I don't know what was worse—seeing her again after all these years, or watching Bo-ra stand beside her with that same soft, earnest look she used when talking to stray cats.
The morning light streamed through the wide windows of our living room, all golden and gentle, the kind that made even bad memories look nostalgic. Too bad it couldn't fix the tension twisting in my chest.
"Yul," Bo-ra said cautiously, her hands fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie. "I think… maybe you should talk to her."
I didn't look at her. My eyes were glued to the woman sitting on the couch—Ji-won Geum. My mother. Or, more accurately, the woman who used to be my mother before she vanished without a trace.
She looked too calm. Too collected. She even brought a fruit basket.
Like that would make up for twelve years of radio silence.
"I'm not doing this," I muttered, turning toward the stairs.
Bo-ra rushed in front of me, arms outstretched like a human barricade. "Wait! Just—just hear her out."
I stared at her. "Why? So she can cry and tell me she had her reasons? So she can hug me and say she's sorry like that magically erases everything?"
"She is sorry," Bo-ra said, her voice tight. "I think she really is. She's trying."
"She should've tried twelve years ago."
Bo-ra flinched.
Behind her, Ji-won stood up slowly, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yul-ah… I don't expect you to forgive me today. I know what I did was—unforgivable. But I'm not here to ask for forgiveness. I just… I wanted to see you. I missed you."
Her voice was so gentle it felt like it was made of paper. Easy to tear. Easy to burn.
I looked away.
Bo-ra took a shaky breath, stepping closer to me. "I know you're hurt. I'd be furious too if I were you. But… do you really want to carry this anger forever? You're not that kind of person, Yul."
My jaw clenched. "Don't tell me what kind of person I am."
Bo-ra blinked. Her mouth parted like she was about to say something, but she closed it again. And then opened it. And then closed it. It was like watching a goldfish have an existential crisis.
Finally, she stomped her foot. "I'm trying to help!"
"By defending her?" I snapped, voice louder than I intended. "By standing there and acting like she didn't disappear for more than a decade? Like she didn't leave me alone with a father who barely looked me in the eye and a grandfather who treated me like his next stock investment?"
Ji-won lowered her gaze. Her shoulders hunched slightly, as if the guilt had weight. "I don't expect you to understand—"
"You're right. I don't understand." My chest rose and fell like I'd just run a marathon. "Why did you leave, huh? What was so unbearable that you had to walk away from your own son and never look back?"
She hesitated.
That pause—that damn pause—spoke louder than any excuse.
Bo-ra looked between us helplessly. "Okay. Okay. I get it. This is a lot. But screaming won't fix anything."
"I'm not screaming," I lied.
"You literally just roared like a k-drama chaebol heir having a meltdown!"
"That's oddly specific."
"Well, if the Gucci loafer fits—!"
I groaned and turned away, running a hand through my hair.
Ji-won took a careful step forward. "I know I messed up. I was scared, Yul-ah. I thought… leaving was the best thing I could do."
I spun around. "Best for who?"
She flinched.
"For you?" I hissed. "Because it sure as hell wasn't best for me. Do you know how many nights I sat by the door like an idiot, waiting for you to come home? Do you know how many birthdays passed where I swore you'd walk through that door with a cake and a smile?"
Silence.
I laughed bitterly. "And now you show up with apples and a polite apology like this is some kind of sitcom reunion?"
"Yul, that's enough," Bo-ra said quietly.
I looked at her.
And that's when I saw it—her eyes shimmered. Not quite tears, but close. Her lip trembled like she was holding herself back from shaking me.
"You're not the only one who's hurting," she whispered. "You think she's not carrying this pain too? You think it was easy for her to come back, knowing you might never forgive her?"
"She should be scared," I muttered.
"Yeah, maybe she should," Bo-ra shot back. "But you're not doing this to protect yourself anymore. You're doing it because it's easier to stay angry than admit you're still that little boy who wanted his mom back."
That hit me like a slap.
I stepped back like her words had actual force behind them.
"I know what it's like to be abandoned," she said softly. "To wait for someone who never comes. But Yul… you have her. Right now. And that's more than most people get."
I didn't realize my fists were clenched until she reached out and gently unfolded my fingers.
Her touch was warm. Steady.
Like an anchor.
Bo-ra glanced at Ji-won, who still stood frozen across the room, and then back at me. "I'm not saying you have to forgive her today. Or ever. But if you don't even try, will you really be okay living with that?"
My throat tightened. I looked away.
"I just need time," I said hoarsely.
Ji-won nodded, her eyes glassy. "I understand."
I nodded once and walked past both of them, heading to the hallway bathroom just to breathe. To think.
I splashed cold water on my face.
My reflection stared back, eyes tired, expression tight.
I didn't know who I was angrier at—her, for leaving… or myself, for still wanting her to stay.
---
Later that evening, Bo-ra knocked softly on my bedroom door and peeked in like a nosy raccoon.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
She tiptoed in with two convenience store ice cream cups in hand—one vanilla, one strawberry. "Truce offering?"
I took the vanilla without a word and patted the bed beside me. She plopped down and kicked her legs up like she owned the place.
"I wasn't trying to gang up on you," she said eventually. "I just… I hate seeing you like that."
"I know."
"And I hate fruit baskets."
I snorted. "Me too."
We ate in silence for a bit, and then she nudged my arm. "You're allowed to feel whatever you feel, okay? But you don't have to go through it alone."
I looked at her—her slightly melted ice cream, the bit of strawberry on her lip, the furrow between her brows like she was solving world peace. My chest ached.
I wasn't used to people staying when things got ugly.
But she did.
She always did.
"You really are annoyingly good at this," I said quietly.
Bo-ra grinned. "It's my curse."
"And you still want to fake-marry me?"
She paused dramatically, then said, "Only if you upgrade the snack budget."
"I'll think about it."
She bumped her shoulder into mine. I let her.
And for the first time all day, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I could breathe again.
---
To be continued…