The Call That Broke the Silence

Time passed—minutes, perhaps. Maybe hours.

Grief had no clock.

Hima didn’t know how long she had knelt there, her body crumpled beneath the weight of everything. Her sobs had long since faded into silence, but their echo still lingered in the walls of the room like a ghost that wouldn’t leave.

When she finally raised her head, her eyes were red and swollen, her skin damp with tears. Her hands trembled as she wiped her cheeks, slow and deliberate, as though trying to erase the evidence of her own collapse. She drew in a breath—shallow, shaky—and it caught in her throat before stumbling out again in a quiet exhale.

Her gaze stayed fixed on Aunt Lú.

The old woman sat hunched on the small chair beside the bed, her posture stiff, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes shimmered with something too fragile to name. Pain, perhaps. Or fear. Or something caught between the two.

Hima’s lips moved, just barely. A soundless plea hovered in the air—fragile, desperate, like breath fogging against glass.

“Please…” The word came out cracked, splintered. “I need to speak to my brother.”

Aunt Lu’s expression shifted, her mouth softening as she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back her own tears. Her fingers twisted in her skirt as she leaned forward, voice low.

“Oh, child…” she whispered. “You know how the young master is. If he finds out you’ve contacted your family…”

She trailed off, the rest of the sentence curling away into the silence. The fear in her voice did not.

Her eyes met Hima’s—and what flickered there was something raw. A truth too painful to say aloud.

“He’ll punish you. And me too. And this time…” Aunt Lu’s voice trembled. “This time I won’t be able to protect you. If something happens to you… I couldn’t bear that weight.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Hima spoke. Her voice was soft—but steadier than before.

“I don’t care,” she said.

Her eyes didn’t leave Aunt Lu’s. “He’s not here.”

She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked, but it didn’t waver.

“Please, Aunt. My father’s in the hospital. My brother needs me. I’m all he has left.”

The tears returned then—rushing, unstoppable, scorching as they carved paths down her cheeks.

“I’m begging you, Auntie…”

And then silence—thick and suspended, like a held breath.

Aunt Lú looked down. Her shoulders shook. A war raged behind her eyes.

Then—slowly, hesitantly—her hand reached toward the phone. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, trembling. And then, with reverence, she began to dial.

Each number was pressed like a prayer.

When she handed the phone to Hima, it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then—

**Click.**

The hospital corridor was hushed, steeped in the sterile quiet of machines and grief.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting pale shadows across the tiled floor. Down the hallway, the heart monitor beeped steadily behind a curtain. But the man lying there—he made no sound.

Khem Ren sat hunched on a narrow bench, his fingers clasped tightly between his knees. His back ached, but the ache in his chest was worse. Across from him, their mother sat stiff and silent, her eyes glassy with shock. She hadn’t spoken in hours.

Khem rubbed a hand down his face. He had tried calling the villa’s landline earlier. It had connected. But it hadn’t been Hima on the other end.

It had been Aunt Lu. Her voice soft, careful.

> *“I’ll tell her,”* she’d said. *“But… I can’t promise she’ll come.”*

He hadn’t. Not really. Hope was something he'd buried years ago, alongside every unanswered letter, every birthday without a call.

Then—his phone buzzed.

He froze.

The number flashed on the screen. **That** number.

His heart stuttered.

No one else could call from there.

He fumbled to answer, his hand shaking. Pressed the phone to his ear.

“…Hello?”

There was a pause—long enough for his throat to tighten.

Then—

“Khem…?”

It was a whisper. A broken, breathless thing.

He stopped breathing.

“Hima?” His voice cracked. “Is it… really you?”

A sob came through the line.

“Yes. It’s me. It’s me… Hima.”

He blinked hard, trying to hold it together. The sound of her voice—it broke something in him.

“Where have you *been*?” His voice quivered. “You just left. You never wrote. You never called— I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

“No!” she cried. “I did. I wanted to—every day. But I wasn’t allowed. Mark, he—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Khem said quickly, though his voice wavered. “I know he’s awful. I always knew.”

His words came faster now—raw, breathless.

“I used to think if I waited long enough, you’d come back. I kept thinking, ‘She wouldn’t just leave forever. She’s my big sister. She promised.’”

“I didn’t want to break that promise,” she whispered. “I didn’t. But everything changed. I didn’t have a choice…”

His voice cracked, but this time it wasn’t anger—just hurt.

“…You could’ve tried harder,” he said. “But I get it. I do.”

A pause.

Then—softly:

“What happened, Khem?”

He swallowed hard.

“Dad collapsed. It was all so fast. The doctors said... it was a massive heart attack. He's still alive. But just barely.”