Dara sat in his late mother's room, the dim glow of the desktop illuminating his face as he scrolled through file documents. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the screen. It was a message from Monica.
"Let's meet tomorrow evening. I'll give you your mom's belongings."
Dara's fingers quickly flew across the keyboard as he replied.
"I have to go to the province in the morning. Can you give them to me then?"
Her response came almost immediately.
"Evening is available for me."
Dara frowned, typing back. "But I have to leave in the morning. You don't work weekends, right?"
There was a brief pause before her curt reply came.
"...Don't negotiate with me. Evening or not..."
Dara clenched his jaw, trying to keep his frustration in check. "What time do you leave your house in the morning? Let me know then."
"8," she replied.
"Ok," he typed back, leaning back in the chair, his mind racing as he tried to anticipate her intentions.
***
Dara had been waiting in front of Monica's house—his father's house as well—since 7:30 a.m., leaning casually against his car. To pass the time, he texted Chanida about their upcoming trip to Kandal Province.
"I'll pick you up from your house, sister," Dara sent.
"Ok," Chanida replied. "I'm getting ready. By the way, did you contact Visal?"
"Yes," Dara typed back. Then he paused, glancing up as Monica stepped outside. "Oh, wait, my sister just came out. See you."
"Ok," Chanida replied quickly.
Dara slid his phone into his pocket, straightening up as Monica approached, her expression unreadable.
Monica stepped outside with a housemate, who carried a paper box for her. She immediately grabbed it, deciding to carry it herself.
Just as she did, a luxury car pulled up, and Visak stepped out, ready to open the door for his girlfriend.
"Good morning, darling," Visak said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Monica's cheek.
"Good morning, dear," Monica replied, her tone soft.
Dara watched quietly from the side, his arms crossed. "Hello," he called out.
Both Monica and Visak turned to look at him. Monica gave a small nod to Visak. "Wait a bit," she said, her voice calm but firm. Visak's gaze lingered on Dara, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
"My little brother," Monica explained.
"I knew," Visak replied, nodding slowly.
Monica handed the box to Dara, then turned to face him. "Actually, I have something to discuss with you. But not now—next time."
Dara nodded, his expression unreadable. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway."
"Good luck!" Both Monica and Visak called as they turned to leave, walking in separate directions.
Dara stood for a moment, watching them, then got into his car and drove off.
As they drove, Visak glanced over at Monica, sensing something was off. "You look upset, Monica. What's wrong?"
"I am... but it's okay," Monica replied, her voice distant.
"Hmmm," Visak hummed, clearly concerned. "Tell me something. Maybe I can help. We're going to get married soon, you know."
Monica sighed, her gaze fixed out the window. "I just want to rest. Retire."
"What... you mean stop working?" Visak asked, surprised.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Do you still love me?"
Visak's brow furrowed, his voice tinged with confusion. "Darling, come on! I love you because it's you!"
Monica kept silent l. Visak continued asked
"Why? Is that so hard? Your work? Everything?"
"Yes," Monica admitted, her grip tightening on the wheel. "It's hard. I'm going crazy…!"
Without warning, Visak slammed on the brakes, stopping the car abruptly.
"What's happened?" he asked, his tone sharp with impatience.
"Just go. It's going to be late," she muttered, as if pushing him to keep driving.
"No. Tell me first." His voice was firm, but there was a quiet desperation in it.
Monica hesitated, her chest tight. "Don't pressure me, please."
He reached over, gently grabbing her hand. "Is it because of Madam Dalin? The death? Your dad?"
Monica's silence was enough. Visak nodded slowly, as if he understood more than she realized.
"Okay," he said softly, releasing her hand and putting the car in motion again.
The rest of the ride passed in a heavy silence, neither of them saying a word.
—
In a quaint two-flat building by the local market, a shop sold fabric and sewing supplies at the front of the house.
Monica and Visaknu, carrying a basket of fruit and a Ginseng box, as a gift for Madam Sophea, a graceful woman in her early fifties accompanied by her septuagenarian mother, Phy—greeted the young couple with warm delight.
"Oh, my grandchildren!" Granny Phy exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy.
"Good morning, Mom! Good morning, Granny!" Visak greeted warmly.
"Granny!" Monica chimed in.
"She's been waiting for you both since early morning," Sophea added with a knowing smile.
"My dear ones— my Visak!" Granny Phy beamed.
"Granny, you look more beautiful every day!" Visak said with a playful grin.
"You always know just what to say!" Granny chuckled, taking Visak's hand while completely ignoring Monica and Sophea. The two exchanged a glance but said nothing—they knew better than to mind.
Visak and Granny Phy settled onto the living room sofa, deep in conversation,
"Grandson-in-law, I heard you've been busy with work lately," Granny Phy said, her voice warm with concern.
Visak nodded with a small smile. "Yes, Granny! We've launched a new brand, so there's been a lot to handle..."
She hummed thoughtfully. "So... how is it going?"
"My little brother, Virak, has been helping, but he's still young—just graduated. He's made some trouble here and there, but it's fine."
Granny Phy patted his hand gently. "Take care of your health too, dear. Rest well and visit more often."
"I will!"
"Oh, I prepared some fine fabric for your Mother."
"Oh, Granny, you didn't have to," Visak said, touched.
"I wanted to."
"Thank you!"
Granny Phy glanced at him knowingly. "Have you spoken to Monic about any wedding plans?"
"Yes, yes!" he answered quickly.
Monica and her mother, who had been standing nearby, exchanged glances before quietly slipping away to the kitchen, leaving the two lost in their own world.
"Where is Marina?" Monic asked.
"She went to meet her friend—her work team," Sophea, her mother, replied.
"I see. What did you cook?"
"Just this and that for your granny wish! Oh, your aunt's family sent dried fish from Kampong Cham."
"Really? My favorite!"
"Yes."
"Let's mix it with mango and more chili!"
"Don't eat too much spicy food."
"I want to!"
"You little troublemaker. Oh, we have Nimtree flowers and leaves too. But did Visak eat any?"
"He didn't. Said it was too bitter. I'll eat it—let's make it!"
"For sure!"
They sampled the dishes, chatting and laughing as they set the table for lunch.
***
As they arrived in Kandal II district, Dara, Chanida, and Visal met in a quiet coffee shop. The atmosphere was calm, but the weight of their conversation lingered in the air. Dara took a sip of his drink before speaking.
"I'm going to my grandparents' house to greet them and check on my mom's phone. I should have an update by this afternoon or tomorrow, I need to check everything first," he said, his tone serious.
Visal and Nida both nodded in agreement. The work they were doing was delicate, and every step needed to be carefully planned.
Visal leaned forward. "Ok. We'll continue looking into the files and complaints at the local police stations, and you should check the crime scene again too when you go there, backyard. We might find new clues or evidence."
Nida's voice was low but firm. "Keep this work confidential. If anyone knows what we're doing, we'll be vulnerable to attack." She glanced around the coffee shop, her eyes sharp.
Dara hesitated for a moment, his face unreadable. "But my sister knows about it."
Nida's expression didn't change. "That's… fine," Visal said, though his voice carried a note of caution.
Dara shifted uncomfortably but nodded.
"Next time, be careful," Visal added, his gaze steady.
Both Dara and Nida nodded, understanding the weight of his words. The meeting ended with a shared sense of urgency, each of them knowing that the path ahead was full of uncertainty, but they had no choice but to keep moving forward.
***
Dara drove his car to his grandparents' house, a Khmer wooden and stone mixed house, a familiar place filled with memories. As he stepped out, a lady in her 40s greeted him with a warm smile.
"Hello, Aunt Maly!" Dara said with a friendly wave.
"Aha! Dara! You come without telling me in advance," she replied, her voice full of surprise but warmth.
"I missed being here and wanted to spend some time," he said, smiling back.
Aunt Maly nodded in understanding. "Ok, I get it. Go rest inside, then. I'll make lunch for you."
Dara glanced at her with concern. "You don't look too well. Where's Uncle Rith, Grandma and Grandpa?"
"All of them went to the pagoda far from here. They'll be back by evening," she explained.
"Oh, okay," Dara replied, a little relieved.
"Go rest, my nephew," she said, waving him inside.
Dara hesitated for a moment before asking, "But Uncle should stay to take care of you, right?"
Aunt Maly chuckled lightly. "Hehe! He's always like that. Busy with his work. But I'm fine."
"What about your two kids? Do they visit often?" Dara asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Yes, yes, they stay in the city but visit when they can," she said with a smile, getting back to her chores.
Dara nodded, then quietly made his way inside, subtly slipping away from her sight. He moved through the house with careful steps, his mind focused on exploring unnoticed.
There was something he needed to find, something hidden or related to his mother's death.
—
Dara stood silently, his gaze fixed on the old family photo hanging on the wall. The faces in the picture seemed to blur together, memories from a time long past.
Just as he was about to turn away, Aunt Maly entered with a bucket filled with ginger and mangoes, carrying a quiet, familiar energy.
Maly set the bucket down and pointed to the faded photograph. "This was your mother, your elder Uncle Sothy, and Uncle Rith when they were young. Three siblings in their childhood… but now, only two remain."
Dara nodded, his eyes lingering on the faces in the photograph.
"Yes… you've been living with Grandma and Grandpa for so long, right?"
"Of course," Maly replied with a warm smile, but her expression shifted as she sensed Dara's unease. "What's on your mind?"
Dara hesitated before asking, "Did Mom visit here often?"
Maly paused, thinking for a moment before responding, "Huh? Oh... not really much... but I can say it often enough. And recently, she's with your uncle at the garage station."
"I see... I asked because Mom usually came here without letting me know," Dara's voice trailed off, a strange unease stirring within him, one he couldn't quite explain. "And... last time she came, was she alone?"
"Alone?" Maly looked confused for a moment before continuing, "No, she wasn't alone."
Dara's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
Maly continued, unbothered by Dara's sudden intensity. "She came with your father... and a young lady, his daughter, a beautiful one... but they didn't stay."
Dara froze, his mind racing. "Wait, what?"
Maly glanced up, noticing Dara's shock. "Your mother stayed for one night. She said that after spending the second night here, she had to go back to the city to be with you."
Dara's breath caught in his chest as Maly's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. "And then?"
Maly's expression darkened slightly. "The day after that night... She went somewhere. Came back in the evening... and we saw her—no, it was Sister Sros, a villager, who saw her in the backyard."
Dara's heart twisted painfully, the image of his mother's departure and return shattering his thoughts. The pain in his chest grew sharp, a gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong. He could barely hold himself together, his mind swarming with questions he wasn't sure he could ask.
***
Dara stood beneath the severed mango tree stump, the same one his late mother had once ended her life. The tree, once whole and alive, had been cut down, now all that remained was a stark, empty space and a small offering—a plate of freshly placed bananas, a bottle of water, candles, and smoldering incense arranged for worship.
He scanned the surroundings, his gaze drifting across the quiet campus, the neatly stacked pile of firewood, and the dense forest beyond. There was no sign of a crime, no evidence to pursue—just a silent trigger, stirring the raw ache of his buried trauma.
Aunty Maly watched him from the house, a worried expression on her face.
—
Dara stepped out of his grandmother's house, walking slowly past the fence. He didn't turn back, his mind heavy with what he had just learned. He decided to walk, hoping to learn from and embrace the environment and the people around him there.
The village was quiet, its simple, rustic charm a stark contrast to the buzzing city he was used to.
Dara walked down the narrow paths, he needed to clear his head, but his thoughts were swirling with questions he couldn't yet answer.
As he passed a mobile street food vendor, the vendor called out, "Buy something!"
Dara shook his head without stopping. "No, thank you," he muttered, his mind elsewhere as he kept walking.
The market was a lively place, a mix of old wooden stalls and local vendors selling their wares. Dara's eyes scanned the area, looking for something—anything—that might give him more answers.