The following evening, the Mekong Restaurant settled into its familiar rhythm.
Juan was already at his usual table when Laurent arrived. A few minutes later, Aaron H. joined them.
No one mentioned the events of the previous days. There was no need. The conversations around them had returned to their ordinary subjects. Customers talked over one another. Cutlery moved across plates. From the kitchen came the familiar sounds of cooking. The river continued its slow movement beyond the open frontage of the restaurant.
Yet, beneath that familiar rhythm, something had changed. Liên was no longer simply a visitor who had arrived carrying a painful story. She had begun to become part of the place.
Mr Hoàng came over. He remained standing beside the table.
“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow.”
Juan looked up. “So have we.”
Mr Hoàng nodded. “I think we should go to Châu Thành A first.”
Russell looked at him. “To Kim Mới.”
“Yes. And the children.”
Nobody questioned the decision. Phong had divided every spare hour of his life between two journeys. If he wasn’t riding to Châu Thành A before dawn to spend a few precious hours with Kim Mới, Thọng Hiếu and little Khánh Băng, he was heading south to Mỹ Tú to help his parents harvest vegetables and fruit before delivering them to restaurants in Cần Thơ on his way to work. It was simply the way he had lived. There had never seemed to be anything remarkable about it while he was alive. Now, every detail seemed to matter.
Aaron H. quietly broke the silence. “Kim Mới has already suffered enough.”
Mr Hoàng lowered his eyes. “She has. I spoke to her many times after Phong disappeared.”
Russell looked surprised. “You never told us.”
“There wasn’t anything new to tell.”
Juan understood immediately. “You didn’t want to give her false hope.”
Mr Hoàng gave a slight nod. “Hope is dangerous when you have nothing to support it.”
For a few moments, they reflected on that. For a year, Kim Mới had been living with questions that nobody could answer. Now Liên was here. She could tell them what she remembered. But memories were not explanations. They could not tell them what had happened to Phong after the van had disappeared into the night. They could not tell them where he was, or what had happened after the two of them had been separated. They could only give the people who had been waiting something they had not had before: someone who had seen him, someone who had spoken to him, someone who had come home.
Laurent looked towards Mr Hoàng. “Does Kim Mới know Liên is here?”
“No.”
“Should we tell her before we visit?”
Mr Hoàng thought for a moment. “I’d rather explain everything face to face.”
Juan agreed. “So would I.”
Aaron H. leaned forward. “And after Châu Thành A?”
Mr Hoàng answered without hesitation. “We go to Mỹ Tú. To see his parents. And Dũng.”
Laurent nodded slowly. “Dũng deserves to hear it from us.”
Juan looked at his friends. “Then tomorrow isn’t about asking questions.”
“No. It’s about listening.”
Mr Hoàng finally allowed himself a smile. “Phong always listened before he spoke.” He glanced towards the kitchen. “Perhaps that’s the best way to begin.”
None of them disagreed.
Juan looked towards Mr Hoàng. “What time?”
“Seven.”
“In the morning?”
Mr Hoàng nodded. “If we leave then, we’ll reach Kim Mới before the children leave for school.”
Russell glanced at Aaron H. “You’ll have to cancel your classes after all.”
Aaron smiled. “I did that an hour ago.”
“You were confident.”
“I was.”
Vincent arrived a few moments later, carrying his motorcycle helmet under one arm. “Sorry. I had to stop by the gym.”
Juan motioned towards the empty chair. “We’ve made a decision.”
Vincent sat down. “I hope you waited for me before making all the important ones.”
“We did.” Laurent smiled. “We’re going to Châu Thành A tomorrow morning.”
Vincent nodded slowly. “To see Kim Mới.”
“And the children.” Mr Hoàng added quietly, “Then we’ll continue to Mỹ Tú.”
Vincent understood immediately. “To see his parents.”
“And Dũng.”
“Yes.”
Lý appeared with another round of drinks. He set them down one by one before disappearing again without interrupting the conversation.
Vincent waited until he had gone. “Does Liên know?”
“Not yet,” Mr Hoàng replied. “I’ll tell her before we close tonight.”
Juan looked towards the entrance. “Will she want to come?”
Mr Hoàng reflected for a moment. “I don’t know. She may think she shouldn’t.”
Russell understood. “She’ll feel responsible.”
“Perhaps.”
Juan slowly shook his head. “She isn’t.”
“No. But she doesn’t know us as well as we know each other.”
Vincent looked thoughtfully at his glass. “Neither would any of us know how we’d react in her place.”
Nobody argued with that.
Mr Hoàng folded the cloth he was carrying and slipped it into his apron pocket. “She has spent a year wondering whether she should have done something differently.”
Russell looked up. “There was nothing else she could have done.”
“I know. So do you. But convincing Liên of that…” He left the sentence unfinished.
Juan completed it quietly. “…may take much longer.”
For a few moments, the conversation drifted to practical matters: who would drive, how many motorcycles they would need, whether it would be easier to meet at the Mekong or leave directly from Bình Thủy.
Finally, Mr Hoàng made the decision. “We’ll meet here. Seven o’clock. No later.”
Everyone agreed.
As Vincent reached for his helmet, Juan looked at him. “You’re riding?”
Vincent smiled. “When have I ever arrived anywhere any other way?”
That drew a quiet laugh from around the table. The conversation drifted, for a while, away from unanswered questions.
Tomorrow would not be about evidence. It would be about people. And each of them understood that those conversations might prove far more difficult than anything they had discussed in the restaurant so far.
The following morning, Juan arrived at the Mekong Restaurant a few minutes before seven. The streets of Cần Thơ were already busy. Market vendors were arranging vegetables on wooden stalls. Coffee shops were filling with customers beginning their day. Across the road, a woman balanced two baskets of fruit suspended from a bamboo pole as she disappeared into the morning traffic.
Mr Hoàng was waiting outside. His old Honda stood beside the entrance. He checked his watch. “You’re early.”
Juan smiled. “For once.”
A few moments later Laurent arrived on his scooter. Aaron H. and Russellfollowed almost immediately. Vincent was the last. He parked beside the others, removed his helmet and looked around.
“Has Liên arrived?”
Mr Hoàng nodded towards the restaurant. “She’s inside.”
Russell looked through the open doorway. Liên was sitting alone at one of the tables. A small backpack rested beside her chair. She stood as they entered.
“Good morning.”
Juan smiled warmly. “Did you sleep?”
“A little.” She hesitated. “I kept thinking about today.”
“No one slept particularly well,” Vincent admitted.
That drew the first smile from Liên.
Mr Hoàng disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning carrying a small paper bag. “Bánh mì.” He placed it on the table. “And coffee. You may not feel hungry now. But you will later.”
Juan looked at him. “You’ve planned everything.”
Mr Hoàng shrugged. “We’re going to be away most of the day.”
Laurent accepted a cup of coffee. “Thank you.”
For a few minutes they ate quietly while discussing the route. “We’ll cross Quang Trung Bridge,” Mr Hoàng explained. “From there it’s straightforward.”
Liên listened without saying very much. Eventually she looked towards Mr Hoàng. “Have you told Kim Mới anything?”
“No. I only said that some friends from the Mekong would like to visit.”
Liên lowered her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
Juan answered gently. “You don’t have to decide now. When the moment comes, say only what you remember. No more. No less.”
She nodded slowly. “I can do that.”
Mr Hoàng folded the empty paper bag. “Shall we go?”
Everyone stood. Helmets were collected. Motorcycles were wheeled out onto the street.
Juan looked at Vincent. “I’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind.”
Vincent smiled. “I was expecting you to ask.”
Laurent started his scooter. Aaron H. adjusted the strap of his helmet. Mr Hoàng waited until Liên had climbed onto the back of the old Honda. Only then did he start the engine.
Without another word, the small group pulled away from the Mekong Restaurant and joined the morning traffic, heading south towards Châu Thành A.
Since Liên had returned from Cambodia, they had been trying to piece together what had happened. Now, they were on their way to meet the people who had lived with those questions every single day for the past year.
The ride to Châu Thành A took a little under forty minutes. As they left the centre of Cần Thơ behind, the traffic gradually thinned. Concrete shopfronts gave way to canals, rice fields and orchards stretching towards the horizon. Nobody was in a hurry.
At a small crossroads, Mr Hoàng raised his left hand. The others followed him off the main road onto a narrower lane shaded by coconut palms.
“We’re nearly there,” Vincent said over his shoulder to Juan.
Juan remembered the road. Phong had described it more than once during quiet evenings at the Mekong—how, before dawn, he would ride this same route to spend a little time with Kim Mới and the children before heading back towards Cần Thơ for work. It was strange to think of him travelling this road now. The same road. The same houses. The same trees. A journey that had once been simply part of Phong’s routine had become, for everyone else, a journey into the life he had left behind.
A few hundred metres farther on, Mr Hoàng slowed his Honda and stopped beside a modest single-storey house surrounded by fruit trees. He switched off the engine. No one moved immediately.
Liên quietly removed her helmet. Her hands were trembling.
Mr Hoàng noticed. “It’s all right.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know if it is.”
He didn’t try to reassure her. Instead, he said, “We’re here.”
Juan climbed down from Vincent’s motorcycle. He looked around. The house was exactly as Phong had once described it: simple, well cared for. Children’s bicycles stood beneath a small roof beside the entrance. Several pairs of tiny sandals lay neatly outside the front door.
Russell smiled. “They’re home.”
Before anyone could knock, the door opened. A woman stepped outside. For a brief moment, she stared at the unexpected visitors. Then her eyes settled on Mr Hoàng.
“Anh Hoàng…”
He inclined his head politely. “Good morning, Kim Mới.”
She smiled, although there was uncertainty in her expression. “I wasn’t expecting so many people.”
Mr Hoàng spoke gently. “I’m sorry. I know. But we thought it would be better to come together.”
Her eyes moved from one face to another. She recognised Russell. Then Juan. Then Vincent—people she had met before, although never all at once.
Finally, her gaze rested on Liên. The smile disappeared. She had never seen her before.
Kim Mới looked back at Mr Hoàng. “Who is she?”
For a second, nobody answered. Mr Hoàng glanced briefly at Liên. Then back at Kim Mới. “Her name is Liên.” He paused. “And she’s the reason we’re here.”
No one spoke. Not because they didn’t know what to say. But because they all understood that, from this moment onward, everything would change.