The honest man

The Honest Man’s Last Tears

Written by: KOEMLY

In the year 1975, when the war had barely ended in Cambodia, the land of small village lay broken and tired. Bomb craters scarred the countryside, and the rice fields that once fed villages now grew wild with weeds. Houses stood half-burned, schools collapsed, and the laughter of children had turned into the heavy silence of survival.

In a small, faraway village, where the dust never settled and hunger was a daily guest, lived a man named Lee and his daughter, Lita. His wife had died during childbirth years ago, leaving Lee to raise the baby alone through the screams of war and the ruins of peace. He never remarried. All his love, all his remaining hope, was poured into the small girl with bright eyes and a weak body.

But life had not been kind to them.

Lita grew up sickly, her stomach twisted in ways no local medicine could heal. The village healer shook his head sadly. "She needs real doctors," he said, "machines, medicines... things only the city might have."

But the city was a dream a thousand miles away — and Lee barely had enough to feed Lita each day. Some neighbors, out of pity, shared bits of rice. Others turned their backs, guarding their own meager food and cursing fate.

One evening, as the sun bled red across the cracked earth, Lee trudged along a dirt path after trading some bamboo baskets for a handful of yams. His mind was heavy. Lita’s fever had worsened. She barely ate. She barely spoke. Death hovered at their doorstep.

Then, he saw it.

A small leather pouch, half-buried in the dust.

He picked it up and his hands trembled — inside was money. Not just coins — but paper bills, crumpled and stained, but real. It was more money than he had ever seen in his life. Enough, perhaps, to carry Lita to a city hospital. Enough to save her.

Lee’s heart pounded. His hands clenched. Tears blurred his vision. Was this a gift from the heavens? A blessing at last?

But deep inside him, the voice of his upbringing spoke:

*"If it is not yours, it must not be touched."*

*"A man who steals, even for love, becomes a thief."*

That night, Lee sat beside Lita, holding her thin hand. He watched her chest rise and fall with difficulty. He thought about the money. He thought about carrying her on his back to the hospital. He thought about becoming a thief.

In the morning, Lee made his decision.

He walked many kilometers to the village court, through mud and broken roads. His legs were sore, his stomach empty, but his spirit clear. He would return the money. He would stay honest. Lita must grow up knowing her father was a man of honor — even if she would not grow up at all.

The court was a crumbling building, guarded by tired soldiers. Inside, a man wearing a torn officer’s badge listened without much interest as Lee explained. Lee placed the pouch carefully on the table, bowing his head.

But fate was cruel.

The officer frowned. "You say you found only one pouch? The owner claims he lost two. You are lying."

Lee's eyes widened. "No... no, I swear on my life, I found only one!"

But no one listened.

They dragged Lee to a cell of rusted bars and crumbling stone.

They called him a thief.

While Lee sat behind bars, shouting in vain for mercy, Lita lay alone in their hut.

She called for her father.

She cried for water.

And then she stopped crying.

By the time Lee was released, after many days, there was nothing to go home to. His neighbors told him, with heavy faces, that Lita had died from her illness — from hunger, from loneliness, from a broken heart.

Lee fell to his knees, clawing at the earth. His hands, which had refused to steal, now dug into the dirt like a madman.

He had done the right thing.

He had followed his conscience.

And he had lost the only treasure he had left in the world.

The next morning, a village boy playing near the old market found something wedged between the stones — a second pouch, hidden by dust and rain.

When the soldiers opened it, they realized the truth: Lee had spoken honestly. The missing money had never been stolen at all.

They sent a messenger to tell Lee, as if an apology could heal him.

But when the messenger arrived, Lee was sitting silently in front of Lita's small grave, his hands resting motionless on his knees, staring at the empty sky. He did not look up.

He did not speak.

He did not cry.

The world had already taken everything from him.

And though justice finally arrived, it came carrying only silence — and an unbearable grief that could never be undone.

Some said he was a fool.

Some said he was a saint.

But in Lee’s heart, there was only a void where love, hope, and fairness had once lived.

And when the winds howled through small village, carrying the dust of broken hopes across the land, sometimes villagers said they heard a voice in the wind — not crying for what was lost, but for what was never fair to begin with.