Chapter 10: Lines in the Sand

The city outside buzzed with life, horns honking and footsteps echoing against pavement. But inside Linh Tich’s apartment, the world felt still—too still.

After Trinh Duc left the previous night, Linh Tich hadn’t slept. She lay awake, her hand gently resting on her belly, thoughts racing. His words echoed in her head like a song she couldn’t turn off.

> *“I’ll prove it. Every day. For as long as it takes.”*

She wanted to believe him.

But she also knew that trust, once broken, was not easily repaired.

The next morning, she stood before the mirror in her bedroom, brushing out her hair. Her reflection stared back with quiet determination. There were dark circles under her eyes, a hint of weariness she couldn’t hide. Yet something was different now—resolve.

She was no longer the woman who silently endured pain. She was a mother now. Her choices had to protect more than just her heart.

A knock at the door broke her thoughts.

She hesitated, then opened it.

To her surprise, her best friend, Thu Ha, stood on the other side, holding a box of pastries and two cups of coffee.

“I brought reinforcements,” Thu Ha said, lifting the box. “I figured you’d need it.”

Linh Tich stepped aside to let her in. “You always know.”

They sat at the table, sipping coffee and eating in silence for a while. Then Thu Ha gave her a side glance.

“So... Trinh Duc came by last night?”

Linh Tich nearly choked. “How did you—?”

“I saw him downstairs. I was just coming up. Looked like he was about to confess to a crime or propose marriage. Or both.”

Linh Tich sighed. “He wants to be involved. With the baby. With... me.”

Thu Ha raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He says he’s changed. He wants to prove it.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I want to. But I’m scared. Not just for myself. For the baby. I can’t let him in again only to have him walk away when things get hard.”

Thu Ha reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Then make him earn it. Don’t give him an inch unless he fights for every mile.”

“I intend to.”

***

That afternoon, Linh Tich walked into her design studio, a quiet space she had rented months ago. It wasn’t big or flashy, but it was hers. Fabric swatches lined the shelves, a mannequin stood in the corner, and sketches littered the corkboard.

Here, she could breathe.

She pulled out her newest project—a maternity collection inspired by strength. She began sketching, her pencil flowing smoothly across the page.

As the hours passed, she lost herself in the rhythm.

Until her phone buzzed.

> **Trinh Duc**: *Are you free tomorrow? I found a good prenatal class. I thought maybe we could go together... only if you’re comfortable.*

She stared at the message for a long time.

He was trying.

Finally, she replied.

> **Linh Tich**: *What time?*

> **Trinh Duc**: *10 AM. I’ll pick you up.*

She didn’t respond. But her silence was already an answer.

***

The next morning, he was on time—standing outside her building in a navy coat, holding a bottle of warm water and a small bag of fruit slices.

“For you,” he said. “In case you get nauseous.”

She took it without a word.

The class was held at a community center, the room filled with expectant couples. Some were laughing. Some nervous. Some holding hands.

They sat together, a quiet distance between them.

The instructor was warm and lively, guiding everyone through breathing exercises and stretches. At one point, the instructor had the fathers kneel beside their partners and help support them during a simulation of labor posture.

Trinh Duc hesitated.

Linh Tich raised an eyebrow. “What, afraid you’ll break something?”

He chuckled awkwardly, then knelt beside her, placing a steadying hand on her back.

Their eyes met.

And for a brief moment, it felt natural. Like it once had. Before it all fell apart.

After the class, they walked slowly through a nearby park.

“You didn’t tell me you were this flexible,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t push it.”

He smiled, then grew serious. “Thank you. For coming today.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said plainly. “I did it for the baby.”

“I know. But I’m still grateful.”

They walked in silence until they reached the edge of the lake. The wind danced across the water, cool and refreshing.

She turned to him. “You want to be part of this child’s life? Then you have to be present. Not just now, but always.”

“I will be.”

“And there are rules,” she added. “You don’t get to show up only when it’s convenient. You don’t get to disappear when it gets hard.”

“Understood.”

“And you need to respect my space. My boundaries.”

He nodded. “Anything else?”

She looked at him, her voice steady. “We are not getting back together. Don’t assume kindness means anything more.”

He swallowed. “Okay.”

But deep down, a tiny part of her wondered… was it true?

Could she really keep her heart closed if he kept showing up, day after day, just like this?

She wasn’t sure.

And that uncertainty scared her more than anything else.

***

Later that evening, as she sat on the couch, flipping through her baby book, she found a blank page titled: *“Letters to My Child.”*

She picked up a pen, hesitated, and began to write.

> *Dear little one,*

>

> *You’re not even here yet, and already, you’ve changed everything. I used to think I knew love. Then I realized I hadn’t even scratched the surface.*

>

> *I don’t know what the future holds. But I promise this—I will fight for you. I will be strong for you. And I will never let anyone make you feel less than loved.*

>

> *Even if that means guarding my heart until I’m sure it’s safe to open again.*

>

> *Love always,*

> *Mom*

She closed the book gently, resting it on her belly.

For the first time in a long while, she felt calm.

And somehow, that was enough for now.

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