He wakes up to the smell of fresh nasi lemak in the mornings.
As his wife is frying the eggs, he gently wraps his hands around her and whispers in her ear, "Sayang awak."
They giggle and she playfully pushes him away.
They spend their day at the zoo, and as their daughter munches on a pillow of cotton candy, he picks a flower and wedges it in her hair.
Dinner was assam laksa that the wife spent an hour cooking. The recipe is difficult, she says. But she's glad he's licking his fingers.
As the wife finishes reciting the ending to Puteri Gunung Ledang, the daughter's eyes gently close.
The last thing she hears is, "I love you sayang. Very much."
He pulls the trigger, and the room is bathed in crimson.
The daughter dies in her sleep, surely with a smile if she still had a face.
The gun barrel feels cold against his temple.
Babies don't sleep this well.
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