At noon, back at the coffee shop, Nida and Visal sat across from each other, finishing their review of the complaint file on Nida's laptop. Their work was done, but they lingered, waiting for someone to confirm the next move.
Out of the blue, Visal broke the silence. "I'm happy to know you, by the way."
Nida glanced up, surprised. "Oh, thank you. Me too."
"And Dara said you saved his life!" Visal added with a smile.
"Really?" she chuckled softly. "I was just doing my job."
"Well, you're in the right job—it fits your personality perfectly."
"So, check with Dara if we can print it out and have him stamp his thumb," Visal suggested.
"I'll text him," Nida replied, already reaching for her phone.
"Have you gone to his house directly yet?"
Nida tilted her head, smiling modestly. "Not yet! Did you revisit the crime scene, by the way?"
"I did. Many times already. No worries there."
"Good. I just hope Dara stays safe."
Visal nodded, his tone shifting. "Yes!"
"His father must be—"
"Don't mention him," Visal interrupted firmly.
Both fell silent, the tension lingering in the air as they exchanged cautious glances.
***
Late that evening, Dara's grandparents and Uncle Rith returned from the pagoda, visibly tired from their journey. They stopped in their tracks, surprised to find Dara waiting for them.
"Oh, my grandson! When did you get here?" Mr. Leng, his grandpa exclaimed, pulling him into a warm hug.
"Since this morning, Grandpa!" Dara replied, smiling and then turned to hug his grandma.
Grandpa's eyes lit up as he spotted the car parked outside.
"Oh boy, you got yourself a new car?" Uncle Rith, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and shadowed by sleepless nights, still managed a weary grin as he chimed in.
"Yes, I did. I was thinking of using it to take Grandparents, you, and Auntie Maly somewhere nice," Dara said, his tone filled with affection.
His grandmother touched his cheek with a proud smile. "Good boy, my dear. You always think of us."
—
The family sat together for a late dinner, their conversation warm and full of laughter.
After the meal, Uncle Rith and Auntie Maly prepared to head back to their house at the far end of the village.
"So, you're going back to your house tonight?" Dara asked, a bit concerned.
"Yes," Uncle Rith replied. "We've been neglecting it these past few weeks, so it's time we spent a night there."
"I can drive you there," Dara offered, but Aunt Maly shook her head.
"No need. It's close by, and we're fine walking. Don't worry about us."
Dara hesitated but finally nodded. "Alright, if you're sure. Take care."
With that, they bid each other goodnight, and Dara stayed back with his grandparents as the quiet of the village night settled over them.
At night, as the house fell into silence, Dara couldn't find peace. Stepping outside, he noticed his grandfather sitting on a bamboo bed, smoking under the soft moonlight.
"Pa, you're still awake?" Dara asked, approaching him.
"Oh, son," his grandfather greeted, patting the space beside him.
Dara sat down, and Leng gently ran his hand through his hair. "My grandson…"
"Grandpa?" Dara hesitated before continuing. "That afternoon when mom passed away …why didn't anyone see her?"
His grandfather sighed deeply, the weight of the memory evident. "Oh dear…that afternoon, nobody was home."
"Where was everyone?" Dara pressed.
Leng took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "That noon, your mom went out. Maly had gone to visit her sick mother at Kandal I. Your uncle was working at the construction site, as usual. And your grandma and I... we were attending a cultural ceremony with relatives."
Dara nodded slowly, piecing together the fragments of the story. "I see..."
"So everyone wasn't at home…she took that chance?" Dara said, his voice heavy with sadness.
His grandfather looked at him with weary eyes, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Stop talking like that, my dear. Try to be strong."
Dara lowered his head, fighting the emotions rising within him.
"We…your grandmother and I…we try to listen to the Buddha's teachings, to let go of the pain," his grandfather continued gently, his voice steady but filled with sorrow.
Dara remained silent, staring at the ground, unable to find solace in his grandfather's words. The weight of his mother's absence loomed over him like a shadow, refusing to fade.
Grandpa sighed deeply, his eyes distant as he recalled Saroath's youth.
"When she came home, she would always help with stacking firewood and head to the village's lotus farm. There, she'd wade into the pond, picking lotus flowers and gathering the fruit. Without fail, she'd end up with scraped hands, slipping and stumbling clumsily in the water. She'd been that way since she was young, and she never changed."
Dara froze, the vivid memory of his mother painted by his grandfather's words leaving him stunned. He realized now how much his family's life revolved around the land, the fields, and even the pond where lotus thrived.
"Did you ever go into the pond, Dara?" Grandpa asked, breaking the silence.
Still grappling with the thought of his mother's final moments, Dara remained quiet, lost in his thoughts.
"Son?" Grandpa called again, his voice soft and patient.
"Yes?" Dara finally responded, snapping back to the moment.
"Do you want to visit the pond? Your mom used to take you there when you were little!"
"Yes," Dara said, nodding firmly. "Yes, for sure."
Grandpa smiled faintly, patting his grandson on the shoulder before falling silent again, the night air heavy with unspoken grief and lingering memories.
***
Heng sat on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the clock. It was already 10 p.m., and Monica still hadn't returned since Marina was at her mother's house, Sophea's.
He dialed his daughter's number, and Dalin brought him a glass of water. After a moment, the phone picked up—Visak's voice on the other end.
"Yes, Dad?"
"Where's Monica?" Heng demanded.
At Visak's villa, Monica lay asleep in the bedroom while he sat beside her.
"Dad, she's staying with me tonight," Visak explained softly.
Heng's voice shook with anger. "What? Why isn't she home?"
"She's tired, Dad. Please let her rest. She's had a long day."
"She was supposed to come back by noon! What's going on?" Heng's frustration boiled over.
"Please understand, nothing happened. Don't be mad, I'm begging you. My parents are also at home right now. Can she sleep here tonight?"
Heng's anger flared as Visak's voice cut through the tension.
"Can you let her go?"
"What did you say?" Heng snapped.
Visak took a breath, his tone calm but firm. "I think you should let her live on her own. She's not young anymore, Dad."
"Bring her home now, or you won't see me again!" Heng's voice cracked, loud and furious.
Visak, taken aback, quickly ended the call, leaving Heng's harsh words hanging in the air.
Visak sat beside Monica, a sense of hopelessness weighing on him as he watched her stir. When Monica opened her eyes, she heard everything. She pushed the blanket aside and began to sit up.
"I have to go right now," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the room.
Visak didn't say a word, but in a rush, he grabbed her wrist tightly, concerned, flickering in his eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Monica replied, her tone firm.
"Are you sure?" Visak pressed, his grip not loosening.
"Yes," she affirmed, shaking her wrist free.
"Okay. I'll bring you home," Visak said, his voice softer now. Monica nodded, silently agreeing.
As Monica walked past him, Visak reached out, his hand gently brushing her forehead before planting a soft kiss there, a gesture of care and love.
It was brief but filled with unspoken support, a moment of comfort in the midst of the tension. Monica paused for a second, the warmth lingering, before continuing to prepare to leave without saying a word.
***