toward Mrs. Phượng. The tapping of her heels on the tiled floor—clop, clop, clop—sounded like a death knell.

Mrs. Phượng finished reading the conclusion. Her eyes rolled back, her face turning from red to purple, then corpse-white. Her mouth fell open, her limbs trembling. The paper slipped from her hand, fluttering to the ground.

“No! It can’t be! Impossible! Impossible!” she screamed, her voice tearing like ripped fabric.

Tuấn frantically rushed to pick up the paper. He stared at the result, the bold print hitting him like a thousand-pound punch: “CONCLUSION: NO BIOLOGICAL PARENT-CHILD RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MR. NGUYỄN TUẤN AND THE TWO CHILDREN, VŨ GIA KHANG, VŨ GIA BẢO.”

Tuấn collapsed, the ground seeming to give way beneath his feet. “Not… not my children…” he mumbled, feeling both a strange relief and a painful emptiness.

But Mrs. Phượng refused to accept the truth. She lunged at Hân, grabbing her collar, screaming hysterically. “You tampered with the results! You bribed the doctors! They clearly look exactly like Tuấn! Why are they not his children! You whore! Who did you sleep with! You cheated on my son!”

The crowd buzzed: “See! I knew it! Women these days are ruthless. Cheated on her husband and now trying to force him to raise cuckoo children.” Suspicion turned back to Hân.

Hân pushed Mrs. Phượng away, so forcefully and decisively that the older woman stumbled and fell. Hân stood straight, head held high, the smile on her face gone, replaced by an expression of ultimate seriousness and tragedy.

“You want to know who their father is, don’t you?” Hân asked, her cold voice echoing through the waiting hall.

“Tell me now! Which bastard!” Mrs. Phượng bellowed.

Hân signaled her private lawyer, who had been silently standing in the corner, to step forward. He placed another thick file on the table.

“Mrs. Phượng,” Hân spoke slowly, every word clear, like pronouncing a sentence. “The DNA result you just held is only half the truth. Would you like to see the other half?”

She took a second test result from the lawyer’s hand, holding it up high before the camera lens and Mrs. Phượng. “I asked the doctors to compare the children’s DNA sample with another DNA sample stored at the hospital’s gene bank four years ago. The DNA sample of your husband, Mr. Nguyễn Văn Hùng.”

The name Nguyễn Văn Hùng, Hân’s deceased father-in-law, Mrs. Phượng’s late husband, rang out like a thunderbolt to everyone present.

Mrs. Phượng froze. Tuấn’s mouth dropped open. “Dad… Dad?” Tuấn stammered.

Hân threw the second result at Mrs. Phượng’s feet. “Look closely. Conclusion of biological relationship: Mr. Nguyễn Văn Hùng is the biological father of the two children, Vũ Gia Khang and Vũ Gia Bảo.“

Mrs. Phượng screamed. She couldn’t bear this shocking truth. Everything was upside down. The husband she revered, the man who had built the empire with her, was the father of the grandchildren she had labeled “bastards.” And the children’s uncanny resemblance to Tuấn was not because Tuấn was their father, but because they carried the genetics of the entire lineage; they were her true, direct grandchildren, but the children of her husband, and Tuấn’s half-siblings.

“You, you…” Mrs. Phượng staggered back, staring at the results as if seeing a demon. Her greed vanished, replaced by the complete collapse of a life built on deceit and cruelty.

“Yes, Mrs. Phượng,” Hân whispered, her voice tearful but her face cold. “On the night you ordered me to abort the fetus, your husband, Mr. Nguyễn Văn Hùng, the rare man who still had a sliver of conscience left in this family, secretly met with me. He confessed that he had betrayed you in a moment of weakness and begged me to keep his last drop of blood, because he knew he had a terminal illness and had little time left. He had already prepared the money, a new identity, and the DNA sample to confirm it to me later. He did it all because he cherished me like a daughter, and he did not want his own blood to die because of your superstition and cruelty.”

Hân knelt down before Mrs. Phượng, not in supplication, but at eye-level. “Now, do you know why they look exactly like Tuấn? Because they carry half the blood of the noble Nguyễn clan you worship—they are the children of your husband!”

In the crowded hall, Mrs. Phượng collapsed. She sank to her knees on the cold tile floor, clutching her chest, muttering incoherently. The shock of her husband’s betrayal, the truth of the children’s parentage, and the price of her own greed had completely broken her. The medical team quickly rushed to her side.

Hân stood up, looking straight into the camera, her eyes now holding a mixture of triumph and profound sorrow. She took her children’s hands, turned, and walked away, leaving behind the convulsing mother-in-law and the ex-husband sobbing over his own cowardice.

“Vũ Ngọc Hân, Captain of flight VN868, concludes this journey.”

She spoke, without looking back. The international airport was still brightly lit, but for the Nguyễn family, the night had truly fallen.