A late night in 1966, ten-year-old Van Pao-Te curled up in quilt, trembling with fear, trying to ignore parents fighting in the next room.
Seconds went by, seeming like hours to him. All of a sudden, the door was opened rudely. Van’s father went to Van’s bedside with his brown suitcase, saying in a hoarse voice,
“Somebody has to take care of the family. I used to be the one.” Then he left.