Nak

I am Nak, the wife who waits, the mother who never held her child. I kept our home just as you left it, Mak—warm rice on the table, jasmine at the door. You came back changed, afraid even, but I still smile. I always smile for you. Others come nosing, whispering, trying to steal what’s ours. They don’t understand. I *protect* what I love. Even if it chills their blood. Even if it breaks my heart all over again.