This composed scenery accompanied me through Pursat province, a bittersweet backdrop to my solemn destination—to honor my father on the 11th anniversary of his passing.
A sense of unease lingered within me, my fingers brushing against the fresh wound etched across my face—a stark reminder of the fight with my superior.
I could only hope that my mother, sister, and brother wouldn't make too much of this small, unfortunate issue. Yet, deep down, I couldn't shake the fear of their worried looks or probing questions.
After a journey spanning four or five long hours, I finally reached my house in town. It stood as a quiet sentinel, a two-story stone structure built in 1990, its sturdy walls bearing the weight of time.
The grounds around it were alive with ancient trees and vibrant blooms, their presence lending the place an almost ethereal charm.
But as I looked around, the stillness unsettled me. Not a soul in sight. Where was my mother? My sister? My brothers? The silence pressed in, heavy and unfamiliar.
I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching softly beneath my feet. Just then, the door of the house creaked open, and there she was—my mother.
She carried a black bag in one hand, her gait purposeful as she made her way toward the gazebo beneath the sprawling mango tree. But then she saw me.
Her stride faltered. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Dy!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of astonishment and delight.
"When did you arrive?"
The screen door creaked open, and there they were—my stepfather pushing Grandma in her wheelchair. The sun glinted off her silver hair, and for a moment, her warm smile was all I noticed.
"I just got here, Grandma," I said, stepping forward with a nervous grin. I raised a hand in greeting, but before I could say much more, I noticed both her and my stepfather stiffen.
Their eyes darted to my face, their initial smiles faltering.
"What on earth happened to you?" Grandma asked, her voice tinged with concern.
"Mom!" My mother's voice sliced through the moment as she hurried out of the house, her expression somewhere between worry and disbelief. She stopped in her tracks, staring at me as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
"Your face... What happened?"
I rubbed the back of my neck, fumbling for an explanation.
"I… I had an accident," I said quietly.
Their reactions came all at once: Grandma gasped, my stepfather straightened his stance as if bracing himself for bad news, and Mom? Mom's shock turned into a kind of frantic interrogation.
"An accident?" she repeated, her voice rising.
"Why didn't you tell us? What kind of accident?"
"It's nothing serious, really. Just a small thing," I said, waving it off as casually as I could.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What actually happened?"
"I… I—"
"You got into another fight, didn't you, Dy?" Her voice cut through the tension, sharp with suspicion, as she interrupted the silence.
I couldn't deny it, and the weight of my silence only deepened the sadness in the room.
"Enough, stop it," Grandma interjected, trying to smooth over the moment with a light chuckle.
"Dy, I've been waiting for you. Maybe one day you'll surprise me and bring a girl to meet us, hmm?"
Her attempt to shift the mood failed to sway my mother.
"A girl? Ha! No girl would dare date him. He's a thug," my mom snapped, her tone biting and relentless.
Grandma turned her attention back to me, her voice soft and filled with concern.
"You were fighting again, weren't you, Dy? Who was it with this time, my dear grandson?"
Before I could utter a word, my mother cut in, her aggression sharp enough to slice through my grandmother's gentle question.
"Your grandson," My mom sneered, her voice dripping with disdain, "doesn't know how to behave, does he? How old is he now? Still stuck in that mess? Such a shame to the family. And his father's death—it's because of him, isn't it? He hasn't even acknowledged that."
"Why bring that up again?" Grandma cut in, her voice firm yet protective as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "It's been years."
My stepdad shifted uncomfortably to the side, avoiding the rising tension.
"If he hadn't fought with his classmates," Channy continued, relentlessly, "the police wouldn't have detained him. And he almost went to prison for drugs. What a disgrace."
"You love digging up old wounds, don't you, Channy?" Grandma snapped, anger bubbling to the surface. "For the record, he didn't use drugs. He was framed by people I thought were his friends."
Mom, standing off to the side, dismissed Grandma's silent plea for calm and turned her sharp gaze to me.
"You're always fighting, always causing trouble. I swear, you've got a knack for dragging this family down. And now, you have the nerve to face your father at the ceremony tomorrow?"
"Mom, please," I begged, my voice breaking under the weight of her words.
"It's just a small ceremony," Grandma said, her voice soft yet steady, as if trying to soothe the tension lingering in the air. "Not many relatives will attend, Channy. That's alright. Take it easy, dear. Dy is grown now. He got into a fight, but you didn't even ask her why."
Her words, though gentle, carried weight, meant to calm the storm brewing in Mom's eyes.
"He enjoys doing things like this," Mom snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. "There's no point in asking for a reason. He's useless."
The words stung. They always did. I stood there, stunned into silence, while Grandma's gaze flicked between us, her brows furrowed in concern.
"Still holding a grudge against your own child," Grandma murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "I feel sorry for you."
Mom barely acknowledged her, brushing the comment aside like a gnat. Turning her gaze to me, she sighed, her tone heavy with resignation.
"You don't need to come," she said, avoiding my eyes. "Just go wherever you want. I can't face anyone like this. I feel... ashamed."
"Mom—" I began, but she cut me off.
"If you can't stop fighting, don't bother showing your face to your father."
Her words left no room for argument, but still, I tried.
"...Mom…"
She returned to her duties alongside my stepfather, taking my grandmother to the hospital for a routine check-up.
"Grandma will be back soon, my Dy," she said gently before leaving. "Stay home. Your brother and sister will be back shortly."
"Yes, Granny," I replied, my voice soft. "I'll miss you."
She smiled, her eyes warm.
"I'll miss you too."
Left to my own thoughts, I wandered to the wooden chair beneath the old tree in our yard. The shade was a welcome retreat as I waited, letting time drift lazily by. Not long after, the sound of a car door opening caught my attention.
From a distance, I saw my little sister step out, her face lighting up the moment she spotted me. She waved excitedly, her energy contagious. Behind her, a small figure emerged—a boy of no more than six, with a cheeky grin and wide, curious eyes. It was Seth, my stepbrother, his presence as endearing as always.
The car door swung open, and out stepped my younger brother, Daravuth, his stride purposeful as he followed after our sister and the little boy.
"Big brother!" Daneth's voice carried an unmistakable note of surprise as she turned to face me. Her wide eyes quickly narrowed with curiosity. "When did you get here? And—what's that on your face?"
Continued...