For the first time in her life, Nuong had her own bedroom. Not a bunk bed in a crowded dorm, not a mattress on a concrete floor, but a room—soft-lit and quiet, filled with the scent of fresh linens and… lavender?
She blinked as she stared at the small diffuser on the side table. There were even plush slippers by the door. And on the dresser, a photo frame that looked like it had just been bought still had the tag on it.
He's trying, she thought, her chest tightening.
Downstairs, in the clean and modern apartment, Jackson Wang was setting the table. He fumbled with the rice cooker, opening the lid way too early and cursing under his breath when the steam fogged up his glasses.
"Doctor Jackson?" Nuong called softly from the stairs.
He turned around with a sheepish grin. "Ah! Just in time. You like… slightly undercooked rice?"
She giggled. "You don't cook much, do you?"
"I'm a genius in the operating room," he said, puffing his chest. "But the kitchen is still my mortal enemy."
She took the chopsticks from him gently. "Let me help."
They moved around each other in the kitchen, slowly, carefully. She handed him bowls, he poured soup. The silence wasn't awkward—it was warm, laced with newness.
Finally, they sat down across from each other. Jackson looked at her with a mock-serious expression.
"Nuong," he said gravely.
"Yes?"
"You may not know this," he said, leaning in, "but now that I'm your dad, I am legally obligated to embarrass you with dad jokes."
She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't sign up for that. Is that in the constitution or something?"
"It's ancient law. Very serious. For example—why didn't the fish run away when the fisherman went away?"
"…What? Maybe because it's dump!"
"Nope. It doesn't have legs!".
She snorted.
"Oh, I see."
He leaned back proudly. "That's one point for me."
"Please, I will defeat you next time," she said, laughing and shaking her head. "I didn't know my father was such a smart, sarcastic man. I wonder what's next!"
Jackson's smile softened as he looked at her. "It's going to be family."
"Doctor, how many languages do you speak?"
"I never count! As long as you can understand me, and we can understand each other. Do you want me to teach you some Chinese?"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I know a lot of Chinese, I was born there."
"Can you tell me a poem?"
"Err, um, I'm good at math and science. I can tell you about the equation and chemical lessons."
"Oh, no. I'm bad at math. Hahaha" ….
The words landed like a debate between two of them, and the atmosphere is no quieter as before. Now, there are two people in this house and a housekeeper how come to work at day time. Jackson, that always quiet and alone, now become a father again. And this time, he would never let anything happen to his family again.
Later that night, as Nuong settled into bed, she looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "I have a father." A tear slipped down her cheek—but it wasn't from sadness. For once, it was because she felt safe. She felt home. She doesn't have to live in fear again.
Down the hall, Jackson stood at his office window, watching at the night sky. He touched a photo in his pocket—one of his wife and daughter, worn and faded. He whispered their names.
"I couldn't save you… but maybe I can protect her."
And in that quiet apartment in the city, something small but powerful was born—not through blood, but through choice.
A family.