At nineteen, Daneth had a sharpness to her that hinted at her dreams of becoming a detective, much like our father before her. He'd been a police officer, and I could see traces of his determination in her.
"Oh, this?" I hesitated, brushing a hand over my cheek as though to dismiss her question. "Just… an accident," I muttered, hoping to change the subject. But Daneth wasn't one to let things slide.
Before she could press further, Daravuth joined in, his voice calm but direct.
"Did you see Mom when you got here?"
At twenty-four, my brother had already carved a path for himself, working in video production after graduating in media and communications. He had an air of quiet confidence that matched his thoughtful nature.
I nodded my head, fumbling for a distraction.
"Umm, yes—Seth! Come here, sweetheart," I called out, smiling as my little brother toddled over, clutching a small toy car in his tiny hands. He placed it in mine, his eyes lighting up as I pulled him into a warm hug.
"Who got this for you?" I asked, gently inspecting the toy.
"My sister Daneth did," he replied proudly, his voice full of innocence. Then, tilting his head up at me, he asked, "Did you buy me anything?"
A pang of guilt hit me.
"Oh... I forgot," I admitted, wincing at the look that flashed across his face.
"You don't love me," he declared, his lower lip trembling.
"Of course I love you!" I protested, cradling his small shoulders. "I just forgot this time."
From across the campus, my sister's voice cut through the moment like a mischievous blade.
"He forgot because he was too busy loving someone else, Seth," she teased, her laughter bubbling over. "Wake up, little man."
Seth glanced at her, unsure whether to laugh or pout. Meanwhile, Dara leaned in, eager to twist the knife.
"Did mom find out about this? She must've given you an earful, huh?" he asked, his chuckles spilling over as Seth turned to me for answers.
I nodded slowly, their expressions heavy with sorrow, as though they carried my burden alongside me.
"Don't tell me you got into a fight over a girl?" Dara chimed in, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
"Come on, man! Don't make me mad—I'm not in the mood for this," I shot back, trying to sound convincing. But Dara only chuckled, unfazed by my feigned frustration.
"It's true, isn't it?" he teased, his voice slipping into an exaggerated, mock-serious tone.
"Was it at the club?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, you idiot!" My sister gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with incredulity.
The atmosphare felt heavier and lighter all at once—a strange mix of tension and absurdity that only family could conjure.
I rose to my feet, interrupting their idle chatter with a glare sharp enough to cut through the room.
"Enough of this nonsense," I snapped, my voice firm and unwavering.
"We have work to do. Don't let those three come back from the hospital to find everything still unfinished." My words hung in the air, heavy with urgency.
They exchanged amused glances but, to my relief, followed without question.
A thought crossed my mind then, a secret I had buried deep, one I would carry to my grave. What would they say if they knew? If they knew that I'd clashed with my boss over a finance supervisor I barely knew, someone whose feelings for me I could never be sure of—someone whose love, if she even felt it, might never be returned. But that was a story for another time, a story that would remain locked within me, a secret too dangerous to ever see the light of day. It would die with me, just as it should.
We spent this noon arranging the items we'd bought from the market, placing them carefully in their spots for tomorrow's ceremony. As we worked, Daneth spoke, his tone casual but with a hint of anticipation.
"This afternoon, some of my dad's relatives will be coming to help with the preparations. We just have to wait and lend a hand when they get here."
I sighed and glanced toward the door.
"Mom won't let me face anybody," I muttered, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice.
Daneth and Dara stopped what they were doing, both of them surprised by my words.
"What?" Dara exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Daneth groaned.
"Mom can be a lot sometimes."
I nodded in agreement.
"She's too much."
Dara, ever the mediator, offered her theory.
"Maybe she's angry at you. You haven't visited us in the city in ages," he suggested gently. Daneth thought for a moment before nodding in reluctant agreement.
"I… think so," she murmured.
"Well," Dara sighed, looking thoughtful, "it's okay. She's probably just throwing a tantrum. She's been really worried about grandma's health lately." His words were soft, as if trying to ease the tension that lingered in the living room.
"And next month, we'll have to take her for a checkup, maybe abroad" Daneth said, her voice laced with concern.
"That's why we're thinking of preparing Dad's ceremony now, just in case Grandma needs surgery."
I nodded, glancing at him.
"Yes, mom mentioned it to me as well."
After that, we all fell into the familiar rhythm of preparing lunch together. There was a warmth to the moment, the joy of being reunited, a feeling that never seemed to fade, no matter how many times it happened.
Yet, beneath it all, I could sense my mother's unwavering belief in the version of me she had always known—a version that was unchanging, steadfast, and locked in time.
I can't bring myself to blame her, not truly. I understand the weight of her sorrow, the unbearable loneliness that followed when my father was taken from us. She had to carry it all—keeping the family together, raising the three of us, all while maintaining her job as a secondary school teacher.
And all the while, there was the stain of shame, the weight of being seen as a mother of a troublesome son.
I've apologized so many times—more than a thousand, countless apologies—and still, I know they can't undo the pain she endured. Yet, there is one thing I can't seem to accept: her unrelenting blame for my father's death.
I know, deep down, she believes I was the cause. And perhaps, in some twisted way, I was. But it has been so many years now. How can I change her mind? How can I undo what's been said and done? The thought gnaws at me, pulling me into an abyss of regret, of suffering that I can never escape.
As the ceremony unfolded, I lingered at the back, a quiet presence, honoring my mother's wish not to show the world the weight of my pain. I kept my composure, ensuring my relatives saw nothing but the mask I wore.
Kneeling before my father's photograph, I whispered apologies over and over, each one a desperate plea for forgiveness. My tears fell freely, unbidden, as my brother's teasing voice echoed behind me.
Despite the jets, we both fell into a heavy silence, an understanding passing between us without words.
The day stretched on, and we spent another evening with family, the rituals of togetherness a fragile veil over the tension that simmered beneath the surface.
Continued...