If there was a scale that measured emotional chaos, today would be shattering it.
I didn't want to see her. I swore I wouldn't. But Bo-ra… being Bo-ra, had other plans.
"Just thirty minutes," she said with those pleading eyes and an annoyingly gentle tug at my sleeve. "You don't even have to talk if you don't want to. Just come."
I don't know why I agreed. Maybe I was tired of avoiding ghosts. Maybe I was just tired.
So there I was, walking beside Bo-ra toward a cozy restaurant in Samcheong-dong—wooden signage, paper lanterns, and the smell of grilled mackerel. The kind of place that pretends it doesn't host emotional landmines.
The moment we stepped inside, I saw her. My mother. Dressed a little too neatly, hands clenched on the table, eyes filled with guilt. Like she knew I'd already counted the seconds since she left. Like she remembered the exact expression on my face when she did.
"Yul," she stood up nervously. "Thank you for coming."
Bo-ra glanced at me, her hand brushing mine under the table. A silent, annoying show of support.
I took a breath. Sat. Didn't speak.
And for a few minutes, it wasn't terrible. My mother spoke—halting, unsure. Words about regret, about being young and confused. She even cried a little. And maybe… maybe I was listening.
Until he showed up.
A man in a cheap gray blazer with sunglasses perched like he thought he was someone. "Honey," he called out, loud and fake-sweet. "Let's go. I made reservations."
My mother flinched.
Then, I saw it.
His grip tightened on her wrist. Too hard. Her expression twisted, but she said nothing.
"Let go of her," I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor.
He turned. Scoffed. "Who's this brat?"
I didn't answer. I just moved. My hands shoved him back, hard enough to knock him into a chair.
"Yul!" my mother gasped, but I couldn't look at her.
"This is who you replaced Dad with?" I growled. "Someone who manhandles you in public like it's normal?"
She looked down. Silent. And that silence—God—it snapped something inside me.
I stormed out.
---
The ride home was dead quiet. Bo-ra clutched a takeout bag in her lap like it could hold our shredded dignity together.
At the house, she followed me inside.
"Yul," she began softly.
I dropped my keys on the counter.
"Don't," I muttered. "I need space."
But Bo-ra doesn't do 'space.' She hovered. Tiptoed around me like a concerned pigeon.
"You don't have to talk," she said, setting the food down. "But don't shut everyone out. Especially not me."
I turned to her. My voice was strained. "I said, leave me alone."
She stepped closer. "Yul, I know you're hurt, but—"
"You don't know anything!" I snapped, voice loud and sharp. "You don't know what it's like to be abandoned by your own mother! To see her leave and then come back with a man who doesn't even treat her right!"
Her expression fell, but I wasn't done.
"You weren't there! You don't get to pretend you understand."
"I'm not pretending—"
"And stop acting like this marriage is something more than it is!" I yelled. "It's fake, Bo-ra! We both signed papers! So don't get delusional! Don't meddle in my life like you have a right to!"
Silence. Her lips trembled, but she didn't say a word. And that was worse than yelling.
Then I said it—the words I would regret the second they left my mouth.
"Don't cross the line, Bo-ra!"
She stared at me like I'd physically struck her. Her eyes welled up, but she quickly blinked them away.
She nodded slowly, turned around, and walked out of the house without another word.
The door clicked shut.
And suddenly, the room was too quiet.
I stood there. Breathing heavily. Like I'd just survived a storm I created myself.
Outside, I caught a glimpse of her through the window. Bo-ra, standing alone on the sidewalk. Her shoulders trembled. And then… she broke. Hands covering her face, silent sobs shaking her body.
My chest twisted.
What the hell was I doing?
She didn't deserve that.
None of this was her fault.
I turned away. Slammed my hand against the wall. The pain felt dull compared to the ache in my throat.
She was just trying to help.
But I'd pushed her away—again.
…Again.
To be continued.