The front gate of Royal Lotus Hospital was crowded with reporters, flashing cameras, and shouting citizens. Police officers stood guard, keeping the mob at bay. Behind the building, a black van was already waiting—its engine running, humming low like the breath before a storm.
Inside the director's office, Jackson Wang stood quietly, arms behind his back, his white coat folded neatly on the table.
Across from him, a high-ranking official sat stiffly, avoiding eye contact.
"I'm sorry, Doctor Wang," the man finally said, voice cold with formality. "We received a directive from the Ministry. It's out of our hands."
"I understand," Jackson replied, voice calm. Too calm.
"You're no longer permitted to practice medicine in Cambodia. And due to the…uncertainty of your background and public pressure, the government has decided it is best for you to leave the country."
Jackson didn't blink. "I thought saving lives would be enough to earn trust."
The man looked away. "It's not just about medicine anymore."
Jackson gave a short breath. "Right."
Outside, the crowd was getting louder. People waved signs. "Send the Killer Home.""No Secrets in Our Hospitals!"
The news spread like wildfire.
"Foreign Doctor Under Fire!"
"Hidden Past Exposed?"
"Citizens Demand Deportation!"
In just one day, Jackson Wang went from being a respected surgeon to a national scandal. Whispers of his unknown Chinese background, unverified credentials, and connections to secretive research had stirred a wave of fear. It didn't matter that none of it had been proven—the public wanted him gone, and the government agreed.
That Evening – Jackson's House
The front gate clicked open with a tired sigh as Jackson walked into his quiet home. The warm glow of the lights didn't soften the weight in his chest.
Only one cleaner was there—silent, reserved, and loyal. She watched him come in, already sensing something was wrong.
"You're home early, Dr. Wang."
Jackson gave a weak nod. "I won't be staying long. I've been ordered to leave Cambodia… effective tomorrow."
She gasped softly. "But… why?"
He didn't answer. There was nothing left to explain.
"I'll let you pack," she said, stepping away.
He walked to Nuong's room. She was still resting, curled beneath a light blanket. Her breathing was calm, unaware that her world would shift the moment she woke up.
Jackson stood beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Nuong," he whispered. "They don't want me here. And you're no longer safe beside me."
He stepped back. His chest was tight. His eyes stung, but he wouldn't cry—not yet.
In his room, he packed in silence. Each folded shirt, each carefully placed book was a goodbye. He paused only once—to hold the photo of him and Nuong from the orphanage kitchen, both smiling despite the smoke from a burnt pancake.
He tucked it into his bag and zipped it shut.
Before leaving the room, he took the delicate water-drop necklace from his pocket—the one she always loved—and gently placed it into her hand as she slept.
The cleaner stood silently at the door. "Safe travels, Dr. Wang…"
Jackson nodded, unable to speak.
He took one last look at the house that had been his quiet haven, and at the girl he called daughter, now sleeping through his farewell.
He whispered under his breath, "Live well, Nuong. Stay far from the shadows I left behind."
Phnom Penh International Airport
Protesters hadn't come, but their pressure had already done its work. His name was on every news site, his past questioned by strangers who never knew him. The government had no choice. The order was sealed.
Jackson moved quietly through the terminal, expression unreadable.
As the plane lifted from Cambodian soil, the doctor vanished—exiled not by guilt, but by fear of the truth behind his name.
And back home, Nuong would wake to an empty house… and the silence of goodbye.
"The Silence He Left Behind"
The morning light crept softly into the bedroom, casting golden lines across the walls. A bird chirped outside the window. It was peaceful.
Nuong stirred awake slowly, blinking at the quiet. Something felt… off.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and called softly,
"Papa…?"
No response.
She slipped out of bed and stepped into the hallway barefoot. Usually, Jackson would already be up—reading, cooking, or pacing while talking to himself about medical theories. But today, the air was still.
She wandered into the kitchen. Empty.
Then the living room. Still quiet.
On the coffee table sat a folded letter with her name on it, written in Jackson's handwriting. Beside it… her necklace—the one shaped like a drop of water, the one he always said had a story.
Her fingers trembled as she picked them up.
She unfolded the letter.
"To my dearest Nuong,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Not by choice—but because the world doesn't understand me, and I can't let you suffer because of who I am.
You've been my greatest joy in this second life, Nuong. Watching you grow, hearing your laugh, teasing you with bad jokes—I will carry those memories with me wherever I go.
I never wanted to leave. But staying would only bring you danger.
This necklace is yours—it's more than just a trinket. It's part of a promise I made… that no matter where I am, I will protect you if I can.
Be brave. Be kind. Be stronger than I was.
And one day, if fate allows… we'll meet again.
With all my love,
Jackson Wang
Your silly old man."
Her hands trembled. Her vision blurred.
The necklace dropped into her palm with a soft chime.
"Papa…" Her voice cracked.
She sank onto the couch, hugging the letter to her chest, unable to stop the tears from falling. The silence of the house wrapped around her like a blanket—heavy and cold.
He was gone.
No goodbye. No last hug.
Just this letter… and the memory of a man who loved her enough to walk away.