PART 5: THE FORK IN THE ROAD AND A CRY IN THE WINTER NIGHT
The thunderous applause from the auditorium today suddenly fades away, carrying my mind back 22 years ago. That year, I was only 27—an age when my peers were busy exploring the world, building their careers, or immersing themselves in the passionate romances of youth. And me? I stood utterly alone at a terrifying crossroads in life, one I hadn't prepared for even for a single second.
It all hit like a sudden natural disaster. My only older brother and sister-in-law passed away instantly in a horrific late-night bus accident. They departed this world, leaving behind three triplet babies who had just turned one year old: Ava, Claire, and June. When I returned home from the hospital after the funeral, the house was freezing cold, filled only with the desperate, raspy cries of three poor little souls crying out for milk. There were no assets left behind, save for a small debt from my brother's old pickup truck and three fragile, red-skinned babies.
The relatives on both sides were equally impoverished. People whispered, offering their calculated advice:
"Why don't you give some of them away? Nam is a single lad, how can he raise three on his own? Put one or two in an orphanage, or find a childless family to adopt them. Saddling yourself with all three is burying your own life alive, boy!"
That night, I sat paralyzed on the bare floor, staring at three makeshift cribs placed side by side. Ava—the eldest—had a mild fever, her lips pressed tightly together. Claire and June whimpered in their sleep, flinching every time the winter wind whistled through the gaps in the rotting window frame. I looked into the mirror and saw the hollow, exhausted face of a 27-year-old man who once had grand ambitions. I had dreamed of becoming a brilliant engineer; I had plans to study abroad the following year. My girlfriend at the time, upon learning of the situation, wept bitterly and said goodbye: "I cannot raise three children that aren't mine with you. We are too young."
I had lost everything in a single week: my future, my love, and my freedom.
In the dead of the freezing night, June suddenly woke up. She didn't cry aloud; she merely looked up at me with her large, round, innocent yet sorrowful eyes. Slowly, she extended her tiny, warm hand, wrapping her miniature fingers around my rough thumb. In that exact fraction of a second, an electric jolt shot straight up my spine. My heart tightened so violently it ached. If I abandoned them, if I separated these three sisters into different families, how would they grow up? Would they grow up hating adults, hating this world for discarding them?
"No. I can't do that," I whispered to myself, tears streaming down my face, splashing onto June’s tiny hand.
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I gathered all three infants into my arms, using our only thick cotton blanket to wrap the four of us tightly together. I murmured through my sobs: "Don't be afraid, my babies. Daddy is here. From now on, Uncle Nam will be your Dad. I am not going anywhere. I choose you."
That decision meant I was officially closing the door on my own youth, stepping into a brutal war of survival where the only weapon I possessed was unconditional love.
