The children were sound asleep when I returned. I lay down and let the rustling of the bamboo carry me away.

I woke to the sound of people talking. Soft light was scattering from the sky. Morning dew had dampened my clothes, soaking the layer of fallen leaves on which we slept.

Through small gaps between the large bamboo trunks, I saw three men across the dirt path, their backs toward me, an ox-cart next to them. Sounds of zippers being pulled down. Noises of water hitting the ground.

“That bitch and her son, where the hell could they be?” one man spat out his words.

The man’s voice terrified me. I knew him. I flattened myself on the ground, my eyes fixed on Sáng. What would I do if he cried?

“Damn it. The tribunal will take place soon. We’ll look like a bunch of idiots,” another voice said.

“They can’t be too far away. We’ll comb all the villages till we find them,” the first man said.

Another voice chuckled. “She can’t run far, that bitch. Can’t run far with so many children hanging onto her shirt hem.”

I held my breath as the men got back into their cart. As soon as they disappeared behind the mossy village gate, I shook Ng?c, Thu?n, and H?nh awake.

“We must leave. Those vicious people are here, looking for me.”

“How about Brother ??t?” Thu?n rubbed tiredness from his eyes.

“We’ll meet him at the next village. Hurry!” The lie tasted bitter in my mouth. ??t was smart. He could earn his food and should be safe.

With Sáng on my back, we scurried away. If I let those people catch me, I’d surely face a death sentence.

My heart ached with each footstep that pulled me away from ??t. What type of mother was I, to abandon my son to a stranger? Yet it would be better for him to stay put and wait for me to come back. He knew how to disguise himself. He had food and a roof over his head. He’d taken a new identity as a nephew of the ph? seller. But I dreaded the moment ??t returned to the bamboo grove, looking for us and finding no one there. Can you imagine how desperate he must have been?

YEARS HAVE PASSED since the day I left ??t behind, but I still question my decision, and the ones I’d make next. We’ve talked about this as a family many times, but my guilt is still too overwhelming for me to feel that I’m good enough as a mother. That’s why I’m still trying every day, Guava. Being a mother is never easy, though. It’s about failing, learning, and then failing again.

YOUR MOTHER SCREAMED when she realized ??t wasn’t going to be at the next village. She begged me to go back and get him, but I couldn’t. It would have been too dangerous, you see.

Watching how Ng?c dragged her feet behind me, and listening to her sobs, I feared she was never going to forgive me.

It was ??t who saved us during the next days of our walk. The yams and sweet potatoes, the water, and a box of matchsticks kept us alive. We were able to make a small fire here and there, grilling a snail or crab.

We made good progress toward Hà N?i, until H?nh got food poisoning. She threw up violently, then had diarrhea. She was severely dehydrated, drooping like a withered leaf. I no longer dared to feed her the water I found along the way, knowing she’d only get worse.

“Wait here with Thu?n and Sáng,” I told Ng?c. “If we go in there as a group, we’ll face danger.” We’d stopped under a shady bush that looked across streams of fast-running currents and patches of emerald rice fields, toward a village.

“Where are you bringing her?” Ng?c clutched H?nh tighter in her arms.

“She needs medicine.”

I walked, H?nh on my back, my feet stiff with terror as I approached the village. Avoiding the main entrance, I turned into a small lane. Spotting a secluded house, I edged close to its gate. I saw her immediately—a woman around my age. She was washing some kind of vegetable by the bank of her house’s pond. Yellow m??p flowers lit up like a flock of butterflies above her head.

“Sister, help us,” I called softly.

The woman looked up, gasping at the sight of H?nh’s head slouching over my shoulder. Unlatching the gate, she took H?nh into her arms and scolded me for not seeking help sooner. Inside her cool house, we placed H?nh down onto a bamboo bed.

H?nh opened her mouth to receive water, but her eyes remained shut.

Using wet cloths, we cooled H?nh’s fever. The woman sucked her teeth, as if she herself were in pain. She caressed H?nh’s face. “Where does it hurt, Sweetheart?”

H?nh put her hands on her stomach, opened her eyes, and smiled weakly.

“My daughter has food poisoning, Sister.”

“Ginger. Ginger tea.” The woman rushed outside.

“We’re lucky today, and you’ll be fine soon.” I kissed H?nh’s forehead. The woman could’ve shooed us away, us with our uncombed hair and ragged clothes, us with our hungry eyes and bodies that stank like rotten fish.

I fed H?nh some more water. “Sleep, baby.” A lullaby warmed my lips.

On the wall of the room I noticed a faded wedding photo of the woman and her husband; next to it was a more recent picture of the two of them. Several certificates told me the woman’s name was Th?o, that she was a kindergarten teacher and her husband a government official.

Mrs. Th?o came back with a handful of fresh ginger. I followed her into a cozy kitchen. Soot-blackened pots and pans dangled on the mud wall, above a pile of rice straw and stoves built of dried mud. Everything said its owner was tidy and knew how to take care of the household.