4- In A Storm

Days later, Dara sat at home, his fingers tapping on the phone as he texted Vuthy. "How did the boss say?" he typed, anxiety lingering in his words.

Vuthy's reply came quickly: "I explained your situation to him. He understands and told me to let you know to take a break. You can come back whenever you're ready..."

"Ok, thanks, Vuthy," Dara typed, a small sense of relief washing over him.

Vuthy continued: "But Human Resources will look into the unpaid leave for you, or whatever option they can offer. We'll see what they say."

"Yes, that's fine," Dara agreed.

"And Dara," Vuthy continued, "don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Dara felt a wave of relief wash over him, comforted by his colleague's words. "Yes, thank you so much. I'll see you soon."

"Take care," Vuthy added. "See you."

***

Several days passed, and Dara remained at home, not venturing anywhere. Meanwhile, his mother continued her routine, stepping out to check on her shop before returning to rest. 

But it was clear she was preoccupied—her eyes often fixed on her phone as she chatted with others, discussing plans to continue the journey with her beloved son. 

The conversation seemed important, but Dara couldn't help and feel a growing distance between them, as though her mind was elsewhere.

As his mother gently watered the flowers in front of their flat house in the Borey, he approached her, his steps slow and tentative. The soft hum of the neighborhood in the background seemed to contrast with the quiet heaviness that had settled between them.

"Mom," Dara began, his voice unsure, "I was thinking... Maybe we could take a short vacation?"

His mother was taken aback. "What are you saying, vacation?"

"Yes!" Dara replied, her voice filled with concern. "You've been working so hard lately. We need some time to relax. Maybe the beach or the temples in Siem Reap—or anywhere you'd like."

But his mother shook her head. "Son, I'm fine. You seem better since you decided to move on after the breakup. And I have things to take care of. If you want a trip, we can plan it once I'm done with my work."

"What work?" Dara asked, puzzled, but her mother only gave a mysterious smile.

"Just regular work that needs to be finished. I also have to go back to our hometown next week," his mother explained.

"Oh, next week? But I have to return to the office. This week, though, I can go with you," Dara said, eager to spend time together.

"No, focus on your work, son," she replied gently, her tone firm but caring.

"So, can we go on vacation next month, Mom?" Dara asked, hopeful.

His mother smiled and nodded. "Yes, we can."

***

In the dusk, Dara returned home late from work, the quiet of the room wrapping around him as he settled into solitude. With his mother away in their hometown, she had promised to return by the weekend. 

For now, dinner came from a takeout box, the familiar comfort of food delivered as the evening stretched on.

Just as Dara was about to take a bite, his phone rang, its sudden buzz breaking the stillness. He glanced at the screen—his uncle's name, Rith, flashed in bold letters.

"Hello, Uncle!" Dara answered, his voice steady, unaware of the storm on the other end.

"Dara!" Rith's voice trembled, barely a whisper in the silence. "Yes, Uncle?" he replied, his tone unchanged, waiting for the usual news.

"Your mother, Dara… your mother is... she's gone..."

Dara froze, the words landing like a punch. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother… committed suicide."

Dara's world spun, his hand went limp, and the phone slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a sharp crack. He stared blankly at the empty space before him, unable to process the weight of the words.

Dara assumed his uncle was calling to ask him to visit their hometown this weekend and return to the city with his mother. He even imagined his uncle urging him to join the gathering back home. But it was all just in his mind.

"So, can we go on vacation next month, Mom?" Dara asked, hopeful.

His mother smiled and nodded. "Yes, we can."

The words replayed in his mind as he stood frozen, unsure of where to go. 

"Mom, please… why? Please don't...! God, please, save her. I'll give up everything—my happiness, my life—just to keep her safe. Let me die if it means she can live longer. Please, take my life in exchange… just save her."

Dara dropped to his knees, his heart heavy with desperation, pleading with God to spare his mother's life.

His mother's smile lingered vividly in his mind, a beacon of warmth and love that only deepened his plea.

***

"Yes," the village principal said, his voice steady, "a villager told me yesterday that she saw the late Saroath hanging herself under the tree in the backyard at their suburb's house, while the villager was looking for her cows around there." He talked to the local police officer, his words heavy in the still air.

The two old men sat in hushed conversation beneath the roof of the ceremony hall, held in a Khmer-style house blending wood and stone. Black-and-white curtains draped the space, and white flowers encircled the framed photo of Kong Saroath. Their solemn presence added to the weight of the somber atmosphere.

The sound of their voices is a stark contrast to the silence surrounding Dara. He sat nearby, alone in his grief, his heart breaking as he listened to their cold exchange.

"Thank you, sir," Mr. Vann, the police officer in his 50s, replied, his tone official. "We will conduct a more thorough investigation and speak to a few more people."

"The backyard of their house, surrounded by trees, shrubs, sawmills, and piles of firewood belonging to Saroath's father, Mr. Leng," the village principal added.

"Yes," Mr. Vann replied.

"Villagers rarely go there—only when they come to buy firewood or something. Some believe it wasn't suicide, by the way," he continued.

"We'll look deeper," Vann pressed on.

Mr. Rith, a tall and thin man in his late forties, Dara's uncle, approached him softly, his hand resting gently on Dara's shoulder. His weary eyes, shadowed by dark circles, held a depth of pain and sleepless nights. For a moment, he stared into the distance before turning his gaze to his nephew.

Overcome with emotion, Dara couldn't hold back his tears, pulling his uncle into a tight embrace. In that silent moment, they shared the weight of their pain, connected by their grief.

"How about grandparents, uncle?" Dara asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"My son told me they are fine and will be leaving the hospital this evening," Rith replied reassuringly.

Meanwhile, a sleek black car pulled up. Mr. Heng stepped out, his youngest daughter, Marina, a woman in her mid-twenties, by his side, followed by the driver.

They were greeted warmly by Saroath's relatives, who guided them to pay their respects to his late mistress. Dara and Rith, too, approached to offer their greetings.

Afterward, Dara, Heng, and Marina sat together, engaging in quiet conversation, the weight of the day's events lingering in the air.

"I can't believe she did that," Heng whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm so sorry... this grief... it's almost too much to bear." Dara remained silent, while Marina gently took her father's hand, offering what comfort she could.

"And I'm so sorry if I pressured her too much," Heng continued, his voice breaking. "She might have been depressed, but she would never have left you, Dara."

Dara struggled to listen, his heart heavy with sorrow as tears continued to fall.

"I thought about something last night," Heng said, his voice quiet but determined. "When you get back to the city, let's meet again." 

Dara said nothing, his silence leaving Heng's words hanging in the air, unsure whether she would agree to see him again.