“You must do this for the children,” Vaing Lim whispers into his wife’s ear. Chanthavy resists her desire to sob in public and finds comfort in the masculine arm wrapped around her slender waist.

“I don’t want to leave.” She strokes his face with trembling fingers. “Please let us stay here with you, or come with us now. It’s not too late.”

Vaing wipes a tear off Chanthavy’s face and leads her toward the Phnom Penh International Airport sign that sits near the entrance. A warm December breeze blows through a group of American and French expats gathered at an outdoor café, which sits like an oasis amidst all the airport hustle and bustle. One Frenchman with round John Lennon glasses and cigarette-stained teeth sips a café au lait between bites of a butter croissant.

In front of the airport entrance, two male soldiers stand guard and fidget with their rifles. Chanthavy calls for her five-year-old daughter, Sophea, who is playing hopscotch near them. One of the soldiers, about fifteen years old, stares at the beautiful woman dressed in a gol