"He was,... Uncle Chek!" Long's voice broke the silence, in the early morning. He lay in the sterile hospital room, his body battered, a bandage wrapped tightly around his stomach. His face was ghostly pale, an IV line snaking into his arm.
Only Visal and Mr. Vann stood nearby, the room heavy with the weight of his words.
Visal and Mr. Vann froze, stunned. Visal's voice trembled. "How do you know that?"
Long's eyes fluttered shut, his sadness palpable, as if he were trying to grasp the reality of what he was about to say. After a long pause, he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"He drove Kong Saroath home after she met with the lady—Mr. Heng's daughter. The house was empty, no one was there. Ta Chek... he took his chance. Tried to... to hurt her. Rape her!"
A stunned silence filled the room. The officers exchanged looks of disbelief. Visal's voice was firm but compassionate.
"Long, you need to tell us the truth. No pressure. You can trust us."
Tears welled up in Long's eyes, his body shaking with the weight of the confession. "I swear... it's the truth," he sobbed.
Mr. Vann gathered the team, his voice sharp with urgency. "We need a detente warrant for Mr. Chek," he said, pausing for effect. "But his real name is... Doung Khem."
"So, you were there? Why did you go there?" Visal pressed, his tone steady but filled with an edge of urgency.
Long shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his gaze dropping to the IV in his arm, as if the answer might lie in the sterile white of the hospital room. His voice wavered as he spoke, the truth choking
"I was at the garage," Long explained, his voice wavering. "But Brother Rith asked me to pick up something at his parents' house, so I went there."
Visal's gaze sharpened. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes," Long answered quickly, his eyes avoiding Visal's, fear creeping into his voice.
—
Visal and Mr. Vann emerged from the room where Long's wife and young son anxiously waited.
"I still doubt if Long's lying," Visal said, his voice firm.
Mr. Vann was taken aback. "How can you think so?"
Visal's gaze sharpened. "I have another suspect."
Mr. Vann frowned, "and we still need to summon Ta Chek for questioning."
Visal nodded. "Yes, and I need you to get a warrant for him too, Mr. Rith."
"Ok," Mr. Vann replied curtly.
"I told you yesterday, but you—" Visal began, but then trailed off, choosing instead to keep walking, the rest of his sentence lost in the air.
Sokhom's voice echoed in Visal's mind:
"I can't be sure who that person was… they were covered from head to toe in fabric, face masked, gloved, and wearing sandals. She's been killed, not a suicide. I can't say for certain who it was, but it was either her own brother or Ta Chek. I'm sorry, I can't recognize which."
Visal remembered Nida's comforting words to Sokhom:
"No, aunty. Your statement means a lot to us. We'll find justice for Aunt Saroath soon."
***
Dara sat in the passenger seat, absorbed in his phone as Sethya navigated the winding road to the province.
"Yes, Uncle, I'm on my way to the province with my friend. Where are you?" Dara's voice was calm, yet tinged with curiosity.
On the other end, Rith's voice crackled through the speaker. "Oh, Dara, I'm not at home. I'm with my wife; we're headed to the hospital. She's not feeling well."
Dara's brow furrowed. "Which hospital, Uncle? I can visit her when I return to the city."
A pause lingered before Rith replied, his voice edged with concern. "Actually, we're traveling to the border—heading to an out-of-country hospital."
Dara's heart skipped a beat. "Is she seriously ill?"
"Yes," Rith sighed, "I should've told you earlier. I've been in Battambong since yesterday, staying at your elder uncle's house, Sothy."
Dara nodded slowly, processing the news. "I understand. I'll see you when you're back. Take care of her."
"Yes, yes. I will. Thank you."
As soon as the call ended, Dara quickly sent a message to Visal. Sethya, noticing the urgency, glanced over but received no answer when he asked.
"What now?" Sethya inquired, his focus still on the road.
Dara's fingers flew over the screen as she typed: "My uncle seems to be trying to cross the border!"
Moments later, Visal's reply pinged: "Thank you, Dara."
***
Monica sat quietly in her office chair, staring at the report displayed on her locked book—really a hidden tablet—her mind racing but her expression unreadable.
On the tablet, Visal's last text read: "We're going to detain both Kong Sarith and Doung Khem now. We have evidence on both suspects."
Monica anxiously bit her nail, her body trembling with a wave of discomfort she couldn't control. The sharp pain intensified, and before she could steady herself, she rushed to the bathroom.
Her stomach heaving violently, and with no time to brace herself, she vomited into the bathroom sink, her body wracked with tremors.
The last conversation she had with Saroath in her car replayed in her mind.
"I need money as soon as possible, Monica. Only you can help me now. I can't keep living like this after Dara's video," Saroath had pleaded, desperation thick in his voice.
"You need $50,000 urgently, but I can't get it together on short notice. I'll need at least two weeks," Monica, her sunglasses concealing any hint of emotion, adjusted the loose strands of her half-up, half-down hair and responded, striving to keep her composure and trying to stay calm.
"Are you really that rich and still can't help, or are you afraid I won't pay you back?" she had snapped.
"Stop talking like that if you want my help! Quit acting impulsively and throwing around hurtful words. You've got anger issues—maybe you need meditation or therapy," Monica said, her tone a mix of anger and calm.
"Sorry, but I have a house in the city, plus my garage and land here. No need to worry," Saroath replied, trying to reassure her.
"I saw the garage being built, and I already knew about the house in the city. Keep it for your son. Honestly, you should go live with him—being here alone will only make you feel more lonely and sad. When you visit your homeland, you'll still have a place. Don't be quick to sell it."
"Yeah, you're right," she murmured.
"Good. Now give me some time, and stop acting like you're in a chick flick. Stop speaking without thinking, making accusations—it's dangerous."
"I thought you leaked my son's video," Saroath said, shame creeping into her voice.
"But I think I need to delete some of our conversations too. I'm afraid they could turn against us someday," she added.
Without another word, Saroath pulled her phone from her bag and began deleting messages with Monica, selecting them at random.
Monica rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. "It's fine."
"Since Dara's video leaked, I just can't trust social media anymore."
"Alright. From now on, focus on raising Dara and take some time abroad, traveling. I'll have Neat, my finance manager, set aside a small budget for you. You still have some money saved, right?" Monica offered.
"Yes, but I used some to buy insurance," Saroath replied, halting her phone work.
"Which company?" Monica asked.
"LKS," Saroath replied.
"Ah, good. I know someone there."
"Dalin told me before, if I wanted to buy insurance, I should go through them," Saroath added.
"Okay, she's nice, but sometimes she can be rude," Monica said with a shrug. "Thorough and determined, though. She's strong and wise, and she taught us not to be jealous or petty. If you want to own something, she says, you need to know how to care for it, fix it, and help it grow."
Saroath chuckled softly. "Yes, and she's a professional who helps your dad so much. That's why he married her, not me. I'm just… dramatic and clumsy."
"Ok. No need to bring that up anymore," Monica said quickly.
"Yes. It's all in the past."
There was a brief pause before Monica added, "So, is there something more you want to talk to me about?"
"Just let me know when the money is ready."
"Of course."
"And, by the way, Dara and that guy broke up. Please ask your dad to forgive him."
Monica hesitated, her expression uncertain.
"I'm afraid I can't do that—for him or for you," Monica said firmly, her gaze steady. "It's your responsibility, or his."
"What do you mean?" Saroath asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Monica sighed, her voice softening. "If I ask Dad to forgive him, do you really think Dara will change his mind? His choices are personal, Saroath. I can't force him, and neither can you. Or are you asking Dad to forgive him just to make him stop loving that man—or anyone else like him?"
Saroath's jaw tightened. "Then I'll tell Dara to end his relationships with any man. No more."
Monica shook her head slowly, pity in her eyes. "Then you'll lose him completely, unless he chooses to change his heart."
"At least I'll try," Saroath said, determination hardening his voice.
Monica exhaled a resigned sigh. "Alright. Let's go home. Are you heading into the city today? You can come with me now if you want."
"No, thanks," she replied, shaking his head. "I'll leave tomorrow morning. I still have some things to discuss with my brother."
"Okay!" Monica said with a smile.
Saroath opened the car door, ready to leave.
"I can drive you home," Monica offered.
"That's okay. I need to stop by the market first," Saroath replied, glancing back at her. "You really shouldn't have come all this way alone."
"Oh... okay," she murmured, slightly taken aback.
Saroath gave her a teasing grin. "Don't forget—when you send me the money, let me know, beautiful lady."
Monica just chuckled.
"Call me if you get lost, Monica," her aunt said with a gentle smile.
"Yes, Aunty!" Monica replied cheerfully
"Safe drive, nice girl"
Monica froze, words escaping her. She watched him walk away before finally starting her car and driving off in silence.
—
In the office bathroom, Monica sat on the closed toilet lid, her heart heavy with sadness and nostalgia. Memories of the late Kong Saroath flooded her mind, stirring emotions she had tried so hard to bury.
***