I tried talking to Auntie Duyên, but she didn’t tell me anything new. She kept saying that my mother needed time, and that she’d get better soon.

On April 30, 1975, news of the Northern Army taking over Sài Gòn came, bringing torrents of people out of their homes. The Resistance War against America had truly ended. Vi?t Nam was now united. The North and the South had again become the body of one nation. People were singing, dancing, twirling our flag in their hands. The red flag, centered by a yellow star, soared like flames along each street, each road, each winding lane. Speeches and songs blared from public speakers, praising the heroism of the North Vietnamese Army, applauding our people for defeating the Americans and their Southern regime.

Looking back, I wish I had understood more fully the significance of this day. It marked the end of a bloodbath that flooded our country for nearly twenty years, drowning more than three million people, leaving millions of others injured, traumatized, and displaced. Once, I read an article about the bombs that had been dropped during our war and the number stunned me: seven million tons.

Yet on the day the war ended, Grandma and I didn’t celebrate. For us, peace would only arrive when all our loved ones had returned home. Our house was the only one in the neighborhood without the red flag unfurling above its front door. Grandma knelt in front of our family altar, the wooden stick in her hand knocking rhythmically against her prayer bell. I was next to her, my eyes closed, my hands in front of my chest. I prayed for my father, Uncle ??t, and Uncle Sáng to come home, and that they wouldn’t bring any ghosts of war back with them.

WHILE GRANDMA URGED me to go to school, she stayed home during the next days. She spent money lavishly, preparing different types of food, ready for a big welcome home party.

Exactly one week after Unification Day, I got up early and prayed with Grandma. While she prepared breakfast—another sumptuous meal, just in case—I carried a pair of empty tin pails out of the door. I greeted Mrs. Nhan, who was out in her front yard doing her morning exercise.

Several women were squatting around the well, washing buckets of clothes, when I arrived. I passed them, heading for the water pump.

“A returning soldier,” someone murmured behind my back.

I turned. A slim figure was moving down our neighborhood’s lane. He had the same build, the same height as my father.

“He looks just like my brother,” someone else said.

Crashing sounds rang up around me as the women knocked over their buckets, rushing toward the man. I pushed ahead but was too slow. A crowd had already surrounded the soldier when I approached.

“Chú Sáng, chú Sáng v? r?i!” a kid’s voice called out cheerfully. My Uncle Sáng. He was back.

“Chào các bác, các c?, các cháu.” He greeted the men, women, and children around him.

“Your mother is lucky, Sáng.” Mr. Tùng patted my uncle’s shoulder.

Mrs. Th??ng, an elderly lady, clutched his hand. “Have you seen my sons Th?ng and L?i?”

Uncle Sáng shook his head. “Now the war has ended, they’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so.” The lady mumbled, turning away, wiping her tears.

“Here’s H??ng, your niece.” Someone ushered me forward, and I sank into Uncle Sáng’s embrace.

“Look at you, you’re nearly as tall as me,” my uncle said as I took a deep breath, telling myself not to cry. Uncle Sáng was back, really back. My father and Uncle ??t would return soon and everything would be fine.

“WHAT A STUPID, stupid thing you did.” I sat frozen next to Grandma as Uncle Sáng paced back and forth in our living room, berating her. His boots squeaked under his heavy footsteps. He raised his feet, sending the pigs scurrying away. “I can’t believe you quit teaching to become a trader.”

“Calm down, Son. I’m not doing anything bad.” Grandma poured a cup of tea for my uncle.

“Nothing bad?” Uncle Sáng walked to Grandma. He put his mouth against her ear. “I’ve become a Party member. My mother can’t be a con bu?n.”

“Oh, so you’ve joined the league, have you?” Grandma snorted. “I don’t see how anyone should care. My business is my business. Yours is yours.”

“It’s not as simple as you think,” hissed my uncle. “My comrades and I, we’ve risked our lives to bring justice to the people of this country. We’ve shed our blood so our people are free from foreign invasion. Free from exploiters and bourgeoisie.”

As my uncle went on preaching, Grandma stood up, moving toward her stove. She carried plates and bowls of food to the table: steamed rice rolls, ph? noodle soup, glutinous rice with coconut milk, and fish porridge. Seeing that she was determined to celebrate her son’s return, I got up and helped her.

“. . . you are ruining my chance for a leadership position, Mama. I’ll become a laughing stock in front of my comrades. Now I can’t discipline anyone anymore because—”

“Because you can’t discipline your own mother?” Grandma looked up from the chopsticks she was distributing. “Come on, Sáng. You haven’t seen me for years. Sit down and enjoy our first meal.”

Only now did Uncle Sáng stop walking. He stared at the food, his nostrils flaring. He turned away, but not quickly enough. I saw him swallow.