The next morning, I woke up before dawn.

Numbly, I rolled out of bed and tiptoed over the slumbering bodies of my surrogate family. At least they looked peaceful in their sleep. Like they didn’t have a care in the world.

I sighed, pushing through the beaded doorway, knowing I would go insane if I had to breathe in the stale air of the cottage any longer.

Outside, the village was just starting to come to life. Fishermen were headed toward their boats. Market vendors were setting up shops. Some women were already sweeping their front porches, as kids gathered buckets full of water for morning baths, cooking, and other tasks.

I felt useless among the crowd. I had been here for months, writing small articles on the locals’ quality of life, but I had yet to get anything published, nor had I been able to get to the root of more pressing military affairs.

Maybe I was wasting my time here…

But at the back of my mind, something kept nagging at me. I was supposed to be here. For whatever reason, I felt an obligation to this cause. And now, Kirk had popped up out of nowhere. This couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?

“Xin chào!”

I looked up at the greeting. It was one of the nurses from last night. I had nearly forgotten about the injured woman Kirk had brought over to the medical tent. What had caused her injuries? How had she ended up in Kirk’s care? A million and one questions buzzed around my head. Could it be that Kirk was one of those infamous American soldiers who abused local women?

The thought made me sick to my stomach. No. Kirk would never do that. He was an asshole, sure, but he wasn’t a rapist.

Still, I felt like I should ask… just to make sure.

I asked the nurse for permission to go inside and see the woman.

She nodded, pushing the tent flap aside for me.

A few nurses were fixing up the vacant beds and fluffing up the pillows. When they saw me, they bowed their heads in respect before returning to their jobs.

Carefully, I walked over to the woman.

“Xin chào,” I whispered softly once I was by her side.

Her eyes remained closed even as I waited for her to respond. Maybe she was asleep.

I was just about to leave when she grabbed my wrist, her long, thin fingers holding on to me tightly. “You’re the American girl living with Chau, aren’t you?”

My eyes widened, somewhat astonished by her near-perfect English. For someone to speak this well, she would have needed some sort of higher education, but all this town offered was a one-room school that taught up to the fourth grade.

“You’re surprised,” she commented, slowly sitting up. There was a pained look on her face, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Careful! Don’t strain yourself.” I eased her back down onto the cot, smoothing her long, luscious locks in a soothing manner. “You need to rest. I just came here to check on how you were doing.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring at the tent’s ceiling. “I am not quite sure myself, miss.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every few months, I end up back in this tent. The nurses recognize me from a mile away.”

I replayed the memory in my mind. Guiltily, all I could really remember was seeing Kirk’s body cloaked in shadows, looking like a ghost from my past that had come back to haunt me. How I had felt like I was suffocating in his presence, overwhelmed with the suddenness of his appearance. But when I managed to ignore him, I could distinctly remember one of the nurses calling out her name.

“One of the nurses called you Trang. Is that your name?”

“It is.”

The conversation died down for a moment, making the air around us thick and unbreathable. Before things could get any worse, the head nurse walked up to Trang, evaluating her wounds and changing some of her bandages. Once done, she helped the girl into a nearby chair, which she instantly sunk into.

“Comfortable?” I asked.

She nodded, a gentle smile on her face. “I’m not used to lying down. I’ve slept in chairs most of my life.”

“Why?” I tilted my head in question, finding the practice rather odd.

She shrugged. “Just a habit. When I was younger, I didn’t have the luxury of a bed, and I didn’t like sleeping on the floor, so most times, I just slept in a chair.”

I looked at her. So she was too poor to afford a bed, and yet, her family had to have enough money to educate her.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I’m a journalist, and I’ve been writing articles about life here in the countryside. I’ve noticed that not a lot of the natives learn English. I was just wondering how you managed to learn it so proficiently. Is there a school in a nearby town you attended? Or did you pick it up from the American soldiers?” I couldn’t help but bombard her with questions, my fingers itching to write it all down even though I didn’t have my notepad with me.

As I studied her face and body language, I noticed her eyes growing dull. The corners of her lips sagged downward as her shoulder slumped, making her slouch in her chair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re only doing your job.” She wet her lips as if she was preparing herself for a lengthy speech. “When I was younger, my father sent me off to get educated. He thought that by doing so, I would be able to get a good job with the government and help bring the family out of poverty.” She paused, taking a deep breath that made her chest heave.

I reached over, laying my hand on hers in an encouraging manner. “You don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable. I was just curious. I only came in here to see if you were okay.”

She leaned forward, her eyes peering into mine. “I want to. I need to tell someone. You can write about it and show people the truth. It might help to stop the horror that goes unnoticed every single day.” Her words were fueled by a deep, sincere passion.

I was on the edge of my seat, feeding off her every word. This was exactly what I needed. The story that would finally get the media’s attention and open everyone’s eyes to what was really happening in Vietnam.

“So, I was sent to get an education. My father sat me down in the back of a large truck, telling me that it would bring me to school. In a way, it did, but at the same time, it brought me right to the Gorillas. For years, I served as their slave. At first, I simply did their bidding, but soon, I was learning English from the American prisoners, and once I spoke English well enough, I became vital for their missions. I became their primary translator.”

Her story was both heartbreaking and unnerving. If she was working for the Gorillas, an organization that despised Americans, was I safe in her presence? What if she was only telling me all of this so she could lure me into a trap? Despite the risk, the journalist inside me wanted to know more.

I was just about to question her further when someone barged into the tent.