For several long seconds, Kim Mới remained standing in the doorway.
She wore a simple light pink áo bà ba, the traditional blouse and trousers she reserved for family ceremonies, pagoda visits, and other solemn occasions.
On her feet were faded dép tổ ong, still damp from the morning, as though she had been outside only moments before. Her hair was pulled back neatly, though a few strands had escaped and clung to her temples in the humidity.
She looked first at Mr Hoàng. Then at Russell, Laurent, Juan, Vincent, Aaron H. — faces she recognised from the Mekong Restaurant. Finally, her eyes rested on Liên. A stranger. Her expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“Who is she?”
Mr Hoàng stepped forward. “Her name is Liên.”
Kim Mới waited.
“And she’s the reason we’ve come.”
She looked at Liên again. There was no fear in her eyes. Only uncertainty.
After a moment, she stepped aside. “Please… come in.”
The house was exactly as Phong had described it. Simple. Immaculately clean. Near the entrance stood two small bicycles, one noticeably larger than the other. A brightly coloured school backpack rested on a wooden bench beneath the window. From somewhere deeper inside the house came the sound of children’s voices, followed by a burst of laughter that stopped almost as quickly as it had begun.
Juan felt an unexpected tightness in his chest. Phong had spoken about this house countless times. Not because it was special. Because it was home.
Kim Mới waited until everyone had entered before quietly closing the door.
“Please sit down.”
Nobody hurried to speak. She disappeared briefly into the kitchen. A minute later she returned carrying a tray with small porcelain cups and a steaming teapot. She placed it carefully on the table.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Mr Hoàng replied gently.
Kim Mới poured the tea without replying. Her movements were calm.
Practised. The movements of someone who had learned, over the past year, to keep going regardless of what the day might bring. Only after everyone had a cup in front of them did she finally sit down.
She looked once more towards Liên. “I’m afraid… I don’t remember meeting you.”
Liên lowered her eyes. “We’ve never met.”
Kim Mới gave a slight nod. “I thought not.”
There was a brief silence. Not an uncomfortable one. Simply the silence of two women whose lives had become connected long before either of them knew the other’s name.
Mr Hoàng spoke quietly. “Liên met Phong.”
Kim Mới’s hand stopped halfway towards her teacup. She looked at him without blinking. “When?”
Mr Hoàng answered carefully. “After he disappeared.”
For an instant, nothing in the room seemed to move. Not the steam rising from the tea. Not the ceiling fan. Not even the children, whose voices had faded somewhere towards the back of the house.
Kim Mới slowly turned to Liên. “You knew my husband?”
Liên gave a small nod. “Only for a few hours.”
Kim Mới continued looking at her. She wasn’t searching for hope. That had disappeared months ago. She was searching for truth. Whatever it might be.
Liên clasped her hands together. “We were taken together.”
Kim Mới frowned slightly. “Taken?”
Liên gave a small nod. “Across the Cambodian border.”
The words hung in the room. Kim Mới looked down at the untouched cup of tea before her. Then she raised her eyes again. This time they did not leave Liên’s face.
“Please… tell me everything you remember.”
Outside, a school bell rang faintly across the rice fields. Inside the little house in Châu Thành A, time seemed to stop.
Liên took a slow breath. “I don’t know where to begin.”
Juan spoke softly. “Begin with the first moment you saw him.”
Liên gave a small nod. “We were both prisoners. No one told us where we were. Or where we were being taken.”
Kim Mới listened without moving.
Liên continued. “We hardly spoke at first. Everyone was frightened. Everyone was watching everyone else.” She paused. “Phong was different.”
Russell lowered his eyes. “How?”
“He kept trying to reassure people. Even when he had no reason to believe things would improve.”
Liên returned the smile. “Yes. I think it does.” She looked down at her hands. “I didn’t know his name then. To me, he was simply the quiet man who kept telling people not to lose hope.”
No one interrupted.
“The journey lasted for hours. I’m not sure we crossed into Cambodia. I don’t know exactly where. I’d never been there before. There were many people. Some were separated. Others disappeared. I never saw them again.”
She hesitated. “Phong always tried to understand what was happening. He listened. He watched. He remembered.”
Juan exchanged a glance with Laurent. It was exactly the Phong they had known.
Liên continued. “Late that night, everything changed. The men guarding us began arguing. They were shouting. I couldn’t understand everything. But I remember one sentence.” Her voice became quieter. “‘The other side pays double.’”
Kim Mới frowned. “The other side?”
Liên gave a small nod. “I never knew who they meant. Only that they were arguing about money.” She looked down again. “People. Not money. They were arguing about people.”
Her voice dropped lower, almost inaudible, and tears welled in her eyes. “At that moment I still didn’t know what it meant… and later, sadly, I learned painfully to understand what it meant.”
Nobody spoke.
Liên closed her eyes for a moment. “I was terrified. So was everyone else.”
She opened them again. “Phong looked at me. I think he realised something.”
“What?” Kim Mới whispered.
“That we were about to be separated.”
The room remained perfectly still.
“He moved closer without attracting attention. It happened very quickly. He slipped the phone into my hand. I didn’t even understand why. He simply told me to keep it.”
Kim Mới looked at her. “The phone?”
Liên gave a small nod. “Yes.”
Mr Hoàng lowered his head. For a few moments, no one said anything.
Liên swallowed before continuing. “Then they came for me. They pulled me away. I tried to look back.” Her voice faltered. “It was the last time I saw Phong.”
Kim Mới slowly closed her eyes. She remained silent for several seconds. At last, she looked at Liên. “Thank you.”
Liên shook her head. “I wish I could have brought you better news.”
Kim Mới slowly wiped away a tear. “You brought me something I’ve been waiting a year to hear.”
Liên looked at her. “What?”
Kim Mới’s voice was quiet. “That he wasn’t alone.” She paused. “Until today, I didn’t know who had seen him last.”
Nobody spoke for a while. It was Kim Mới who finally broke the silence.
“What was he like?”
Liên looked surprised.
“Phong.” Kim Mới managed a smile. “I know what he was like here.” She glanced briefly at Laurent and the others. “I know what he was like with me.”
Her eyes returned to Liên. “But I’d like to know what he was like with someone who had never met him before.”
Liên reflected for a moment. “He was calm.”
Kim Mới smiled. “Yes.”
“And kind.”
“Yes.”
“But there was something else.” She searched for the right words. “He never stopped observing. Even when everyone else was frightened. He was always trying to understand what was happening.”
Liên continued. “He didn’t waste words.”
Laurent couldn’t help smiling. “That happened at the Mekong too.”
Liên looked around the room. “He spoke about his family. He mentioned his daughter’s fever and the medicines he needed to buy for her. He talked about repairing the roof of his father’s house.”
Kim Mới lowered her eyes. “He never mentioned us.”
Liên shook her head. “There wasn’t time. He barely spoke about himself.”
“What did he talk about?” Vincent asked.
Liên smiled. “Other people.”
The answer made everyone around the table smile.
“Someone was frightened; he tried to reassure them. Someone was ill; he tried to help. Someone was crying; he sat beside them.”
Liên hesitated. “There is something else.” Everyone looked at her. “I’ve thought about it many times.”
“What?” Juan asked.
“He never behaved like a man who had given up.”
The room became very still.
“He was looking for an opportunity.”
“An opportunity to escape?”
Liên slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps.” She looked directly at Kim Mới. “I remember thinking he behaved as though he had something waiting for him.”
Kim Mới’s eyes filled with tears. “He did.”
She didn’t need to explain. Everyone in the room knew what she meant.
After a few moments, she stood up. “Excuse me.” She walked quietly into the next room. No one tried to stop her. From where they were sitting, they could hear a cupboard opening. Then closing again.
A minute later she returned carrying a small photograph in a wooden frame. She held it for a moment before placing it carefully on the table. It showed Phong standing between Thọng Hiếu and little Khánh Băng. All three were laughing. The picture had been taken beside the Hậu River. Laurent recognised the promenade immediately.
Kim Mới looked at Liên. “This was taken three weeks before he disappeared.”
Liên picked up the photograph gently. She smiled through her tears. “Yes.”
Kim Mới looked at her. “That’s the man you met.”
Liên gave a small nod without hesitation. “Exactly the same man.”
As the conversation unfolded, Kim Mới allowed herself to believe that, somewhere beyond the fear, the violence and the unanswered questions, the last memories another person carried of Phong were of the same gentle husband and devoted father she had always known.
Kim Mới remained looking at the photograph for several moments before placing it gently back on the table.
Thọng Hiếu and Khánh Băng burst through the doorway almost at the same instant.
“Mẹ…”
They stopped abruptly. Only then did they notice the visitors. Thọng Hiếu, now old enough to understand that adults did not usually gather in such numbers without reason, instinctively moved closer to his mother. Khánh Băng hid behind her brother, clutching a small cloth doll.
Kim Mới rested a reassuring hand on each child’s shoulder. “It’s all right. They’re friends.”
The children looked cautiously around the room. Laurent smiled. “Hello, Thọng Hiếu.”
The boy recognised him after a moment. “You came to the restaurant.”
Laurent gave a small nod. “Many times.”
Khánh Băng peered timidly at Liên. She had never seen her before. Liên smiled warmly. “Hello.”
The little girl didn’t answer. Instead, she buried her face against Kim Mới’s side. No one found that surprising.
Mr Hoàng reached into the paper bag he had brought from Cần Thơ. “I think these belong to you.” He handed each child a small sweet bun.
Khánh Băng looked first at her mother. Only when Kim Mới gave a small nod did she accept it with both hands. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible.
The adults smiled. For a few moments, the atmosphere softened. The conversation about Cambodia seemed very far away.
Thọng Hiếu looked around the room. “Are you friends of my dad?”
The boy nodded thoughtfully. “My dad worked a lot.”
“He did,” Juan replied. “But he always talked about coming home.”
Kim Mới lowered her eyes. She knew that was true. Even on the busiest days, Phong had found time to telephone. Sometimes only for a minute. Sometimes while sitting on his motorbike before starting work. Never because he had nothing to do. Always because he wanted to hear the children’s voices.
Thọng Hiếu looked towards Liên. “Did you know my dad too?”
Every adult in the room instinctively turned towards her.
Liên answered with complete honesty. “I only knew him for a few hours.”
The boy seemed to think about that. “Was he kind to you?”
Liên smiled. “Very. He helped me when I was frightened.”
Thọng Hiếu gave a small nod, as though that confirmed something he had always known. “That’s what Dad was like.”
No one added anything. The simplicity of the child’s answer left no room for explanation.
After a few moments, Kim Mới looked at the children. “Why don’t you go and finish your homework?”
Thọng Hiếu gave a small nod. He took his sister gently by the hand. As they reached the doorway, Khánh Băng turned back. She looked at Liên. Then, in a small voice, she asked, “Will you come again?”
Liên felt her throat tighten. “If your mother doesn’t mind… I’d like that very much.”
Kim Mới looked at her. “You’ll always be welcome here.”
It was the first invitation she had offered that morning. And somehow, everyone understood that it meant far more than a simple visit. Kim Mới’s eyes filled with tears.