Your future, my past
When Jihyo arrived at the hospital, the only thing she could hear was the incessant ringing in her ears that made her head throb.
She didn’t know when she had gotten there, nor did she even know how she had managed to get little Tzuyu into the car before driving over. However, she was certain that she had run a couple of red lights and that many people had, at the very least, cursed her entire lineage. It had been dangerous, reckless, and probably the most selfish thing Jihyo had ever done.
All for what?
Seulgi’s expression had told her everything she needed to know, and that piece of information settled like a weight in her chest. She didn’t know how she was still standing, nor how Tzuyu had managed to sleep through the entire ride.
The world around her seemed to spin out of control. Each breath felt like a thousand daggers slicing through her skin, and the emptiness in her heart grew deeper.
Seungwan was gone, and nothing felt real.
Jihyo watched as Yeri, with trembling hands, took little Tzuyu from her arms. Her cheeks were flushed and tear-streaked, reflecting the pain Jihyo herself felt, but she couldn’t focus on that. The way Joy had grabbed her by the waist to pull her out of the way only made her feel more lost. Everything was a whirlwind of confusion and desperation.
“Jihyo?” Seulgi’s voice broke through her thoughts, but it sounded distant, as if it were coming from another planet.
“Where is she?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, fearing the answer. The shine in Yeri’s eyes gave her the answer without the need for words. The pain in her chest intensified, and Jihyo felt her world crumbling.
“Jihyo, we need to…” Joy started, but Jihyo raised a hand, as if that could stop time, as if she could return to a past where everything was okay, where Seungwan was by her side.
“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “Where is Seungwan?” Each breath felt like fire, and she was struggling to breathe.
No one said anything. Jihyo wanted to believe it was because they didn’t know, that within the little hope she had, everything was just a mistake. So she asked again, glancing around as if the girl would suddenly appear.
“You need to sit down,” Joy insisted, her tone filled with concern. “Try to breathe.”
Jihyo shook her head, clenching her fists so tightly that they burned, and she could feel her nails digging into her skin. She couldn’t accept what was happening. “No,” she repeated, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling the tears prickling firmly at her eyelids. “Where is Seungwan? I need to see her. I need to be with her.”
She felt Joy’s warm hand on her shoulder, but it mattered little. It was as if she were trapped in a dark tunnel, where every word of encouragement and every gesture of comfort faded into the distance. Jihyo simply broke down, shaking her head even faster, repeating like a mantra, “I want to see her. I want to be with her. Seungwan doesn’t like being alone. You can’t let her be alone.”
Distantly, she heard Yeri sobbing, but that didn’t matter. Everything was a distant echo, background noise that couldn’t penetrate the abyss of her pain. Desperation enveloped her like a thick fog, and every second that passed without answers felt like an eternity.
“You can’t,” she whispered, feeling her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. “You know this, why aren’t you doing anything?” Tears began to flow, and though she tried to hold back, the pain overflowed, taking with it any semblance of control she had left.
The silence that followed was deafening. No one spoke again, and Jihyo’s anger began to rise, like a storm consuming her from within. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” she raised her voice, her tone filled with desperation. “Why isn’t anyone telling me anything?”
Joy tried to approach again, reaching out as if she could touch her pain and alleviate it, but Jihyo recoiled, hysterical, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. The attention of the others focused on her, and the pressure made her feel even more trapped.
Now crying deeply, she pleaded, “Tell me something! Anything! I need to know, I need…!”
In the midst of her tears and ragged breaths, Jihyo stared at Seulgi, her eyes filled with anguish. “Is she dead?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Is Seungwan dead?”
Seulgi looked at her, clenching her jaw, her eyes brimming with tears she couldn’t hold back. “We don’t know,” she finally said, and although her words were honest, they were not good enough for Jihyo. They would never be.
That answer, that uncertainty, made everything worse. Jihyo felt the world crumbling around her. She couldn’t be there; she couldn’t stay there.
But her legs wouldn’t respond; they were glued to the spot, and she let out the first broken sob of the evening, gasping deeply as her knees began to give way. But she didn’t touch the floor; Seulgi was there before she could register it, wrapping her tightly in her arms. The pressure from the girl made her feel a flicker of warmth amidst her internal storm, but the pain remained overwhelming.
“Please, don’t let Wan be alone,” Jihyo pleaded, her voice trembling with each word. “She can’t be alone, she can’t, I don’t want…” Her words intertwined with her sobs, each phrase a desperate attempt to cling to reality.
Seulgi clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as she absorbed Jihyo’s words. “She won’t be alone,” she promised, her voice firm, trying to hold back her own tears. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure she never is.”
But Jihyo needed more than words, and that was something that never came.
–
When she opened her eyes again, she was still there, in the uncomfortable hospital chair that hurt her back, with Seulgi beside her, holding her hand tightly.
Everything had frozen, and Jihyo no longer cried because she felt there were no more tears left to shed.
She could register the doctors in the distance, talking among themselves, pacing back and forth with expressions on their faces that she couldn’t read. Jihyo could only wonder if they would be the ones to approach her at any moment to deliver news, to offer some kind of comfort.
But time stretched on endlessly, and Jihyo began to fear that they would never come, that she was trapped in an infinite loop, simply cursed to wait for something that wouldn’t arrive.
However, the atmosphere was filled with murmurs, and Jihyo could hear Yeri speaking softly, her words directed at the baby still in her arms. “You’re so brave,” Yeri murmured, her voice trembling but full of love. “Yes, Tzuyunnie, you are.”
Jihyo didn’t dare take Tzuyu away from her. She wanted to believe that the little girl was the only thing keeping Yeri sane, that having a part of her friend in her arms was what she needed to keep going. The image of Yeri stroking Tzuyu’s head, her eyes filled with tears, made a knot form in Jihyo’s stomach.
But at the same time, it hurt even more to think that the only thing she would have left of Seungwan would be that little girl. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that life could be so cruel, so relentless.
When the third hour of waiting ticked by, Jihyo felt like she was definitely going to lose her mind. The hands of the clock seemed to be frozen, but the ticking reminded her that time was indeed passing, even if it felt like it wasn’t. Joy was now on the floor, sitting beside Jihyo's legs, her head resting on them. Yeri appeared to be asleep, Tzuyu securely nestled against her chest, her hands moving in an involuntary gesture. Seulgi... seemed to be in the same state as Jihyo, lost and in shock, but she didn’t dare to speak because she never knew what to say. So they waited, and waited, and waited.
Until a movement caught her eye out of the corner. It was as if she could feel it even before it happened. In her heart, she knew, and when she turned, she could only make out Joohyun’s lost gaze among the crowd.
But Jihyo didn’t say anything, and when the girl finally approached, neither did she, because it wasn’t necessary. Jihyo wanted to believe it was because Joohyun understood, that they were so connected that a single look was enough for Joohyun to know. But she couldn’t say anything for sure.
The two remained silent, sharing a moment that felt as heavy as the air surrounding them. They waited, and waited, and waited, until Jihyo began to consider simply getting up and searching every damn room. But no, because someone started walking in their direction, with such certainty that there was no way she would look for anyone else. Jihyo’s heart skipped a beat, because she recognized many expressions, and the one on the doctor’s face was not one she liked at all.
Without thinking further, she stood up, waking Joy in the process, instantly catching Yeri’s attention. Jihyo swallowed hard, feeling her body tremble as she watched the doctor approach, his face serious and his expression grave.
“Are you here for Son Seungwan?” the doctor asked, and before Jihyo could respond, Seulgi was the first to speak. She jumped up, Joohyun’s hand tightly grasped in hers, searching for answers in the doctor’s eyes.
The man nodded, sighing with resignation. “I’m sorry to inform you that there was significant damage.”
The words hit Jihyo like a punch to the stomach. Her entire being froze, and the world around her faded away. “What does that mean?” she demanded, her voice trembling between desperation and fear.
The doctor took a deep breath, and Jihyo felt herself becoming increasingly trapped in the darkness of her own terror. “The accident caused a lot of internal bleeding. We lost her twice,” he began to explain, and each word felt like a new blow to her heart. “Once at the accident site and again in the operating room. But we managed to bring her back. Seungwan fought hard, but…”
“But what?” Seulgi interjected, her voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor continued, “Her injuries are very severe. She has multiple fractures, and there are lacerations on her lungs and major arteries. We’re doing everything we can, but even if she survives the upcoming surgeries, it’s too early to say she won’t have side effects. Her brain was without oxygen for a long time.”
It was then that Joohyun, who had remained silent, spoke for the first time. “When can we see her?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope.
The doctor looked at Joohyun, his expression serious. “In a couple of hours, at most. She’s still in surgery, but for now… she’s alive, and that’s enough.”
—
When Jihyo saw Seungwan for the first time after hours and countless surgeries, she felt sick. She didn’t vomit, although the sight made her stomach churn, and she didn’t cry, as she had no strength left, but her chest ached.
It hurt so much that she wished her heart would stop.
She felt paralyzed at the entrance of the room. She couldn’t walk, couldn’t move closer to the bed. The fear kept her in place, the fear of seeing the girl up close and not being able to bear it any longer.
But Joohyun did move. Jihyo watched her navigate the white room, almost hesitating like she had, yet still advancing, drawing closer to Seungwan, her expression filled with worry and love, while Jihyo stayed behind, feeling the air escape her lungs.
With each step Joohyun took, Jihyo could feel her heart racing faster. Seungwan was there, and even though a large tube was coming out of her mouth, inflating her chest to help her breathe, she almost looked like she was sleeping.
Joohyun leaned in a little closer, examining the girl intently. There was a large bandage covering the side of her face, and her arms were wrapped in more bandages, making her look even smaller. A part of Jihyo almost smiled at the thought that if the girl were awake, she would definitely laugh at how tiny she appeared, but the gesture got stuck on her face, unable to escape.
“Wan,” Joohyun whispered, her voice trembling but full of love. “I’m back, Wannie.”
Jihyo felt her heart break a little more at Joohyun’s words. The room felt so cold, so empty, and the sound of the respirator was a constant reminder of what was happening.
She wanted to move closer, wanted to hug Seungwan and tell her that everything would be okay, that there was still hope. But fear paralyzed her. “What if she doesn’t wake up? What if she can’t hear me?” she thought, and that idea terrified her more than anything else.
“I can’t,” she murmured to herself, feeling tears welling up in her eyes again. “I can’t do this.”
But in that moment, Joohyun looked back, as if she sensed Jihyo’s anguish. “Come here,” she said softly, and even though her voice was a whisper, the warmth of her invitation pierced through Jihyo.
“How can you do it?” Jihyo asked, her voice breaking. “How can you get close to her and not want to cry?”
“Crying won’t wake her up,” Joohyun replied, her gaze steady and filled with resolve.
Jihyo clenched her jaw, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. Finally, with small, delicate steps, she approached until her side brushed against Joohyun’s. The contact gave her a bit of strength, but as she looked at Seungwan lying in the bed, her heart shattered even more.
The injuries were worse now that she was there, and she almost felt grateful that Yeri had chosen to stay outside with Joy. “She didn’t deserve to see this,” she thought.
Seungwan was there, with cuts all over and dried blood staining the bandages that covered her body, but despite everything, she was still just as beautiful.
Unable to help herself, Jihyo lifted her hand before she could think, and when she touched the cold skin of Seungwan’s cheek, she broke again. The sobs that escaped her throat sounded foreign to her ears.
Jihyo wished she could scream, wished she could throw herself on top of Seungwan and take her place, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was.
Joohyun hugged her tightly from behind, and in that moment, Jihyo swore she felt Joohyun’s warm tears soaking her clothes.
“You said you’d come back,” Jihyo whispered, her voice breaking. “You left me waiting, Wan.”
Joohyun tightened her grip even more, and although the pain in Jihyo’s stomach intensified, she couldn’t complain.
“You promised you’d return,” Jihyo continued, feeling the anguish build in her throat. “Tzuyu needs you and—” Her voice broke, and she felt the world around her fading away.
Suddenly, her voice caught, and she lifted a hand to take Joohyun’s hand, which rested on her stomach. “Why did you have to leave her?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why did you have to leave me?”
Jihyo closed her eyes, wanting to believe that the girl could hear her, that she could feel the love surrounding her, but the uncertainty consumed her. “Please, come back to us,” she pleaded. “I promise I’ll be better. Just come back.”
But there was no response, and her heart broke.
–
The drive home was silent. Joohyun drove with concentration, while Seulgi sat beside her, staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. Joy was deeply asleep on her shoulder, and Jihyo really couldn’t blame her. They were all exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and while she hadn’t protested much when they decided to leave, leaving the hospital had been one of the hardest things she had to endure.
The truth was, there was nothing more to be done, and as much as she felt powerless, she had to leave before she went insane. The pressure in her chest was overwhelming, so she tried to focus on what lay ahead.
Suddenly, she felt a hand slip between hers. It was Yeri, sitting beside her. Tzuyu, miraculously, was sleeping in her lap. Jihyo wanted to return the smile, but she couldn’t. Instead, she squeezed Yeri’s hand twice, telling herself it meant a non-verbal “I love you” in her own way. However, she never asked Yeri if she understood.
When they finally arrived home, Jihyo felt like she might break again, but she didn’t. They got out of the car, with weak knees and tired bodies. This wasn’t their final stop. Joohyun knew Jihyo wouldn’t be okay alone in such a big house, especially with little Tzuyu being as unpredictable as ever. So they would move to Joy’s house until things calmed down.
Jihyo cleared her throat, hugging herself as the night’s chill hit her. Even with her tired eyes, she noticed something that hadn’t been there before: a black car, perfectly parked to the side, with the lights of the house on. Her heart stopped in that instant.
“No… it can’t be,” she murmured to herself, panic beginning to rise in her chest. Why was that car there?
“Jihyo?” Joohyun looked at her with concern, noticing her expression. “Are you okay?”
But Jihyo couldn’t respond. She felt her blood boiling, and before she could stop herself, she walked toward the door. She opened it without worrying about startling the man inside, and when she finally stepped into the house, she froze. It was just as she remembered: toys scattered everywhere, clothes tossed about, and the only new thing was the humming coming from the dining room.
She walked before Seulgi could catch her, and there he was: Sungbin, sitting in one of the chairs, a cup in front of him and his head in his hands. Anger and the urge to scream at him, to slap him and throw him out, surged within her, but she couldn’t. The man looked up at the sound of her entrance.
“Jihyo,” he called in a deep voice, and in that moment, she felt paralyzed.
Sungbin stood up, his expression unreadable. His hair was messy, and dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in days. “I heard what happened,” he said, and that was enough to make Jihyo explode.
Without thinking, she slapped him across the face with all her might. The connection resonated in the room, and she could hear Joy’s muffled gasp behind her. The disbelief on Sungbin’s face filled her with a mix of satisfaction and fury.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jihyo demanded, her voice echoing in the tense air.
Sungbin raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to speak, but Jihyo wouldn’t let him. “Why did you come back, huh?”
“Jihyo, please, let me explain,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.
“Explain what?” Rage consumed her, and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“I just… wanted to talk to you,” Sungbin said, his tone softer, but Jihyo wasn’t willing to listen.
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear!” she shot back, feeling her voice crack. “I don’t want you here, not ever again. You’ve caused enough damage.”
“Jihyo, please,” Sungbin insisted, his expression shifting to one of desperation. “I heard what happened… Seungwan—”
Jihyo felt her anger surge even more at the sound of his name. “You can’t say her name! You have no right, ever. Don’t come near me!” she shouted, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Rage and pain flooded her, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. “How dare you?”
Seizing her outburst, Sungbin stepped toward her and hugged her tightly. Jihyo struggled, trying to push him away, hitting him in an attempt to free herself. But he didn’t budge, keeping her locked in his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” Sungbin said, his voice filled with remorse. “You can hate me now, but I found out what happened. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew you would need…”
“No! I don’t need anything from you!” Jihyo screamed, her voice echoing in the room. At that moment, Tzuyu began to stir in her sleep, restless from the commotion.
Sungbin continued to hold her, and although Jihyo kept fighting, her resistance began to fade. The pressure and pain she had been holding onto made her fall to her knees, and Sungbin joined her on the floor, still not letting go.
“This isn’t fair,” Jihyo sobbed, her voice trembling. “It’s not fair that you’re back and Seungwan is gone…”
Sungbin looked into her eyes, and though his expression was pained, he said nothing more. Instead, he began to gently stroke her head, as if trying to comfort her. Jihyo felt her body surrender, and even though the embrace infuriated her, it also offered a strange sense of security that she couldn’t ignore.
“I’m tired,” Jihyo murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so tired…” She had spent countless nights imagining what she would do if she ever saw the man who had hurt her again, but now, in front of him, she couldn’t do any of that. She couldn’t push him away.
She closed her eyes, pressing herself closer to him, seeking refuge in his embrace. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, feeling the anger and sadness consume her. Sungbin said nothing, simply holding her tighter, as if he knew she needed that comfort.
Joohyun, still watching the scene from the side, felt the urge to step closer, trying to console the girl. “Jihyo…” she said softly, taking a step toward them. But Sungbin raised a hand, shaking his head, as if he understood that the moment was delicate.
“Let her go,” he said in a low but firm tone. Joohyun frowned, feeling her protective instincts for Jihyo kick in.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Joohyun insisted, trying to move closer. But Joy, who had been watching silently, stopped her, shaking her head and gently pulling her back. “No,” she murmured.
Joohyun grimaced, clearly unhappy. She shot a glare at Sungbin and, without another word, turned and quickly left the house, leaving Jihyo in Sungbin’s arms for the first time in a long time.
—
Jihyo hadn’t slept, that was for sure. She was sitting on the kitchen stool, her phone in front of her, her cheeks flushed. The sun had begun to filter through the slats of the window blinds, but Jihyo didn’t move. She hadn’t dared to since she sat there hours ago.
She had processed it all; she had finally understood what had happened.
What Sungbin had done.
She knew what she had to do. She knew that once he felt secure enough, he would touch her again, hurt her again, and hurt Tzuyu. She felt foolish. She had had enough time to realize how blind she had been, blinded by Sungbin acting like a father to Tzuyu, acting like a friend to the girls, a concerned husband to Sana. But Sungbin wasn’t good; he never had been and never would be. It was a trick, a facade he had maintained for far too long.
The words from the previous night replayed in her mind, sending a chill through her. “I’ll make sure to clarify things if anyone asks. I wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand anything.”
He was planning something; it was too much of a coincidence. Jihyo knew it wasn’t anything good. She needed to protect herself, find a way to be ready for when he struck.
She clenched her jaw, grabbing her phone and quickly walking out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and straight to her office. But once she reached the doorframe, she stopped. Sungbin wasn’t stupid; Jihyo had to give him more credit than he deserved. But again, Jihyo wasn’t stupid either.
She clenched her fists, turned around, and stepped out into the backyard. She hadn’t been there in a long time. It was perfect.
With trembling fingers, she dialed the number. The line rang just before Joohyun answered.
“Jihyo?” Joohyun’s voice was soft, but Jihyo could sense the concern in it. “Are you okay?”
“I need a lawyer,” Jihyo replied, feeling the anxiety take hold of her.
“Eh?” Joohyun asked, her tone now more serious. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I want a lawyer,” Jihyo repeated, feeling the anger build in her chest. “I don’t care if he keeps the house or the damn cars. Hell, he can take half my money if he wants, but…”
Joohyun shifted, confused. “What the hell are you talking about, Jihyo?”
“I want a divorce,” Jihyo said, and the silence that followed was deafening. Joohyun fell silent, processing what she had just heard.
“What?” Joohyun finally stammered, disbelief evident in her voice.
Jihyo tightened her grip on the phone, feeling her heart race. “I just trust you to get everything, absolutely everything. I don’t care about anything else; I just want to keep Tzuyu. Always. I won’t let Sungbin come near her ever again.”
Concern became evident in Joohyun’s voice. “Okay. I’ll talk to Seulgi. We’ll get it done as soon as possible.” There was a pause. “Jihyo?”
Jihyo ignored Joohyun’s question, feeling the weight of her decision crushing her. “I’ll tell you the details later… I also don’t want you coming to the house anymore. None of you. I can only talk in the office.”
"But—"
Without waiting for Joohyun to finish, Jihyo hung up the call. A sigh escaped her lips as she turned around, re-entering the house. She walked briskly toward the stairs, her heart racing. She quickly ascended, her gaze fixed on Tzuyu's bedroom door, ready to enter and see her.
But just as she was about to open the door, a voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Jihyo.”
She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned to find Sungbin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. There was an unsettling calmness in his posture, a presence that made her feel vulnerable.
“You never came back to bed,” he said, approaching her slowly, a hint of reproach in his voice.
Jihyo cursed her trembling hands but finally found her voice. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she replied, trying to sound stronger than she felt.
Sungbin stopped right in front of her, analyzing her with a gaze that chilled her blood. Without another word, he opened Tzuyu’s bedroom door, stepping inside with ease. Panic seized Jihyo, and she followed him, her heart pounding.
She watched as he approached Tzuyu, gently stirring her awake, inadvertently waking Kaya in the process. Jihyo frowned, her instincts screaming that something was wrong. It was too early; why was he trying to wake the little girl?
“Tzuyu, sweetheart, wake up,” Sungbin said in a soft tone that made Jihyo feel nauseous.
Jihyo felt the urge to protest, but before she could utter a word, Tzuyu opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. The little girl smiled, unaware of the danger lurking behind her father's facade.
“Mommy,” Tzuyu murmured, reaching out her hand toward Jihyo.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Jihyo replied, feeling her heart break at the sight of her daughter’s innocent smile. But at the same time, fear and anger grew within her. She couldn’t let Sungbin manipulate her, not with Tzuyu in the middle.
“It’s time to get up,” Sungbin said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Jihyo felt her anger consuming her. “Isn’t it a bit early for her, don’t you think?” she protested, her voice louder than she had planned. “Tzuyu needs to rest.”
Sungbin looked at her, standing tall, and approached her again, draping an arm over her shoulders. “I was thinking today could be a different day,” he said, his tone light, but his hand tightened painfully on Jihyo’s shoulder. She had to bite her tongue to keep from complaining.
Finally, Tzuyu sat up, cradling Kaya in her lap. “What are we going to do?” she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
Sungbin smiled, his expression shifting to a warmer one. “I’ll take you to school today,” he said. “Mommy needs to rest a little. After that, I was thinking of going to the park. You’ve been so good; you deserve a treat.”
Tzuyu jumped with excitement. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy!” she exclaimed, lighting up the room with her joy.
Sungbin finally released Jihyo and lifted Tzuyu effortlessly into his arms. The little girl looked at Jihyo with bright eyes and said, “I want to invite Chaengie. She’s been good too.”
Jihyo felt her heart race. Sungbin was going to protest, but before he could open his mouth, Jihyo almost shouted, “Yes! That’s a great idea. I can even ask Jeongyeon to go with you.”
The idea came to her suddenly, but it sounded perfect. “It would do her good to get out of the house, even with her arm. You’re just going for a walk.”
“Jeongyeon? But—” Sungbin frowned, but Jihyo didn’t give him a chance to discredit the idea.
“Yes, it’s not easy taking care of two little ones on your own. She’s perfect,” Jihyo insisted, trying to keep her composure while her heart raced. She knew she needed to keep Sungbin in check at all times, and if that meant facing Nayeon’s wrath for getting her wife involved in a mess, then she was willing to do whatever it took.
Tzuyu’s smile widened. “Yes, please, Daddy! I want Jeongyeon unnie to come.”
“Then it’s settled,” Jihyo said, trying to sound confident. “I’ll call her to let her know, and you can go together after school.” She ignored the way Sungbin looked at her, filled with doubt and anger. She couldn’t let that affect her.
She scooped Tzuyu into her arms, feeling the warmth of her daughter give her a bit of strength. “Since you woke up early, I think I’ll make a super special breakfast. And you can help me,” she said, smiling at the little girl.
“Yes!” Tzuyu cheered, her voice filled with joy as Kaya barked a little, as if also excited by the news.
Without thinking twice, Jihyo turned around, leaving the room without looking back.
–
It didn’t take long to make breakfast. Tzuyu helped, laughing and sneakily giving scraps to little Kaya, who eagerly accepted them. Jihyo chuckled, enjoying the scene as she occasionally instructed Tzuyu, helping her when her small hands couldn’t manage the task. It was fun, even when Sungbin entered the kitchen and kissed their daughter on the head. The warmth of the moment didn’t change anything deep in her heart; Jihyo felt a shadow she couldn’t ignore.
Once the three plates were served and ready on the table, Jihyo excused herself, feeling Sungbin’s piercing gaze on her. She climbed the stairs with her phone in hand, pausing in the hallway, debating where to go. She knew she might be being paranoid. She knew that maybe Sungbin hadn’t done anything she suspected, but everything felt so obvious now. Those early hours had given her time to think, and she realized she had faced similar cases before: jealous husbands with delusions, searching for proof, hidden cameras, microphones.
It was foolish, really, because Sungbin wasn’t the best actor, and yet she hadn’t noticed.
She sighed, deciding to enter Tzuyu’s room. It might be the riskiest move, but she had no other options. She quickly dialed the number, nerves on high alert. When Nayeon answered, she felt her mouth go dry and cleared her throat.
“Good morning, Nay,” Jihyo said, trying to sound normal.
“Jihyo, good morning,” Nayeon replied, her voice cheerful. “I must say I’m surprised by your call, especially this early, but I assume you need something?”
Jihyo bit her lip, gripping the phone tightly. “Uh, yeah… this might sound weird, and I’m sorry, but… I was wondering if you could have Jeongyeon go to the park today with the girls… and Sungbin.”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end, and Jihyo felt time freeze. “Did something happen?” Nayeon asked, curious.
“It’s a bit complicated to say over the phone, and I would ask her myself, but I don’t want to bother her too much,” Jihyo continued, feeling her heart race. “I wouldn’t call if I didn’t need you, and I know it’s a bit unfair to ask without much notice, but—”
“I’ll do it!” another voice suddenly chimed in, and Jihyo paused.
“Huh?”
Nayeon sighed, clearly exasperated. “Well, you heard her. She doesn’t hear her alarm every morning, but she can hear a phone call from another room apparently. What time do you need her there?”
Jihyo sighed in relief, feeling a small weight lift off her shoulders. “At the school pick-up,” she replied quickly.
“Okay,” Nayeon said. “She’ll be on time, you know that.”
“Yes,” Jihyo answered, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you, at two.”
“It’s nothing,” Nayeon replied. “But I really hope for an explanation later, just out of courtesy.”
“Of course,” Jihyo rolled her eyes slightly; she expected that. “I’ll call you soon.”
She hung up the phone, feeling more relieved.
It had been easier than she thought.
—
Sana felt like her head was going to explode. Or at least that’s how it felt when she stepped into the sunlight for the first time that morning. The daylight seemed to shine too brightly, and her mind was filled with thoughts she couldn’t untangle.
Mina had been kind enough to drive her there, which was suspicious. The girl hadn’t complained or made any passive-aggressive comments about having to wake up so early. Maybe it was because Mina could see Sana’s annoyance from a mile away; it was natural at this point. They had known each other for years, lived together for a little less, and that was just how it was.
It was hard to have good days all the time, and somehow, Mina always recognized them even before Sana did. It was as if she had a radar for her friend’s moods.
Sana sighed, grateful. “Thanks for bringing me,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Mina shook her head, smiling warmly. “No problem. I’ll see you for dinner. Dahyun is cooking.”
Sana scoffed. “Try not to burn anything before I get there,” she joked.
“Yeah, yeah, go and relax,” Mina replied. “And let me know if anything else happens.”
Sana nodded, throwing her a smile as she walked away. That was something else that had happened—maybe it had to do with the fact that she had been one of those nights when she didn’t want to sleep alone, so she ended up between a very warm Mina and a Dahyun who clung to her like a tick.
She sighed as she entered the building, quickly flashing a smile at the people there. She didn’t want to think too much, so she focused on reaching her destination. She hurried to the elevator, pressing the button for her floor. As she waited, she tried to ease the tension in her muscles, feeling the anxiety build in her chest.
The elevator moved slowly, a bit slower than she was used to, but she didn’t complain. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her mind. When she finally reached her floor and stepped out of the elevator, she let out a sigh of relief.
“Okay, I’m going to say this in the least rude way possible, but why do you look like that?” Momo asked as soon as she saw her, her tone light but with an underlying concern.
Sana rolled her eyes, heavily dropping her things onto her desk. “Good morning, Hirai. Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking. And you?” she murmured as she sat in her chair, trying to hide her exhaustion.
Momo, sitting beside her, rolled her eyes again, sighing with a sense of camaraderie. “I said I was saying it in the least rude way possible,” she replied, leaning in a bit to touch Sana’s forehead. “You’re not sick, which is good. Did you get any sleep last night?”
Sana shook her head, bringing her hands up to touch her face as she spoke. “It wasn’t the best night. I managed to sleep for an hour until I woke up, and I was up until dawn just trying. And when I finally started to drift off again, Dahyun kicked me in the face.” She felt frustrated recalling the interruption.
Momo pursed her lips, asking, “Why did you wake up in the first place?”
“It doesn’t matter, it was a nightmare,” Sana grumbled. “It’s silly, really. I don’t even know why I’m reacting this way, but the lack of sleep really gets me… bad, a lot.”
Momo gently stroked her back, trying to comfort her. “I think if you’re feeling this way, it’s because something serious is going on. Plus, you just got out of the hospital not long ago…”
Sana interrupted her, “It’s stupid! Everything is fine, right? Donghae hasn’t shown up to work in days. That’s good, isn’t it?”
Momo looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Donghae? Is it about him?”
Sana sighed, feeling frustrated. “I told you it’s stupid.”
“No! Of course not,” Momo replied quickly. “I know we’ve never talked about… what happened. I didn’t think you’d feel comfortable, but what he did to you is a terrible experience. It’s… something that leaves a mark. I don’t blame you for feeling this way.”
“I just don’t want to feel it,” Sana said, her voice filled with discouragement. “I was fine, in the hospital, at home, but lately… it’s like not knowing about him is worse than having to see him every day.”
Momo sighed, looking intently at her friend. “Have you thought about talking to Jihyo?”
Sana looked at her, surprised. “With Jihyo?”
“Look, I don’t know how things are between you two, but you should tell each other everything, right?” Momo insisted. “She just wants you to be comfortable and safe. Maybe you could calm down a bit knowing she can help you.”
Sana lowered her gaze, fixing it on a spot on her desk. She hated that Momo was right; she really hated it. Something that became clear that day was that, under no circumstances, would she tell Jihyo what she was feeling. The girl already had so much on her plate, she knew that, and what would Sana do? Would she really tell her that she was having nightmares? Like a scared child?
But at the same time, that feeling of guilt settled in her stomach. How hypocritical would that be? She had spent weeks trying to get Jihyo to open up to her, to not be afraid to reach out if she needed help, and now Sana was the one hiding things.
Momo leaned in a little, smiling at Sana. “You can think about it. You should never do something you don’t want to, but… talking to someone is always a good option. Even if it’s not Jihyo, you can talk to Mina or me.”
Sana looked at her, feeling her heart soften a bit. She nodded slowly, feeling a little lighter. Then she leaned in and hugged Momo, grateful. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling the warmth of the comforting embrace.
Momo patted her back, and when they pulled away, she said, “It’s nothing.” Sana nodded, feeling a bit more secure. She sat up straight in her chair, trying to calm her thoughts so she could focus on work.
Surprisingly, she managed to do it. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins or the coffee she had consumed before arriving. Either way, she hoped she could fall asleep when she got home if she kept working like this. However, when the clock struck 9:19 a.m. and Jihyo still hadn’t appeared through the elevator doors, she frowned. She knew the girl had been arriving a bit late lately. That was fine; it was better, but never this late. She cleared her throat, searching for her phone in hopes of seeing a message from Jihyo, but none came. Biting her lip, she opted to keep working with a sigh; surely, she would arrive soon.
Half an hour late, when Sana had finally finished one of the three reports she had to submit before noon, the elevator doors opened, and Sana’s heart skipped a beat. She turned quickly, only to see… a man she didn’t recognize standing there. She sighed, returning to her work and glancing sideways as Momo stood up and greeted the man kindly before taking a package into her hands. The man, as quickly as he arrived, left, giving a small bow before walking away and disappearing.
Sana finally turned to look at Momo, who was returning to her seat with a smile on her face. “Who was that?” Sana asked, feeling curious.
“Oh, one of the secretaries from the floor below,” Momo replied lightly. “They left a package for Jihyo at reception.”
“What is it?” Sana asked, intrigued.
Momo shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s something heavy.”
Sana pursed her lips, saying, “We’ll have to wait for Jihyo to get here to find out.”
Momo looked at her, confused. “But she’s already here.”
Sana stared at her in surprise. “What? Since when?”
“I don’t really know,” Momo admitted. “When I arrived, she was already in her office. She said she wanted to check a couple of things ahead of time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, momoring?” Sana asked, feeling a bit annoyed.
"I thought you knew," Momo replied, her tone apologetic.
Sana sighed, getting up from her seat and walking toward the door. "I'm going to find her."
Momo stopped her, standing up as well with the package in hand. "Wait, take this to her since you're on your way."
Sana shot Momo a glance as she took the box. "Alright," she said before turning around and entering the office.
Inside, she saw Jihyo calmly sitting in her chair, with her laptop in front of her. She was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t notice Sana’s arrival.
Sana cleared her throat softly to get her attention, and Jihyo jumped a little, surprised. When she looked at her, Sana smiled nervously. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."
Jihyo shook her head. "No, you didn’t scare me. Don’t worry."
Sana looked at her and nodded, saying, "You got here early today."
"Yeah, I had to," Jihyo replied with a slight sigh.
Sana smiled, feeling the conversation starting to flow. "Some things arrived for you; I’m not really sure what it is," she said, pointing to the package she had set aside on the desk.
Jihyo sighed again. "It’s probably Seulgi’s gift. She said it would arrive."
Sana nodded, setting the box aside and then looking at Jihyo. She fell silent for a moment, simply examining the girl. She looked… off. Her posture was perfect, she had a bit more makeup on than usual, and there was something in her eyes that Sana couldn’t quite understand. Sana pursed her lips, feeling a mix of concern and curiosity.
"Are you okay?" she asked, finally stepping forward to position herself right in front of Jihyo. Noticing the closeness, Jihyo frowned and cleared her throat, standing up from her chair. However, instead of responding, she said, "I’m sorry for not letting you know I’d be here earlier. I got distracted."
Sana quickly shook her head. "Don’t worry."
Jihyo nodded, but Sana noticed the worry in her gaze. The discomfort began to grow in the air. Sana scrunched her nose, feeling unsure of how to really start the conversation she wanted to have.
“Uh… Jihyo,” she began, feeling her words getting stuck in her throat. “Can I… ask you something?”
Jihyo nodded, taking Sana’s hand. “Of course, honey.”
“It’s… silly, but, um…” Sana cleared her throat, looking down and trying to find the right words. Finally, she slowly asked, “Do you know anything about Donghae?”
Jihyo tensed instantly, tightening her grip on Sana’s hand. “What?” Her voice sounded louder than she had intended.
Sana looked at Jihyo, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “Do you know anything about him?” she repeated, noticing the unease in Jihyo’s eyes.
“Oh,” Jihyo said, her tone confused, and soon, Joohyun’s words echoed in her mind. “No… I don’t know anything. I haven’t heard from him.”
Sana nodded. “It’s okay,” she whispered, sighing.
“Why?” Jihyo looked at her with concern. “Has something happened? Do you need me to…?”
“No,” Sana quickly shook her head. “Nothing happened. It’s just that…” Her voice trembled a little. “I was wondering why he hasn’t shown up to work.”
Jihyo sighed in relief, feeling as if a weight had been lifted momentarily. She knew there was a tiny chance that Sana had heard about what happened. After all, as far as she knew, the girl was quite good at keeping up with the news, and now with… Donghae’s situation, everything was more complicated. But it was clear that Sana didn’t know anything. That only made Jihyo feel worse.
"I'm sorry, Sana," Jihyo said, feeling guilty.
"Why are you apologizing?" Sana asked, confused.
"Because they still haven't found him," Jihyo admitted, looking down.
Sana shook her head, suddenly hugging Jihyo. "No, you don’t have to apologize. I know you’re doing the best you can, and so is everyone else."
Jihyo sighed, burying her face in Sana's neck, ignoring how the way Sana rested her arm against her side hurt the bruise she had. She closed her eyes, squeezing Sana even tighter, seeking comfort in her closeness. Finally, she pulled away, looking into Sana's eyes. They held the same look as yesterday, the same spark, and that worried Jihyo.
"Did you sleep well?" Jihyo asked, feeling the unease grow inside her.
Sana shrugged, stepping back and walking to the other side of the desk. "No," she replied, looking at the box she had set aside.
Jihyo sighed, sensing the conversation slipping into an uncomfortable place. "Seulgi has always been good at giving gifts, the best, actually," she said, trying to change the subject.
"Do you have any idea what it could be?" Sana asked, turning to Jihyo with curiosity.
"No," Jihyo replied, shaking her head. "I can’t imagine."
Sana nodded, running her fingers over the box, feeling the texture of the cardboard. Then she turned her gaze back to Jihyo, who smiled as best as she could, trying to hide her own concern. But finally, Sana cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "I had a nightmare yesterday."
Jihyo nodded, moving closer to Sana, feeling the need to touch her at all times before she herself broke down. "What was it about?"
"It was about him," Sana confessed, feeling the weight of emotion building in her chest.
Jihyo frowned, raising a hand to gently stroke Sana's arm. "What happened?"
"You left me alone," Sana looked at her, her eyes reflecting the anguish she felt. "I couldn't escape this time, and Donghae won."
"That’s not going to happen," Jihyo said firmly, trying to instill some hope in her. "I won’t let that happen, I promise."
"I know..." Sana replied, but her voice wavered. "But that doesn’t change the fact that waiting scares me."
Jihyo lifted a hand and gently placed it on Sana's cheek. Sana closed her eyes, not wanting to cry. She didn’t want to just... show herself like this to Jihyo after having the best day of her life the night before. It wasn’t fair. The way the universe seemed to give them absolute happiness only to let them fall into misery afterward.
Sana spoke again, her voice trembling. "I tried not to let it affect me. Yesterday at my place, when I pushed you away... I remembered the dream, I remembered everything. When we were at the gala too, and it was... different."
"Different?" Jihyo asked, feeling something in Sana's tone unsettling her.
"Yeah," Sana said, opening her eyes to find Jihyo's understanding gaze. "It was like I knew something was going to go wrong. Everything was so perfect, and then suddenly, the nightmare caught up to me. I felt powerless."
"Why didn’t you say anything?" Jihyo questioned, feeling a mix of concern and frustration.
"I thought I could control it," Sana replied, her gaze dropping. "I didn’t want to add more burdens to you. But... last night I didn’t sleep at all, and Momo... made a good point."
“What's the point?” Jihyo asked, her interest clearly piqued.
“She said that you just want to help me,” Sana explained, feeling a sense of relief in her chest as she opened up.
Jihyo nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “It was about time she said something good.”
“You don’t give her enough credit,” Sana said, feeling a bit more at ease. “She’s smarter than all of us.”
Jihyo smiled, rolling her eyes and nodding. “Thanks for telling me anyway…” She clenched her fists slightly. “I promise it will pay off... and in the meantime, I’ll make sure nothing bad happens. I’ll talk to Seulgi, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe.”
Sana smiled at her, feeling warmth in her heart. She leaned forward and kissed the girl softly on the lips. “Thank you.”
Jihyo shook her head, kissing her again and saying, “It’s nothing... I would do anything for you.”
Sana raised her eyebrows and smiled, wrapping her arms around Jihyo’s neck. She leaned in to rest their foreheads together, both sighing, enjoying the embrace in a moment of tranquility.
But Sana, always perceptive, interrupted the moment. “Wait a second,” she said, pulling back slightly and looking into Jihyo’s eyes. “You never answered my question.”
Jihyo made a sound of uncertainty, feeling the weight of the question pressing down on her. She wanted to open up, she wanted to share everything she had been feeling, but uncertainty held her back. Sana pulled back a little more, gently cupping her cheeks, making sure their eyes met.
“Jihyo, seriously. Are you okay?” she asked again, her tone filled with concern.
Jihyo bit her tongue, feeling the internal struggle in her chest. She wanted to tell her, she really did; there was nothing stopping her from doing so. But she felt wrong at that moment. She wanted to wait until the papers were ready, to get Sungbin out of her life, to wait until she could finally tell Sana that they would be able to be together without having to hide.
So, instead of answering, Jihyo nodded, smiling with a mix of sadness and hope. Without thinking any further, she leaned in and kissed Sana with all her might, as if that kiss could encapsulate all her feelings and desires. She wanted to remember that kiss forever, that moment of pure and sincere connection, a refuge amid the storm she was experiencing.
Sana seemed surprised at first, but then she surrendered completely to the kiss, wrapping her arms around Jihyo and deepening the contact.
When they finally pulled apart, Sana, with shining eyes and a smile on her face, asked, "What was all that about?"
Jihyo shrugged, feeling a mix of shyness and bravery. "I wanted you to know that I love you," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.
Sana blushed, and a giggle escaped her lips. "I know. I love you too." The joy lit up Jihyo's face upon hearing those words, and without thinking, she leaned in to place a delicate kiss on Sana's eye, a gesture full of affection.
Finally, they separated, and Jihyo smiled, admiring the lovestruck expression on Sana's face. "Now... how about we open the gift? Maybe it’s something as interesting as Joohyun's."
Sana rolled her eyes with a playful smile and cleared her throat. "Alright, let's see what’s inside." She walked over to the desk to check the package, while Jihyo sighed and grabbed a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon and open the box. "By the way, I never asked. What does Seulgi do?"
Jihyo pretended to think for a moment. "She’s a kind of... entrepreneur?"
"Entrepreneur?"
"It’s a bit complicated, really," she shrugged. "As you know, she has a lot of connections. Her father was the chief of police before, but she decided not to follow that path, so she focused on other things."
"What do you mean?" Sana inquired, a spark of interest in her eyes.
Jihyo shot her an amused glance. "I’m just curious!" Sana insisted, trying to sound innocent.
"Well, she’s really into buying and selling goods. She helps Irene a bit with her work and has a couple of... underground businesses," Jihyo explained, noticing how Sana's expression shifted to disbelief.
"What? Seulgi, daughter of police officers, is some kind of... mobster?" Sana exclaimed, surprised.
"That’s not it!" Jihyo quickly responded, though she couldn’t help but smile at the idea. "I guess..."
"Wow, what a surprise," Sana laughed.
"What?"
"Well, it’s ironic! You know, you’re a lawyer and you have your daughter’s godmother laundering money somewhere in the country."
"She doesn’t launder money!" Jihyo defended, raising her hands in protest. "And to her defense, when I met her, she wasn’t doing any of that. And I don’t judge her. Besides, my job is to make sure the bad people go to jail, and Seulgi isn’t bad. She’s like... a kind of cat mixed with a teddy bear."
"That’s a really weird comparison," Sana commented, laughing as she shook her head.
Jihyo rolled her eyes, smiling. "Do you want to see what’s in the box or not?" she asked, trying to change the subject.
"Well, woman. Surprise me," Sana replied, with an expectant smile.
Jihyo leaned over the box, opening it with a dramatic gesture. "Ta-da!" she exclaimed.
Sana leaned in, trying to see inside. "What is it?" she asked, leaning a bit closer for a better view.
"It’s... photos? Or something like that. It looks like there are several books and a couple of other boxes."
Sana made a sound of surprise. "Wow! What else?"
Jihyo began to pull things out slowly, her heart racing with excitement. She first took out a large brown book with golden details. She ran her fingers over the surface, feeling the texture, but didn’t open it. At that moment, Sana spoke, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Look! There are records too."
Jihyo furrowed her brow and turned to Sana. "Records? What kind?" But suddenly, she felt her heart beat faster. Sana pulled out the records, and Jihyo froze upon seeing the cover; she recognized them, she always would; it would always be one of her best memories, that concert, that band...
Setting the records aside, Jihyo continued to pull out the other items, her heart pounding harder. There were photo albums, posters, a hoodie that smelled strongly of vanilla. But when she reached the small boxes, she felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
Carefully, she took out the first one, very aware of Sana's gaze on her. Upon opening it, she found a small letter tied with a delicate string. Her heart stopped for a moment as she read the handwritten words: "From Son Seungwan to Tzuyu, your future, my past."
"Oh, Wan..." Jihyo whispered, feeling pain and nostalgia mixing in her chest. Sana frowned, as if she wanted to ask what was happening, but Jihyo didn’t look at her. She was too absorbed in what she held.
With trembling fingers, she continued to pull out the boxes, each revealing different letters tied with delicate string. But they all had one thing in common: they were for Tzuyu. Each written word was a testament to Seungwan's love, and her heart broke again, just as it had years ago.
Finally, she noticed a small note at the bottom of one of the boxes. She picked it up between her fingers, feeling the world around her fade away. She read between breaths: "I found this and thought it was time for you to have it. And when the time comes... I also hope that little Tzuyu knows she had someone who loved her so much that they kept holding on to life for her."
Suddenly, her vision blurred with tears, and she felt one of them soak the letter in her fingers. Sana, noticing Jihyo's expression, panicked. "What’s wrong?! Are you okay?! Why are you crying?!" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Jihyo shook her head, trying to smile. "I don’t know," she replied, her voice trembling a bit.
Sana quickly moved closer, frowning as she tried to wipe Jihyo's tears with her thumb. "Is it something bad?" she asked, her tone full of tenderness.
"No, it’s not bad," Jihyo assured her, though her heart continued to race. "... it’s just what I needed."