The alarm went off at dawn.
Kwan Khao stirred awake, her hand darting out to silence the shrill sound before it could reach the small bedroom next door.
She cracked the door open, just enough to see a small figure fast asleep under a blue blanket.
Her heart softened. Tonkla—her little boy—slept so peacefully that for a moment, the world outside their tiny home didn't matter.
Smiling faintly, she tiptoed down the narrow staircase and into the kitchen.
Another day, another early start.
For a single mother, every morning began the same way—with a list of meals to prepare before the sun had even risen.
She worked quickly, her movements practiced and quiet: rice porridge with minced pork and a fluffy omelet for breakfast; simple shrimp fried rice for lunch; and ingredients neatly packed for dinner, ready for Aunt Sai, the kind neighbor who helped care for Tonkla when Kwan Khao couldn't be home on time.
Her son was easy to please—thank God for that.
He ate whatever she made, as long as the vegetables weren't bitter or too smelly.
It was one of the many little blessings that made her tired life bearable.
Every long day, every overtime hour, every sacrifice—none of it seemed too much when she looked at him.
A single hug from that small pair of arms could erase all her exhaustion.
She paused for a moment, staring at the lunchbox she'd just finished packing.
Her hands were calloused, her eyes a little hollow—but they gleamed with pride.
Whatever the world took from her, she still had Tonkla.
And that was enough.
At least… it had been, until fate decided to remind her that peace never lasted forever.