I dropped the rice bags and screamed at them, my voice raw with months of suppressed rage and grief. “Get away from me! All of you! Just leave me alone!”

They scattered, laughing, thinking my anger was part of the entertainment.

I sat down in the middle of the dirt road and cried until I had no tears left.

Minh’s Birth

My son was born on a rainy Tuesday in September. The midwife who attended me made her disapproval clear with every terse instruction and tight-lipped expression.

When Minh finally emerged, tiny and perfect and screaming with the outrage of someone thrust into an unkind world, I felt my heart simultaneously break and reform around him.

“It’s a boy,” the midwife said, placing him on my chest with more force than necessary. “Though I don’t know what you’ll do with him. No father to provide for him. You’ll both probably starve.”