Heng stood in the living room, waiting as Monica and Visak finally arrived. The door creaked open, and the daughter stepped in, her voice soft but steady.
"Dad, I'm home."
Visak quickly followed, his voice apologetic. "Dad, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Heng nodded, his face hard as stone. He looked at her with piercing eyes.
"Monic, are you alright?" His voice carried an unspoken knowing, sensing something beyond her physical state.
"I'm alright," she replied, her tone more defensive than she intended.
"Then why didn't you come home earlier?" Heng's voice sharpened.
"Dad!" Monica's voice cracked as she tried to hold her ground.
"Go to your room!" Heng's command was final.
Monica inhaled deeply before she turned and walked upstairs. Visak watched her go, his worry etched across his face.
Heng's eyes lingered on his daughter, then shifted to Visak. "I need to talk to you for a bit."
"Yes, Dad," Visak responded, his voice tense as he braced for the conversation ahead.
Heng sat across from Visak, his expression stern and unwavering.
"I won't allow Monica to stay out late at night with you—or anyone. Once you two are married, do as you please, but until then, if anything goes wrong, I'll kick you out and cut you off from this family. I don't care if I have no children left... You better be careful. Don't let this happen again," Heng warned, his words sharp and deliberate.
Visak sat still, his breath caught in his chest as he absorbed the gravity of Heng's words. He listened intently, the weight of the warning settling on him.
Visak leaned forward, his voice sincere but laced with tension.
"Apologize for my mistake," he said softly. "Please, don't be mad at her. She's going through a lot... and I promise, I won't cross any line anymore."
Heng's eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of understanding in his gaze. He studied Visak for a long moment, weighing his words carefully.
Heng finally spoke, his tone firm but less harsh than before.
"Yes. You can go."
Visak nodded, his relief barely contained, and stood up slowly. He bowed his head in respect before turning to leave, understanding the pressure of the conversation had shifted, but knowing the road ahead would still require caution.
***
Monica lay on her bed, her exhaustion burdening heavily on her, but she knew she couldn't ignore the knock at the door. It was her dad.
"Yes?" she called out, her voice tinged with weariness.
The door creaked open, and Heng stepped in, his gaze softening when he saw his daughter propped up against the headboard.
"If you're sick, why didn't you go to the hospital?" he asked, his concern palpable.
"I'm not sick," Monica replied quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"Look at yourself in the mirror. You have no color in your face."
"I... I just don't feel okay," she mumbled, her words barely above a whisper.
Heng's eyes narrowed. "I know you're nervous. You're my daughter, and that's why I didn't want you around him."
Monica's eyes flickered toward him, her frustration rising. "What do you mean?"
"You're worried about Saroath's case," Heng said, his voice low. "If you keep ignoring it, you're going to lose your mind."
"Dad, just stop!" Monica snapped, turning her face away. "I'm tired of all of this."
Heng's eyes darkened. "Monica!"
"You're the one obsessed with her death!" Monica's voice was sharp. "Just because I had arguments with her doesn't mean I killed her."
"Really?" Heng's voice quivered with disbelief.
"Do you think I did it? Made her die?" Monica shot back, her tone cold. "Why, dad?"
"Don't you feel guilty?" Heng's voice cracked with a mix of hurt and confusion.
"Why should I?" Monica answered flatly, her gaze distant.
"Monica…" Heng's voice was softer now, but he was struggling to understand.
"Leave me alone," she muttered, her irritation clear.
Heng stood still, his mind racing. Does she really feel no guilt? Does she lack any empathy? He took a step back, his confusion deepening.
Monica glanced at him briefly, her eyes void of the emotion he expected. She was tired, indifferent, almost bored by the whole exchange.
***
Heng sat silently in his room, his mind swirling with concern. Dalin slept peacefully beside him, but he couldn't find rest. His thoughts were consumed by his daughter's strange behavior.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Sophea's number, hoping to make sense of what was happening.
"Hello?" Sophea's voice sounded groggy, as if she had been awakened.
"Sophea?" Heng asked, his tone urgent.
"Yes. It's 11pm. What's wrong?" Sophea responded, sounding uneasy.
"I need to ask you some questions."
Sophea shifted in her bed, sensing the tension in Heng's voice. "About what?"
"Do you notice anything... suspicious about our daughter, Monic?"
Sophea paused for a moment, her thoughts drifting to her daughter. "What do you mean, specifically?"
"I don't know how to explain it," Heng said, frustration building. "I just need to know if you've noticed anything strange about her lately."
Sophea paused, considering the question. "No, nothing unusual comes to mind. We don't see each other often, so I wouldn't really know. But now that you mention it, she did seem quieter than usual today. Shouldn't you be the one noticing these things?"
Heng sighed, feeling a sense of helplessness. "I guess so. What about today? How did she seem with Visak?"
"I like him. Monica seemed happy too," Sophea answered, her tone softening as she spoke of her daughter's relationship.
"Good then," Heng said, trying to calm himself. "Okay, I'll leave it at that for now."
"Alright. Bye," Sophea replied, ending the call.
Heng sat back, staring at his phone. There were still so many questions, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was deeply wrong with his daughter.
***
The morning sun rose gently over the lotus farm, casting a golden glow across the rural landscape. The lotus flowers, delicate and serene, bloomed with a beauty unmatched.
Dara and Chanida stood at the edge of the pond, their silhouettes framed by the shimmering water, pausing for a moment before stepping into the still embrace of the morning.
"If my Grandpa's words matter, does that mean our investigation ends?" Dara asked, his voice uncertain.
"Don't jump to conclusions yet," Chanida replied calmly. "Let's ask around and see if anyone remembers your mother visiting the farm before that day."
"Okay," Dara agreed with a nod.
"Visal might be late. He had work at the station, and I need to head back to the city this evening," Chanida added.
"No worries," Dara assured her, determination flickering in his eyes.
***
Dara glanced around, feeling out of place among the sparse farmers wandering the fields. A few cast curious glances at her and Nida, their presence clearly noted.
"Hello, Auntie?" Nida greeted a woman passing by with a smile, but the woman merely nodded politely before continuing on her way.
An older lady, sturdy and determined, approached with a bucket in hand.
"Auntie! Auntie?" Dara called out hesitantly.
The woman stopped, her expression unreadable. "Yes?"
"Do you know who owns this farm?" Dara asked, her tone careful.
"That is mine," the old woman replied curtly.
"Oh, that's great!" Dara said, his relief evident.
Nida stepped closer, listening quietly as the conversation unfolded.
"What do you want?" the woman asked, her sharp gaze darting between them.
"Could we get some lotus flowers?" Dara asked hopefully.
The woman frowned. "There's no one here to pick them for you. The kids aren't around today."
"We can pick them ourselves," Dara offered quickly. "I can pay you upfront if that's okay?"
The woman's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "I haven't seen you two before. You're not locals, are you?"
"No, we're from the city," Dara admitted.
The woman studied her closely, then her expression shifted. "But you… you look like Sam Eoun!"
Dara froze, startled. "She was my grandmother."
The woman's eyes widened in recognition. "Sam Eoun's grandson? Are you Rith's child?"
"No, Saroath's," Dara corrected gently.
The old woman gasped, her voice rising. "For heaven's sake! Saroath's child!"
Nida and Dara exchanged a quick glance, sensing a shift in the air.
The woman's expression turned somber, tinged with anger.
"Your mother came here often before she passed. And Rith—he took money from me to give his people to harvest lotus, but after Saroath's death, this farm was left to crumble!"
Dara's voice softened. "I'm sorry about that…"
The woman sighed, her emotions a tangle of sadness and frustration. "It's not your fault, child. But there's a lot you don't know about this place."
"Did my mom owe you money too?" Dara asked cautiously.
The old woman shook her head firmly. "No, she didn't. It was your uncle."
"How much did he owe? I can pay you back... and help you harvest the flowers," Dara offered earnestly.
"No, no!" the woman said, waving her hand dismissively.
"Let the debtor pay his own debt. Your mother… she wasn't like that. She loved to come here. She'd buy lotus flowers and even pick them herself from the water, always."
Her voice softened, trembling with emotion. "I'm still in shock... Son, your mother… She loved you deeply. Believe me, she wouldn't have left you like this if she had a choice."
"Auntie?" Dara whispered, his heart heavy.
The woman looked at them both. "Do you know my name?"
Dara and Nida exchanged confused glances before shaking their heads.
"Take some lotus flowers, offer them to Buddha, and pray for your mom," she said, her voice firm yet kind. "Tell her you met me, Aunt Sokhom."
"Aunt Sokhom!" Dara repeated, the name settling in his mind.
"Yes," she replied with a faint smile. "Now go."
***