Chapter 6 - BRUISES THAT DO NOT HEAL
With Mrs. Lisa gone, the house grew quiet. The heavy, watchful silence that had hung over every room finally lifted. Yet Linda did not fully relax. She would still wake at night and reach out to ensure Mai was safe. She would glance toward the door uneasily whenever a footstep sounded outside. The fear had burrowed deep, and trust was not easily rebuilt.
Khai noticed. He held her more often. He spoke softly, reassuring her constantly. He hung strong locks on every door and window. He planted thorny bushes beneath the windows so no one could approach unseen. He turned their home into a fortress.
"She cannot hurt you anymore," he promised Linda one evening, sitting beside her on the bed as Mai slept between them. "She is gone. And if she ever returns... I will stand between her and this family for as long as I live."
Linda rested her head upon his shoulder. "I know you will. But... what if she finds a way? What if she tells lies to the neighbors? What if she tries to take Mai when you are not here?"
"Then we face it together," Khai said, kissing her forehead. "We will not run. We will not hide. We have done nothing wrong. And the truth will protect us better than any wall ever could."
But Mrs. Lisa did not intend to rely on truth. Within days, whispers began to spread through the village. Khai was cruel. Khai had cast his poor, elderly mother out into the rain over a worthless girl and a wicked wife. Linda was a witch who had bewitched their son. Mai was cursed. Wherever Mrs. Lisa went, she wept and told her version of events — carefully edited, twisted, polished until she appeared the only victim.
Neighbors began to watch them differently. Whispers followed Linda when she walked to the market. Shopkeepers lowered their voices when she approached. Mothers pulled their children away.
One afternoon, an elder of the village came to speak with Khai. He stood in the doorway, grave and concerned.
"Your mother is staying at the temple," the elder said. "She tells everyone that you have abandoned her. That your wife rules this house and commands you to disobey. The village is divided, Khai. People are talking."
May you like
Khai listened calmly. When the elder finished, he said: "You may ask anyone in this house. Ask what happened the day my wife nearly fell into the river. Ask why my daughter was taken from her crib. Ask why I chose my family over my mother. If my mother wishes to speak... she may speak the truth. Until then... I protect those who need me most. Let the neighbors talk. The truth will remain."
The elder studied him, nodded slowly, and departed. But the rumors did not vanish. They swirled like smoke, invisible yet choking. And Khai realized: the battle had changed. His mother no longer fought with her hands. She fought with words. And words could be far more dangerous.
