At an upscale restaurant bathed in warm candlelight, Monica sat across from a striking man in a sharp black suit. His demeanor was calm, his gaze attentive, yet a hint of curiosity lingered as he watched her.
She had been staring at her plate, lost in thought, her fork poised mid-air.
"Monica?" His voice was gentle, breaking the silence.
She blinked, snapping back to reality. "Oh… sorry Visak!"
"What's wrong? You don't seem yourself," Visak asked, concern etched across his face.
"No, I'm fine," she said, forcing a weak smile.
"Sweetheart, you can tell me."
Monica hesitated, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of her napkin.
"My stepmother… She passed away recently. I haven't been feeling right these past few days."
"Your stepmother? Madam Dalin?"
"No, no. Not her. Another one."
"Another one?" He raised an eyebrow. "How many stepmothers do you have?"
Monica sighed, her voice faltering. "She was… I mean, yes, she was my father's woman… You knew it too, why did you ask me?"
"Because you called her stepmom!"
"...Whatever!"
"She was just your dad's woman, but you seem so grief-stricken over her death?" Visak asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
"You can't say that..."
"Don't get me wrong, I didn't mean it like that. She's dead, and you should move on... I didn't mean to look down on her."
"I got you!"
"So, what made you seem sadder today? I heard Dad say the case is going to be closed."
"It's a long story," Monica replied gently. "I'll tell everything in time."
"Alright," Visak said with a nod, his tone softening.
"Take it easy, get some rest. We should meet our parents soon, dear."
Monica smiled faintly and nodded.
Visak leaned closer. "I want to marry you as soon as possible."
"Yes," Monica said, her agreement simple but heartfelt.
They resumed their meal in a comfortable silence until Monica asked,
"And what about your factory and shop?"
"We're working with a foreign clothing brand now," Visak said, his voice steady. "Still negotiating with the landowner in the city and supermarket."
"That's promising," Monica replied with a smile.
"Yes." Visak said happily.
Monica returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Behind her calm facade, her thoughts were clouded with unease.
***
At a neo classic villa, Monica stepped through the door, the clock already ticking past nine. The house was quiet save for the soft rustle from her father's room. She found him there, seated on his bed, Mrs. Dalin at his side, helping him with his evening medicine.
"Hello, Dad. Aunt," Monica greeted softly, her tone humble but warm.
Her father looked up, his face lighting with a tired smile.
"Ah, my daughter, you're home?"
"Yes," she replied with a nod.
"We heard you were having dinner with Visaknu, so we didn't wait," Mrs. Dalin said, her voice kind.
"That's fine," Monica said gently. "I need to speak with Dad."
Understanding the unspoken cue, Mrs. Dalin rose gracefully. "Of course," she said, excusing herself and leaving them alone.
"What's wrong?" Mr. Heng asked, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Give me Saroath's phone," Monica demanded, her voice steady but resolute.
Mr. Heng stared at her, stunned. "What did you just say?"
"I need her phone. Or better yet, give me all of her belongings you still have," she insisted, her tone unyielding.
"Monica!" Heng's voice was sharp, a clear warning.
"Dad," she replied, her tone respectful but insistent.
Heng exhaled deeply, his frustration evident.
"I didn't have anything of hers."
"Don't lie to me," she countered, her gaze unwavering.
"I'll handle everything. Just focus on your work and getting ready for the wedding," he said firmly, his voice softening.
"Please." the daughter begged.
"What's suddenly got you so involved in her case?" Heng demanded, his irritation flaring. "You weren't interested in her—or Dara—from the start!"
"You're misunderstanding me, Dad. I care!"
"Go to your room! I need to rest."
"No!" Monica stood her ground. "I have to get it first."
"Listen to me." Heng's voice grew colder. "You don't need to interfere!"
"This isn't for me," Monica said. "Dara needs it."
"What?" Heng froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why are you so surprised?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "They're mother and son. Give it to him."
Heng's voice wavered as suspicion crept in. "How do you know he needs it?"
"He approached me, asking for all her belongings. It wasn't odd... was it?
Heng studied Monica's face, sensing her thoughts. "No worries. I work directly with the police chief."
Monica exhaled uneasily, turning away. "I shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place."
"I deleted her chats," Heng said calmly.
Monica spun back to him, shock flashing in her eyes. "What? What did you do?"
"Calm down," he urged, nodding toward the desk. Monica hesitated, then opened the drawer to find a dark gray box—inside, Saroath's things, including a phone.
***
In her room, Monica sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through Roath's Telegram chat. There were still some messages from her and late Dara's mom, but the key conversations had likely been deleted, not sure it was by Mr. Heng. Yet, on her side of the chat, everything remained untouched.
One message from Saroath flashed on the screen: "Don't hurt my son! You bitch!" Monica bit her fingernail, her mind swirling with confusion and conflict.
Unable to resist, Monica throws the phone to one side and walks up and down with a headache and dizziness.
"This is insane! This is..."
"Monica?" Marina's voice broke through from the door.
Monica froze, her heart racing.
"Oh! Mari? What's happening?"
"Mom wants to talk to you."
"Right now?"
"Yes!"
"What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure."
"Okay, I'll call her."
Marina nodded and left.
Taking a steadying breath, Monica grabbed her phone and dialed her mother by video call.
***
Monica's voice was soft. "Yes, Mom. Have you had dinner?"
"I did. I heard you're planning on getting married soon. Tomorrow, come by to see me and your grandma Phy. We need to discuss the details."
"Oh! I'm…" Monica felt a headache building.
"You what?"
"Yes, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Morning!" her mom said.
"Afternoon," Monica protested.
"Monica, we need to talk. That woman just died, and you're planning on wedding so soon after? I'm worried…"
"It's not like that! You heard the wrong news, I assumed it was from dad! It's not happening that soon. I have a meeting in the morning, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."
"Saturday morning?" her mom's voice rang through the phone.
Monica blinked, realization hitting her like a wave. "Oh."
"You're lying, Monica!" her mother snapped.
"Mom! I'm meeting someone else!"
"Someone more important than me?"
"Mom, what's the time? I'll be there on time."
"9 AM."
Monica touched her forehead, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing against her temples.
"Got it, noted well!"
"And if possible, bring Visaknu to see me. Grandma's wanted to see him for so long…" her mother added on.
Monica's heart skipped a beat. The words hit like a thunderclap. "Oh my goddess…"
"Hmm, can it be next time?" she hesitated, but her voice faltered under the weight of the request.
"No," her mother's voice was firm. "Grandma needs to talk to you now!"
Monica's breath caught. "Oh my!"
"Hello, my Monic."
"Yes, yes, grandma," she answered, her voice soft, respectful.
"Tomorrow, bring Visaknu to see me. Your mom, Sophea, and I are waiting...!"
Monica paused, scrambling for a response.
"It's all so sudden, Granny... we'll need to make time."
Granny Phy words were sharp. "Till I die, and you still haven't brought him to see my grave?"
"Why… Why say 'die'? Don't, I'm… I'm traumatized!" Monica stammered, her heart heavy.
"What did you say? I can't hear you, granddaughter."
Daughter swallowed hard. "Yes, I'll bring him to see you."
"Tomorrow, 9 a.m. sharp!"
Monica was left speechless, then muttered resignedly, "Yes, sure…"
"Hey, granddaughter! By the way, the neighbor got me a cat—the cutest one! If you want, I can—" Phy began cheerfully.
"Mother," Sophea cut in, her tone edged with warning as she glanced at Monica, who sat in silence, listening.
"Alright, alright," Granny relented with a good-natured sigh.
"Good night mom, good night grandma!"
"Good night my Monica!" Granny said.
She hung up, collapsing onto the bed, her exhaustion weighing on her, body and soul.
Suddenly, Saroath's phone rang, and Monica froze. She wasn't ready for this, everything. And who is calling?