Archive of Our Own ^beta

I have a funny way of saying 

I love you, I love you

Like the way I’ll uncover

All the layers you hide under

When your pain is as loud as thunder

I’ll be your rain

Let my love wash away 

All the places that ache

I wanna take your heartbreak away

- Olivia Ruby, love u in a thousand unsaid ways

The first time Mina holds her daughter in her arms, it’s six months after she’s born.

The skin-on-skin contact Mina has craved for ever since she found out she was pregnant is only eased when the doctor hands her the baby, complete with prescription and instructions about the do’s and don’ts when it comes to having a child whose days have been numbered. Mina swears that she’s listening but her eyes are fixed on her daughter. It’s the first time she gets to see her up close. She’s thin and light, her skin pale and her veins visible. Mina knows the average baby is supposed to weigh seven pounds at birth. But her baby only weighed four. She’s spent the past several months living in the hospital, moving from one room to the next, constantly being prodded and inserted with needles. Each pain her daughter felt during that time, Mina felt it tenfold.

“Remember, Mina-ssi,” Dr. Chou instructs her gently and Mina’s shoulders fall as she holds her daughter close, pressing a kiss on her forehead; “Five years.” 

The words are spoken in a somber tone, a soft reminder of what to expect. Mina knows the doctor—her best friend’s father—sympathizes with what she’s going through. However, she wants, even if it’s only for a second, to hug her daughter close and to not be reminded of how her time is limited. She wants to know how other mothers feel—to finally hold their baby in their arms and know that the pain was worth it. But most of all, she wants to be happy, even if it’s only short-lived. Even if her happiness is one touch away from shattering all over.

“Hyejoo,” she murmurs. It’s the first time she’s said the name out loud—she wanted her daughter to be the first one to hear it. It’s her name, after all. “Hyejoo, I’m your mom. Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Mina is only aware she’s crying when her tears fall on Hyejoo’s face. She leans back, sniffing, and wipes them with the sleeve of her sweater. Her daughter stirs, eyes still closed, and one tiny hand reaches out. It’s only for a brief moment but Hyejoo’s fingers curl around Mina’s thumb. A rush of motherly affection almost reduces her into a puddle of tears.

(They say mothers forget the pain of childbirth as soon as they hold their baby since it’s replaced with inexplicable joy but with Mina, the pain only deepens.)

Six months.

She waited six months for this.

Six months after she gave birth only to watch the doctors take her baby away, barking orders about NICU and declaring the baby to be alarmingly underweight and unable to breathe. Six months of being told of the problems and issues and finally—the diagnosis. Six months of waiting, worrying and praying to any God who would listen out there. All she wanted was to take her daughter home. Now she can.

“Hyejoo,” she whispers, “I’m here. I won’t ever leave you. I love you.”

(Five years, Dr. Chou's words never leave Mina's mind.) 

Mina’s family is rich.

In light of Hyejoo’s condition, Mina doesn’t have to work like other single moms do. The father is out of the picture—a boyfriend who flaked the second he heard the news. Even though her parents disapproved of her getting pregnant so young, they helped with medical bills and assured Mina that she always had a home to get back to in Japan. Still, Mina feels the disappointment and bitterness each time she calls them with updates about their granddaughter. They promise to visit soon. Mina doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Mina can’t go back home, though.

Not when her time with her daughter is already so limited, not when getting a passport for her baby can take up hours, if not days, not when she can spend the four-hour long flight from South Korea to Japan taking Hyejoo for walks instead of being stuck in a metal deathtrap. Mina is paranoid. She has every right to be. At least that’s what she tells herself.

(Mina thinks of a six-year-old Hyejoo pointing excitedly at cherry blossoms planted in front of the Myoui mansion and wants to weep.)

Hyejoo's first word is omma.

Mina is reading a book while her daughter is playing on the couch next to her. Hyejoo doesn't have a shortage of toys to play with. From building blocks to stuffed animals, Mina has provided. She can hear Hyejoo babbling happily next to her. Even though she's thin and littered with bruises, her smile is the brightest thing Mina has ever seen. She can't help but feel like she's been robbed of this smile, despite seeing it now. 

As she turns a page in her book, she feels Hyejoo's gaze on her. Every now and then, she looks up to see her baby focusing on the blocks. But the silence is unnerving. Mina puts down her book and sees Hyejoo staring at her. 

"What is it, Hyejoo?" she asks sweetly. From all the books she's read, baby talk is discouraged. "Are you hungry?" 

Hyejoo breaks out into a fit of giggles and raises her arms. Mina sighs happily and slides closer. She holds her baby in her embrace, hugging her tight and rocking her lightly. The baby babbles out a few words. Some of them are incoherent while others sound familiar but still don't make any sense. Mina has been trying to teach her new words but it's hard to teach a baby who just focuses on the most random object. Like Mina’s necklace or her hair. Other times, Hyejoo just likes to drool all over her. 

As Mina rubs her baby's back, she feels Hyejoo's tiny arms wrap around her neck. Then—

"Omma." 

Mina freezes, mouth dropping open. She pulls back slightly and meets Hyejoo's sparkly eyes. "Huh?" 

"Omma," Hyejoo repeats then she giggles again. When she smiles, Mina forgets about the bruises littered all over her skin. She says a few more words but they're incoherent. Mina doesn't hear them anyway. All she can hear is Hyejoo's first word, cycling through her mind repeatedly. Omma. Omma. Omma. 

Mina shakes her head, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes. Hyejoo reaches out, small fingers splayed over her mother's cheeks and stares at her in wonder. It's almost like she's asking: omma, why are you crying? 

Mina inhales shakily. "I'm okay, Hyejoo," she murmurs, "I'm okay. I just love you. I love you so much." 

Hyejoo doesn't repeat the word again. Not in a long while anyway. But Mina doesn't forget. She doesn't forget the rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm her—the pure joy and elation of being called omma by her baby and the devastating truth that one day, she will lose this baby. She will lose her. It's a given. It's written in the stars. It's what the doctors have told her. But sitting on the couch, with Hyejoo in her arms, Mina knows she will always have this. At least she will never forget this. 

On Hyejoo’s first birthday, Mina bakes a cake with her best friend.

“Happy birthday, Hyejoo,” Tzuyu greets when Mina returns from the baby’s room, holding Hyejoo in her arms. Tzuyu’s face brightens at the sight of her goddaughter and she quickly grabs a phone to take a picture. “Time flies by so fast, right?”

Mina’s heart rattles inside her chest. Each reminder of time feels like a slap to the face. Time flies by so fast. She imagines a metaphorical band aid being ripped from a festering wound upon hearing the words. Five years, Dr. Chou told her. A birthday is supposed to be a celebration but Mina just wants to despair. For her, it’s a ticking time bomb. It’s a reminder that Hyejoo’s life is running on borrowed time.

(She wasn’t supposed to survive, she overheard one nurse say during the six months at the hospital, but she persisted.)

Her thoughts only come to a standstill when Tzuyu rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Mina-yah,” her best friend says, smiling sadly, “do you want me to light the candle?”

She doesn’t have to ask but Mina is grateful she did anyway. “Let me,” she says, passing Hyejoo to Tzuyu and walking over to where they set the birthday cake on the dining table. It’s an intimate event. Mina doesn’t have any other friends anyway. There’s Momo and Sana from college but they lost touch over the years. Mina thinks of reaching out to them but she dispels the brief thought with a shake of her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself when she has Hyejoo.

“Happy birthday to you,” Tzuyu sings, lightly rocking the baby in her arms, “Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you! Make a wish, Hyejoo!”

Hyejoo is too young to make a wish so Mina does it for her. She closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. Tzuyu doesn’t say anything, leaving her to it. Mina has never asked for much. Growing up, everything was always given to her, even though it did come with a few expectations she didn’t think she could fulfill. She was given the best toys, the best clothes, the best education. She’s never known anything less. She got what she wanted, even if she didn’t necessarily ask for it. But now, standing before Hyejoo’s first birthday cake, she asks for the one thing she knows she might never have.

She wishes for more birthdays to come.

She wishes for her daughter to grow old.

She wishes for time.

When Mina tucks Hyejoo after the small birthday celebration, she takes a seat on the couch next to Tzuyu, who is wordlessly eating a slice of cake, and asks, “If I died, would you take care of Hyejoo for me?”

Tzuyu, understandably, chokes on her food. “Unnie,” she half-scolds, half-sputters, “What the fuck?”

“It’s a hypothetical question—”

“One that I’m uninterested in answering.” Tzuyu huffs, setting her plate down, before she turns to look at her best friend. “What’s this talk about death? Today is Hyejoo’s birthday—you’re supposed to be celebrating life.”

Mina picks at some invisible lint on her jeans. When she doesn’t say anything, Tzuyu sighs and scoots closer. They’ve always been very quiet with each other, only needing to utter words when it’s necessary, and Mina has never been the type to cave under useless prodding. So Tzuyu bids her time and waits for Mina to elaborate, which she does a few minutes later,

“It’s just,” she begins, letting out a frustrated sigh when she can’t come up with the right words. Tzuyu reaches over and squeezes her hand. Mina shoots her a small smile, grateful for the show of support. “It’s like this—being a mom makes you think about how you could always do better,” she continues, her voice trembling at the corners. The only thing keeping her from breaking apart right now is Tzuyu’s steady gaze on her.

“I want Hyejoo to have a normal childhood,” she goes on to say, her heart clenching painfully inside her chest, “I want her to play with other kids. I want her to skin her knees and get dirty. I want her to come crying to me afterwards. Like all the other normal kids.” She takes a deep breath, moving her hand to rest on top of Tzuyu’s; "I’ve read a lot about kids with leukemia. The numbers have significantly improved but in Hyejoo’s case… I don’t know. The doctors aren’t hopeful.”

Tzuyu’s steady gaze wavers.

“And I keep thinking… if I could give up my life for hers, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Mina says and Tzuyu’s grip on her hand tightens, “I know most parents would do the same.”

Tzuyu doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she knows that in situations like this, Mina doesn’t need her to. She just needs her to listen. So Tzuyu does.

“I know I don’t really make any sense right now,” Mina mumbles, remembering her earlier question. The tears that have been pooling in her eyes finally fall, streaming down her cheeks. She uses her other hand to wipe them away. “I’ve been thinking irrationally and I would never leave Hyejoo’s side but if anything were to happen to me—”

“I’d raise Hyejoo as if she were my own,” Tzuyu whispers and the raw truth in her voice is exactly what Mina needs to hear. At once, she turns to her best friend and falls into her waiting arms. Nothing significantly bad has happened yet but Mina feels like a spring stretched too tight, one move away from snapping into two and breaking apart. Ever since Hyejoo was brought home, all Mina can think about is how little time they have together. Dr. Chou’s words are a haunting reminder, the one voice that never leaves her mind. Five years. She tries to be optimistic but it’s like inhaling lungfuls of water in the middle of the ocean. Each breath she takes just lets more in. She can’t breathe.

Hyejoo is here. Hyejoo is home. Hyejoo is hers.

“There’s not much we can do about the situation,” Tzuyu starts haltingly, as if she’s afraid of pushing Mina off the edge but Mina simply buries her crying face into her best friend’s shoulders and grips her shirt tight; “We can think about the what ifs all we want but it won’t change anything. I guess the one thing we can do is give Hyejoo the life she deserves, no matter how limited her time might be.”

“Don’t say that,” Mina pleads, more tears leaking from her eyes.

Tzuyu, like her father, doesn’t sugarcoat her words. “It's a reality we have to face," she murmurs, "I hate it as much as you do, you know that, right? Let's do our best to make her happy." 

Mina knows Tzuyu is right but she doesn't want to talk about it anymore. So she simply nods, letting in a shaky breath, and pulls back from her best friend's embrace. Their gazes meet. Tzuyu smiles sadly. 

"Do you want me to stay the night?"

Mina nods. "Please," she murmurs, even though she knows that when Tzuyu arrived, her best friend already brought a change of clothes with her. 

Each time Hyejoo's temperature rises, Mina drops everything and rushes her to the hospital. The fever subsides in minor cases but Mina doesn't want to take any chances. A number of complications can rise, such as internal bleeding or respiratory failure. Leukemia is quick to progress, after all. She doesn't want to give it any reason to catch up to her baby. 

Every time they leave the hospital after getting treatment, the knot in Mina's chest loosens slightly. It's not much, though. The knot always tightens later on. It tightens when Hyejoo's skin develops bruises out of nowhere, when Hyejoo cries and Mina doesn't know how to soothe her, when the fever always comes back, sometimes quietly, other times viciously. Mina comes to understand that for as long as she'll live, the knot will never leave. It will never let go of her heart. It will always be there, even when the moment comes where Hyejoo won't be. 

Mina understands the price of being a mother.

She gladly pays for it.

(When a mother loses a husband, she is called a widow. 

When a child loses a mother, he is called an orphan. 

What do you call a mother who loses a child?

Mina doesn't know. 

She doesn't want to know.) 

Mina and Hyejoo live in a well-off apartment in the middle of that city. There's a park right next to them, which is convenient when Mina wants Hyejoo to see the world in its beauty. Sometimes, when she's craving for something she can't cook or have delivered, Mina dresses up Hyejoo in her best clothes, locks the apartment and wanders outside with a stroller in tow. She isn't like other moms who have kids with illnesses—she doesn't shut off her baby from the world. If she did that, then what's the point? What's the point of bringing this child into the world if they don't see it for themselves? 

The two of them, along with Tzuyu, visit the park the morning after Mina celebrates her birthday. Mina doesn't let Hyejoo walk on her own, afraid that she might fall and hurt herself. If she bleeds, she might never stop. This is why Mina is careful to hold her hand and not let go. She holds her daughter as she stumbles on a few clumsy steps. The bright smile on Hyejoo's face makes Mina's heart soar. 

Tzuyu takes pictures with her phone, mirroring the smile on Hyejoo's face. "We should compile a scrapbook," she muses, "A book of firsts, right?"

Before, when Hyejoo first came into her life, Mina would wallow and despair at the hopelessness of that idea. A book of firsts. They wouldn't make it halfway through. From what the doctors have told her, Mina has little reason to believe her daughter will reach high school—where many firsts are experienced. Hyejoo has been robbed of that the second she was born into this world. 

But now, Mina just shares in Tzuyu's musings. Her best friend means no harm. She can see the reasoning behind it. When the day comes where Hyejoo won't be around, they can look back at the scrapbook and reminisce on the pictures they find. Mina knows Tzuyu will do it regardless if she disagrees, anyway. Tzuyu has been snapping pictures each time they get together. 

“Yeah,” she agrees easily, her grip on Hyejoo’s arm firm, “A book of firsts.”

Mina views her life as before Hyejoo and after Hyejoo. Before Hyejoo, she knew what she was doing and what she wanted. She knew which university to attend, what field she wanted to major in, where she wanted to go after she graduated. With the help of her parents, she had a plan. She liked having a plan. Everything was set. Things were certain and stable.

When she found out she was pregnant, things changed. Having a child does that to you, after all. She was forced to quit college, even though she knew she could power through it. She had a plan to come back as well. But when Hyejoo was born and more complications came after each problem, she knew she had to focus on her daughter. Her future could wait because it wasn't even sure that Hyejoo had one in the first place.

Her life wasn't ruined when Hyejoo came into the picture. Most people would feel sorry for her. Mina thought differently. Her life was changed—not for better or for worse. It was just given a new purpose. 

And that purpose was Hyejoo.

("Omma! Omma!" Hyejoo calls from the living room and Mina rushes from the kitchen to find her daughter sitting cross-legged on the floor with a completed puzzle in front of her. 

Mina places her hand on her chest and lets out a relieved sigh. "What is it, Hyejoo?" 

"I finished it!" the child proudly exclaims, "It only took me three days but I finished it!" 

She points at the puzzle showing a picture of Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses and looks back up at her mother. If Mina can look past the shadows under Hyejoo eyes, the sharpness of her cheeks and the bruises peeking from under her clothes, then she can say that her daughter looks like any normal kid. A kid who doesn't have cancer. 

Mina sinks to her knees next to her daughter and pats her head. "You did such a good job, honey," she gushes, "How about we get some ice cream?" 

Hyejoo gasps. "For real? Even though dinner isn't ready yet?"

"Yes." Mina stretches out her pinky, a wide grin on her face. "I promise.")

One day, four-year-old Hyejoo gets pneumonia. 

It’s the most stressful experience of Mina's life. When Hyejoo was diagnosed, she kept up with certain medication to ensure her body remained healthy. But the cancer has also kept pace and now, Hyejoo's body is suffering because of it. She wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to breathe because of the water in her lungs, and Mina's hands shake as she drives them to the hospital. She only manages to call Tzuyu after Hyejoo is rushed to the ICU. 

Tzuyu arrives straight from her apartment half an hour away, hair windswept and eyes frantic. Mina stumbles at the sight of her. She bursts into tears and Tzuyu hugs her, holds her close, tells her that it's okay. 

Tzuyu lies.

It isn't okay.

(“Chemotherapy,” Dr. Park, another new face to add to the bunch, tells her solemnly, "I know you don't like it but our options are running low. It'll help destroy the cancer cells but it'll affect the healthy ones as well."

Just for once—Mina wishes she had a partner to make the decision for her.)

"I'm cold, omma," Hyejoo complains, wincing when she jostles her IV tube. Mina jumps to her side and drapes her with the blanket she brought for herself. It's been a week since Hyejoo was admitted to the hospital. She is still recovering from pneumonia.

"Better?" Mina asks, willing herself not to shiver in front of Hyejoo. The air conditioning has been shut off but because it's winter, the cold is unforgiving. She slides her hand under the blanket, looking for Hyejoo's warmth. Instead, she finds a thin wrist trembling due to the cold, biting weather. Hyejoo looks at her, eyes sparkling, and Mina's heart aches. Her daughter's cheeks are hollow, her frown permanent. 

"When can we go home?" Hyejoo asks in a quiet whisper.

Mina swallows painfully. "Soon," she promises, masking the uncertainty in her voice, "Once you get better." 

Hyejoo struggles to sit up. Her thin shoulders rattle as she doubles over, coughing. Mina grabs a glass of water and makes her drink. 

"When will I get better?" Hyejoo asks, after the coughing has subsided. Her voice wavers.

Mina closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Soon," she repeats, "I promise." She knows, without needing to look, that Hyejoo doesn't believe her.

Hyejoo's father didn't leave because Mina was pregnant. He was willing to stay. He loved her, told her they'd work it out, promised to stick by their daughter. But when Hyejoo was born with too many complications, he realized the enormity of the situation. He didn't want to take care of a sick kid who probably wouldn't even make it past five years old. The heartbreak of it all would've broken him. So he thought it was better to stay away than to feel the full brunt of it. So a few days after Hyejoo was born, he packed his things and moved away. 

Mina never saw him again. 

"We might need to stay in the hospital for a few more weeks, Hyejoo," Mina tells her daughter, running her fingers through her dark hair, "since the doctors want to run a few more tests." 

Hyejoo shakes. For a split second, Mina thinks she's trembling with anger. Mina has consistently promised that they'd go home soon but they haven't. Any child would be upset. But when Mina ducks her head to look at Hyejoo, she realizes her baby is actually crying. The tears stream down her cheeks silently. It hurts so much to see her like this. 

"Is there something wrong with me?" Hyejoo asks quietly, "I don't like the hospital, omma. Everybody always looks so sad." 

Mina's heart breaks. She raises her head, blinking the impending tears from her eyes, and holds her daughter close. 

When it comes to Hyejoo's illness, Mina hasn't explained much in detail. She only told her daughter that she's more prone to getting sick compared to other kids. But now, sitting here in the darkness of the hospital room, Mina knows she has to tell her the truth. 

"There's nothing wrong with you, honey," Mina explains, closing her eyes when she feels Hyejoo's shoulders shaking harder, "It's just your body is wired… differently. Remember white blood cells? We talked about that before, didn't we? They're like the soldiers of our body. They keep us safe and healthy. You see, most people have a healthy amount of them. But your body can't stop producing these cells. And this means you don't have enough red ones, which carry oxygen to your organs. This is why you're here, Hyejoo, because the doctors are trying to help your body maintain a healthy amount of cells." 

Hyejoo is quiet for a long time. 

"Honey?" Mina calls softly, "What's on your mind?"

"Okay, I'll stay here," Hyejoo murmurs, looking up at her mother, "If that means I'll get better soon, then I'll stay here for as long as the doctors need me to!"

Oh, Hyejoo, Mina thinks to herself, wanting to weep. But her daughter’s smile is large and toothy. It makes things a little brighter, even though Mina knows there’s nothing to be happy about in the situation. She chooses not to say anything, opting for a smile she hopes doesn’t look too fragile, and combs her fingers through Hyejoo’s hair. 

Hyejoo spends her fifth birthday in the hospital. She's been in the hospital for a few months now. The treatment for pneumonia has passed, only to be replaced with chemotherapy sessions. She sits on her hospital bed, wearing a beanie to cover her bald head, and watches a movie on the TV. 

Tzuyu comes over from her classes with a store-bought cake in hand. Her apology about not being able to bake one due to time constraints dies on her lips when Mina hugs her and Hyejoo beams at the sight of her godmother. Times are tough but Tzuyu is thoughtful, as always. 

"Thank you," Mina whispers to her best friend when Tzuyu passes her the candle. Hyejoo rubs her hands together excitedly, sitting up on her bed. 

"Hi, unnie," Hyejoo greets brightly and Tzuyu grins, eyes crinkling into half-crescent moons. 

"Hey, kiddo," the older woman says in return, "how was your day?" 

"It was okay!" 

"We watched a movie," Mina shares, lighting the birthday candle on the cake. Tzuyu is sitting on Hyejoo's bed and scoots over as Mina approaches; "What was the title of that movie, honey?" 

Hyejoo's eyebrows scrunch, meeting right in the middle of her forehead, and Mina laughs. 

"It was about… toys," Hyejoo answers uncertainly, "There was a cowboy, I think?" 

"Do you mean Toy Story?" Tzuyu suggests helpfully. 

Hyejoo nods excitedly. “Yes!” 

“Don’t tell your mother but I cried during Toy Story 3,” Tzuyu gushes in a low voice, even though Mina is right next to her. Hyejoo, in return, nods seriously. It is almost as if she’s been given a very important secret to cherish. 

“I haven’t even watched Toy Story 2 yet,” the child responds. 

Tzuyu smiles, patting her goddaughter by the arm. “That’s okay,” she says, “you still have plenty of time.” 

Mina doesn’t say anything. Instead, she places the cake right on top of Hyejoo's lap and whispers at her to make a wish. Her now five-year-old daughter clasps her hands together, squeezes her eyes shut and makes a wish. Tzuyu glances at Mina, smiling brightly, and Mina can't help but smile back.

The innocence of a child is always something to be cherished. 

As Tzuyu snaps a picture with her phone, Mina takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She makes a silent wish as well. This time, however, she wishes for something different. 

She wishes for Hyejoo to be happy.

("What did you wish for?" Mina asks her daughter after Tzuyu leaves and it's time for bed. 

Hyejoo cracks a wide grin, showing off perfect teeth. "A pet dog," she answers, "Like the one Andy had in the movie!" 

Mina laughs, nodding along. "Once you get better," she promises, the words getting stuck in her throat, "we'll get one, how about that?" 

The wide-eyed look Hyejoo gives Mina makes the woman laugh harder. "For real?" she asks. 

Mina nods again, unable to stop smiling. "Yes." 

Under the low light the bedside lamp provides, Hyejoo sticks out her pinky with an excited look written on her face. Mina hums and links their pinkies together. Then she leans forward and presses a quick kiss on her daughter's forehead. 

"Happy birthday, Hyejoo," she murmurs, thinking about the words that have haunted her the moment Hyejoo was placed in her arms. 

Five years.)

Against all odds, the chemotherapy works. 

Mina feels like a tense spring stretched to the point of breaking apart but she manages to hold herself together. Over the months, she watches as Hyejoo battles through her chemotherapy. Most of the time, she doesn’t complain. But Mina sees her daughter wince each time she moves too abruptly or wipe away her tears after she vomits her stomach’s contents. Hyejoo tries to be strong but it’s obvious the treatment is taking its toll on her. 

While Hyejoo is fast asleep, Mina finds herself in the chapel. Some hospitals have them as a safe space for people going through a difficult time. When Mina enters, she finds a man standing at the very front. He has a rosary clutched in his hand. She doesn’t say anything as she sits two pews behind him, staring up at the cross of Jesus at the altar. She’s far from religious but she grew up in a Catholic household. Her parents taught her that if she didn’t have anyone else to turn to, God is always willing to listen. 

And Mina needs someone to listen right now. 

She kneels in front of the pew, closes her eyes and brings her hands together.

Dear God, she thinks, if you’re listening, please help my daughter. 

She doesn’t ask for much—only for Hyejoo to be happy. 

“Sick relative?” the man in front of her asks, after she finishes praying. He’s turned his body so that he’s looking directly at her. Judging from the whites in his hair and the shadows under his eyes, he seems to be pushing fifty.

Mina smiles politely. “Daughter,” she answers. 

“Ah.” The man nods, looking distant. “I’m sorry to hear that.” There’s a pause as he shifts his body, even though his head is still angled towards her. “My wife,” he goes on, swallowing painfully, “was caught in a car accident. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.” 

Mina doesn’t know what to say so she keeps her silence. Still, she inches forward and gestures for the man to continue. He doesn’t seem to have noticed, too busy staring at his hands. Mina thinks he might be looking down at his rosary. 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he says, “I don’t mean to try and compare my pain to yours but… I don’t know what to do without her.” 

Neither do I, Mina thinks to herself, watching as the man’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. 

“I don’t even remember the last thing I told her before she left this morning,” he says, choking up, “I should’ve told her I loved her or something… Now I’ll never get to say it.” 

The man turns away, unable to keep it together, and sobs into his hands. Mina takes a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut, as she feels the impending tears. As she listens to the man stutter out his apologies amidst his crying, she feels her heart aching. Like a cold fist has reached out and gripped it tight. Even though she understands what the man is feeling, despite their situations being different, she doesn’t offer any comfort through her words.

Because in situations like this, when all hope seems lost, she knows they don’t mean anything. 

(“Congratulations, Ms. Myoui,” Dr. Park says, smiling brightly, “you can take your daughter home.”)

Hyejoo is discharged five months later. 

She’s thinner and paler than when she entered but the smile that graces her face when the doctors tell her she can leave makes her shine. Mina is cautiously hopeful. Because the treatment seems to be working. When the doctors checked the latest test results, they gave Mina the go signal to take Hyejoo home. Most of the leukemia cells seem to have disappeared. Of course, there are routine check-ups that have to be followed and more treatment to endure. But they seem optimistic. And Mina is afraid that things will go wrong if she banks in on their optimism. 

She’s spent the past several years believing Hyejoo didn’t have a chance. 

It’ll take her a while to un-believe it.

"Omma, omma," Hyejoo calls a few days after leaving the hospital, "Can we go to the park today?" 

It's the middle of summer break and Mina is reading a book in the living room. She looks up to find her daughter hovering excitedly by the couch, already wearing outerwear. “Are you sure?” Mina asks, setting her book down, “You just got out of the hospital…” 

Hyejoo nods. Her hair has grown now, curling around the edges of her ears, but it’s not the same length it used to be before she started chemotherapy. Still, she looks beautiful. The most beautiful child to have ever existed. 

Mina might be a little biased. 

“I’m sure!” Hyejoo says, “It’s been so long since we fed the ducks at the pond, omma. What if they’re hungry now?” 

Mina smiles and grabs her apartment keys from the coffee table.

(She’s here, Mina thinks to herself as she watches her daughter throw birdseed onto the pond where the ducks are happily swimming, she’s not going anywhere. It’s time to enjoy this. Everything will be okay.)

The apartment complex they live in doesn’t allow for pets. 

Still, Mina strikes a deal with the landlord. She can be very persuasive if she wants to be. And when it comes to Hyejoo’s happiness, Mina is willing to do anything... even drop a few bills. 

With Tzuyu by their side, Mina and Hyejoo pick a small white Maltese from the shelter.

“His name is Gureum!” Hyejoo declares, laughing when Gureum licks at her face. 

Mina and Tzuyu share a look. 

“Why Gureum?” Tzuyu asks, trying to get Hyejoo and the dog to stay still for a quick picture, “Did you name it after Gucci?” 

“No reason!” Hyejoo responds happily, “He just looks like a Gureum!”

Mina laughs, letting herself relax and enjoy the moment. It’s been a while since she’s allowed herself the luxury to do so.  Hyejoo is here and she’s happy, after all. 

Things are okay. 

Nothing can change that.

(Until one day, something—someone—does.) 

"Hyejoo?" 

When Mina peeks into Hyejoo's room, she finds it empty. A small trickle of panic rises in her chest—it's not enough to send her into crazy mom mode. But it’s enough to get her worried. Tzuyu tells her that she'll get wrinkles the more she worries but it's not like she can help it. She checks all the other rooms but doesn’t find her daughter. Just as she’s about to start panicking for real, she hears Gureum yapping outside, followed by loud shushing from Hyejoo, and feels her shoulders relax. 

“Hyejoo, what did I tell you about leaving the apartment—” Mina begins in a raised voice, jogging to the front door and swinging it open. The rest of her words die in her throat when she sees Hyejoo grinning broadly at a random stranger out in the hallway. Gureum is sitting proudly by her feet, wagging his tail excitedly at the newcomer.

“Hi, omma,” Hyejoo says, glancing at Mina and tugging on the stranger’s sleeve, “This is Nayeon-unnie!” Gureum follows after Hyejoo’s heels. He’s been trained not to bark loudly as to avoid disturbing the rest of their neighbors. 

The stranger, a woman who seems to be older than Mina by a few years, smiles politely. “Hey,” she greets, “I just moved in next door when I spotted your dog out in the hall.”

Mina shoots a stern but playful glance at Hyejoo, who grins sheepishly. “I apologize for the noise,” she says, “My daughter and her pet dog loves to play outside, even though I’ve told her countless times not to.”

“It’s fine,” the woman—Nayeon, Mina notes—says, brushing it off, “but I do recall being told that pets aren’t allowed here.” 

“Mommy asked the landlord if we could keep one!” Hyejoo butts in before Mina can speak, “She did it cause she promised me a puppy for my birthday!” 

Nayeon raises her eyebrows. “Huh,” she says, “I can’t argue with that logic.” 

Hyejoo purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. “What’s logic?” 

“You know, when your brain tells you what is right and wrong,” Nayeon pipes up.

“That’s conscience,” Mina corrects. 

Nayeon pauses, crossing her arms. “Oh, yeah, that makes more sense,” she murmurs. 

Mina pats Hyejoo on the head, fingers smoothing out the wavy curls that are slowly growing out, and says, “Logic works like this: If Tzuyu is in Taiwan, then Tzuyu is not in South Korea. So Tzuyu is in Taiwan. Therefore, Tzuyu is not in South Korea. Do you get it?” 

The look on Hyejoo’s face makes it clear she doesn’t get it at all. 

“We’ll learn more on philosophy some other time,” Mina says, kneeling down and patting her daughter’s cheeks, “but I recall you having some Hangul lessons you haven’t finished yet…” 

Hyejoo sighs loudly before she waves goodbye at Nayeon and calls for Gureum to follow her. A second later, they’ve disappeared back into the apartment. Mina watches them go, a fond smile on her face, before she remembers that her neighbor is probably waiting for her to introduce herself. She dusts off some invisible lint from her jeans and stands to face Nayeon. 

“She seems like a good kid,” Nayeon says, smiling at her. Now that they’re alone, Mina now has time to look at her neighbor. She’s taller than she is with wavy brown hair, large eyes with long eyelashes and heart-shaped lips. She’s wearing a white sweater with jean shorts.

(Mina thinks she’s pretty.)

“Yeah, that’s Hyejoo for you,” Mina says, “I hope Gureum didn’t bother you too much…”

“No, he didn’t,” Nayeon assures her, “He reminds me of my own dog so I couldn’t help but take a closer look. Then Hyejoo popped up from your place and thought I was planning to steal your dog or something, which I wasn’t, don’t worry.” 

Mina laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, Hyejoo would fight you to the death if you even tried.” 

“That scrawny little kid?” Nayeon snorts. “I’d like to see her try.” 

It’s just a comment but for Mina, it stings. She thinks of the little bruises on Hyejoo’s skin, the one she tries to cover up even though Mina tells her not to, and of the persistent fevers her daughter experiences for days, to the point she can’t even get up in the morning. It’s just a harmless little comment from somebody who doesn’t know them, but almost at once, Mina’s mood plummets. 

Hyejoo has always been thin but to hear someone else say it out loud doesn’t sit well with her. 

“Yeah,” she says, wanting to leave already, “Try not to get your hopes up.” 

Nayeon doesn’t seem to notice the drop in the mood. “I’m kind of jealous you get to keep a dog in the building,” she goes on, “I had to leave my dog back home with my sister. It really sucks.” 

“It does,” Mina says in a monotone.

Nayeon stares at her for a few seconds before she looks away, clasping her hands together. “Anyway!” she says, “It was nice meeting you! I should get going—I still have a lot of things to arrange at my place. I guess I’ll see you guys around?” 

Mina nods, grateful that the conversation is over, and waves goodbye. Nayeon pauses, looking like she wants to say something, before she shakes her head and heads to her own door. Mina re-enters her apartment, half-listening to the sounds of her neighbor walking away, and realizes that she never offered her name. 

(“Nayeon-unnie is really pretty, omma,” Hyejoo shares excitedly after Mina finishes reading her bedtime story, “and she’s super duper nice! She asked me if she could pet Gureum earlier! She didn’t have to ask but it’s awesome that she did!” 

Mina purses her lips. “She probably wanted to make sure he wouldn’t bite off her fingers,” she explains, trying to keep her voice level. Because as much as she agrees that Nayeon is pretty, her earlier comment about Hyejoo being scrawny hasn’t left her mind. 

“No! I think she likes dogs too. She told me about her dog!” Hyejoo defends, “She really misses him. His name is Cookie, I think.” 

“She might’ve mentioned that earlier.” 

Hyejoo sighs. “I hope I get to talk to her tomorrow.” 

Mina nods, sharing in her daughter’s grin, even though she feels a little uneasy about the whole thing. “Sure,” she agrees easily, “Maybe you'll see her again, if she isn't so busy?”

The smile on Hyejoo’s face, the one that’s been so easy to bring out nowadays, is enough to ease Mina’s worries.)

A knock on the door a few days later catches Mina’s attention. Hyejoo is too busy playing on her Nintendo Switch so Mina dries her hands from washing the dishes and heads to the front door. When she swings it open, thinking it's just some girl scout moving from one place to another, she's surprised to see Nayeon on the other side. 

"Hi, neighbor," the woman greets. In her right hand, she's holding a cup of coffee. 

Mina raises an eyebrow. "Hi," she says hesitantly. 

"Do you have some sugar?" The look on Nayeon's face is apologetic. "I forgot to pack some when I moved from my last place." 

That seems to be the oldest trick in the book but Nayeon seems like the type of person who forgets to bring the most basic of condiments so Mina nods. She gestures for Nayeon to wait outside, not exactly trusting her to come in, and heads back to the kitchen. She hears Gureum yapping excitedly, possibly having seen Nayeon, and for some reason, Mina wishes Hyejoo has her earphones plugged in—

"Nayeon-unnie!"

Too late. 

When Mina comes back with a small Ziplock bag filled with sugar (to make sure Nayeon doesn't come knocking again), she sees her neighbor leaning casually against the door and listening to Hyejoo chat excitedly about Animal Crossing on her Switch. 

“Do you know this game? All you have to do is live on this island with a bunch of animals!” Hyejoo is saying, showing Nayeon the screen to her Switch, "It was just released this morning and my mom had to wake me up really early so that I could play it because I've been waiting months—" 

"That's enough, honey," Mina cuts in gently, taking a step forward and handing Nayeon the Ziplock, "I'm sure Nayeon has other things to do—" 

"Oh," Nayeon says, giggling, "I don't, actually. I was just, you know, unpacking." 

Mina forces a smile. "And I'm sure you're still in the middle of it." 

For the first time since they met, the smile on Nayeon's face dims. Hyejoo is oblivious and sighs loudly at anything that resembles adult activities. Mina looks away from her neighbor and tells her daughter to go back inside. 

"Thanks for the sugar," Nayeon mumbles afterwards, ducking her head, "I'm sure you're busy as well." 

"We are."

"Ah—okay, I'll see you around. Hopefully?" 

When Mina doesn't agree nor disagree, Nayeon awkwardly waves and walks off to her place. This time, Mina lingers and waits for the tell-tale click of the door shutting in place before she shuts her own door. Then she stands there, her hand on the knob, and wonders why the sight of Nayeon and Hyejoo makes her so uneasy. 

“Hi Nayeon-unnie!” Hyejoo greets after the elevator doors slide open, showing the view to their apartment floor. Mina looks up from texting Tzuyu and spots her neighbor just leaving her place. Nayeon looks surprised to find them but a smile gradually appears on her face. 

“Hey, Hyejoo,” Nayeon greets as the mother and daughter duo approach, “Where did you guys go?” 

“The supermarket!” Hyejoo answers cheerfully, “Tzuyu-unnie is coming over later and omma says that I can help her out in making dinner!” 

Mina smiles politely at Nayeon. “Tzuyu is her godmother and my best friend.”

“Figured.” Nayeon laughs when Hyejoo raises her hand for a fist bump. “I’d love to stay around but I’ve got to head to the post office.” 

Hyejoo pouts. Mina knows that a pout like that will get anyone to cave in to whatever her daughter’s desires are. Nayeon must know this too because she lingers, looking like she's seconds away from melting at the sight of Hyejoo's expression. 

Mina looks at Hyejoo and comes to a decision. 

"Maybe you can come over for dinner later…?" she finds herself saying, her voice shy and awkward, because she knows she hasn’t been the best neighbor in the complex. 

Hyejoo claps her hands together eagerly. “That’s a great idea, omma!” she exclaims, hugging Mina’s legs for a quick second before she turns to Nayeon again, “Will you come over later, unnie? My mom makes the best mashed potatoes ever!” 

Nayeon looks surprised by the invitation but readily accepts. Mina tells her the time and to just knock once she’s already outside. Once the exchange is over, Nayeon shoots both mother and daughter a wide smile—it later strikes Mina just how pretty her neighbor is when she smiles with her bunny teeth out in display. She actually looks like a rabbit. 

“Thanks for inviting her, omma,” Hyejoo says once they’re inside the apartment; Gureum gets up from the sofa and waddles over to his owner. 

Mina nods. “Of course, honey,” she says, thinking about Nayeon’s bunny smile, “Anything for you.”

A knock on the door redirects Mina’s attention from setting the table. She asks Tzuyu to finish it for her, since her best friend arrived at the apartment from her classes early, and walks over to the front door. When she swings it open, she is greeted by her neighbor standing on the other side with a glass of wine in hand. 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring,” Nayeon admits, “but my parents always taught me never to go to a house empty-handed.” 

Mina nods at that. “My parents taught me the same.” 

She gestures for Nayeon to come inside but for some reason, her neighbor doesn’t move from her spot. Mina tilts her head to the side, slightly confused. Has Nayeon caught on with her frosty reception…?

“I don’t think it’s right for me to enter your house without knowing your name,” Nayeon says, looking sheepish, and Mina blinks, “We’ve talked a few times already but…” 

Oh. 

“I’m sorry,” Mina says, blushing slightly, “I didn’t realize…” Even though she did the first time they met. 

“It’s fine!” Nayeon assures her, “I should’ve asked.” 

Mina isn’t the best when it comes to talking with other people but standing in front of Nayeon now, she realizes just how long it’s been since she’s met somebody new. The past couple of years have seen to it that she’s only kept in touch with Tzuyu, her parents and Hyejoo’s doctors. Any friendships she might’ve had in college—like Momo and Sana—are now forgotten. She can’t even remember the last time she willingly reached out to someone other than Tzuyu. 

Maybe that’s why she feels so uneasy around her neighbor.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, bowing her head,  “I’m Myoui Mina.”

Nayeon grins, cheerful and bright. “Mina-ssi,” she says, eyes sparkling, “It’s nice to meet you.” 

It feels like a new beginning—hearing her name on someone else's tongue. 

Dinner is good. 

To Mina’s surprise, Nayeon and Tzuyu hit it off pretty well. Despite not having much in common, they strike a balance with talking about their dogs. Tzuyu practically melts when Nayeon shows pictures of her dog Kookeu (not Cookie, as Hyejoo had so confidently declared before) and shares her own photos of Gucci. Hyejoo is mindful of the food on her plate but listens attentively to Nayeon’s stories. Meanwhile, Gureum whines underneath the table, clearly wanting some scraps from the dinner table. 

Apparently, Nayeon was born in Incheon but moved to Seoul for her job. She works as a mechanical engineer in a big corporation. She visited Seoul a couple of times throughout the years so she knows most of the area. She's twenty six years old, which makes her two years older than Mina. 

"What about you, Mina?" Nayeon asks suddenly, redirecting the conversation, "What do you do?” 

Once more, Mina finds herself tongue-tied. It’s a harmless, standard question. A great topic for conversations. But it feels like she’s been slapped across the face. Still, she can’t exactly blame Nayeon for asking that question. They barely know each other, after all. 

“I used to study dance,” she answers truthfully, putting her fork down, “but I stopped after a few months in. You might understand why.” She gestures at Hyejoo, who is thankfully playing with Gureum underneath the table and completely misses the conversation. 

Nayeon hums. “I never pegged you for a dancer.” Her tone isn’t unkind but Mina finds herself clenching her fists under the table. It’s suddenly difficult to breathe. She can’t understand why talking about it stings so badly. 

Because when she got pregnant with Hyejoo, she never held it against her nor her ex-boyfriend. It was something that simply happened. It wasn’t unfortunate nor was it tragic. Because in Mina’s eyes, Hyejoo is a blessing. She’s one of the best things to have ever happened to Mina. Talking about the past and all the things Mina never got to finish or do isn’t something she wants. Regretting it has also never crossed her mind. 

“She took ballet,” Tzuyu pipes up, sensing the tension, “She always wanted to be one when we were still kids.”

This time, Hyejoo catches wind of the conversation. “Ballet?” she repeats, wrinkling her nose, “Isn’t that the one where you wear skirts and have to stand on your toes?” 

Mina laughs and nods her head. “Yes, honey,” she answers, feeling her shoulders relax at the sound of her daughter’s voice; the effect is almost instantaneous, “I’d like to say I was decent at it.”

“Decent?”

“It means good.” 

Hyejoo frowns, eyebrows crossing together. “Then how come you don’t do it anymore?” 

It takes a few seconds for Mina to gather her thoughts, well aware that Nayeon and Tzuyu are watching her carefully. She decides to answer with, “Well, when I find the time to do it, I’ll let you know.” Then she fixes her eyes on her plate, clears her throat and changes the subject. 

She pretends not to feel Nayeon’s stare burning into her. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Nayeon tells Mina a few minutes after Tzuyu leaves for the night, "Dinner was delicious." 

Hyejoo has retreated to her room with Gureum in tow. Mina and Tzuyu cleaned the table while Nayeon offered to wash the dishes. Her best friend and neighbor continued to talk about their lives while Mina half-listened. And now the night is coming to an end. 

"Thank you for coming," Mina replies, hugging her arms. She goes with Nayeon to the front door, walking her out like a good host. 

Nayeon fiddles with her thumbs as she lingers by the open doorway. It is clear she's thinking about something. Mina waits, not wanting to rush her but at the same time wanting to get to bed already. 

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight," Nayeon tells her suddenly, meeting her eyes. Her mouth is twisted at the corners. "Especially when I asked about your career."

Mina purses her lips and lets out a sigh through her nose. She has to hand it to her neighbor—she is more perceptive than expected. "It's fine," she replies, "You didn't know."

"How old is Hyejoo?" Nayeon asks after a brief pause.

"She's turning six next month." 

Silence. Nayeon must be doing the math. Mina leans against the doorway and waits for her neighbor's next words.

"You were only eighteen when you had her?" Nayeon questions, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. When Mina nods, the frown on her neighbor's face deepens. "Is the father—?" 

"He left." Mina's voice is devoid of emotion. Her ex-boyfriend's departure is something she accepted throughout the years. When she thinks of him now, she is no longer filled with anger or resentment. Only indifference. 

Nayeon nods quickly. "I see." She looks out of place, standing in front of Mina's apartment with her hands tied together. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Mina decides to ease the tension. “Don’t be,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m over it. It was years ago anyway.” 

Nayeon shakes her head. “Still,” she mumbles, “you didn’t have to go through this alone.” 

While Mina doesn’t necessarily agree with Nayeon’s words because she’d rather have raised Hyejoo alone than with somebody who couldn’t commit, she offers her a tentative smile. It’s the thought that counts, after all. “I wasn’t alone,” she corrects, “I had Hyejoo.”

Nayeon returns the smile. "She's a great kid," she muses, "Like mother, like daughter, I guess." 

Mina snorts. "You don't even know me that well." 

This doesn't seem to faze Nayeon because the older girl just smiles wider, bunny teeth out in full display. Each time she smiles, she looks a thousand times prettier. "Don't have to," she says, "I'm a pretty good judge of character." 

Mina lets out a gentle chuckle. It’s easier to talk to Nayeon now, despite her earlier misgivings. “I’m sure you are,” she says, glancing at the time on her watch. It’s nearing ten o’clock now. It’s time to put Hyejoo to bed since she has a doctor’s appointment the next day. She steps away from the threshold, giving her neighbor an apologetic look. “I have to go,” she says, fidgeting with her fingers.

Nayeon nods, the smile never leaving her face. “Good night, Mina.” 

“Good night, Nayeon.” When her neighbor walks away, Mina doesn’t shut her own door until she’s certain Nayeon has closed hers. Then she stands there, one hand on the knob and the other on the wooden frame. She thinks about the words Nayeon spoke to her and lets out a deep sigh.

You didn’t have to go through this alone.

“But I already have,” she murmurs. 

There’s a picture of Mina and her ex-boyfriend hidden in her desk drawer. It’s the only one she has left. A token of their relationship. She didn’t keep it because she still had feelings for him or because she wished he’d come back. She’s pretty sure if he did, she’d slam the door on his face. No—she kept the picture because she loved him and he loved her. Once, he meant everything to her. It hurts to think he also thought the same thing but left anyway. 

In the picture, Mina is four months pregnant. Her ex-boyfriend is crouched on the floor, ear pressed against her stomach with a large smile on his face. Hyejoo has his eyes.

When her daughter was diagnosed with cancer and robbed of the happy childhood she could’ve had; replaced with hospital trips, IV tubes and medicine for breakfast, Mina vowed to never show her this picture. 

Hyejoo must never know of another thing she has lost.

(Mina can’t remember the last time she let another person in after he left.)

Life goes on. 

Hyejoo is enrolled in kindergarten. 

Tzuyu graduates from her pre-med course. 

Nayeon comes and goes, always with her bunny smile in place.

And Mina—

Mina watches. 

(Mina stays where she is.)

“Hey, hold it for me!” Nayeon calls just as the elevator doors were about to close.

Mina immediately reaches out and stops the doors. Thank God she didn’t plug in her earphones otherwise she wouldn’t have heard her neighbor. Nayeon stumbles inside, running her fingers through her hair, and Mina can’t help but stare. 

Nayeon is wearing glasses. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Mina blurts out and quickly closes her mouth when Nayeon laughs and points at the object in question. 

“Yeah, I forgot to get some solution for my contacts hence the glasses,” her neighbor responds breathlessly, “I hope you don’t think I look nerdy in them—"

"I don't," Mina cuts in gently, shoving her hands into her jean pockets, "I think you look cute." 

Nayeon pauses, the surprise melting away into a shy grin. She presses the button to the ground floor, choosing not to comment. Mina feels her cheeks warm. She shouldn't have said that. They're just neighbors, after all. Apart from the occasional greeting each time they cross paths, they don't know each other that well. 

"Where are you headed off to?" Nayeon asks after they reach their destination. She leads the way, swinging the door open for them. 

Mina checks the time. It's 2:30 PM. "Hyejoo's class ends at three," she answers, "I was just going to buy some food and pick her up." 

The shy smile on Nayeon's face grows into a mischievous grin. "If that's the case," she says, checking her own watch, "I'll join you!" 

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Nayeon waves her off. "Nah," she replies, "I was just gonna buy some solution for my contacts but that can wait later.”

Mina stares at her, lips pursed. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, unless you don’t want me to come along—”

“No, of course I’m fine with you coming.” Mina rubs the back of her neck. “I just don’t want you to, you know, be forced to come with me or anything…”

A hand on Mina’s arm stills her thoughts. 

Nayeon’s bunny smile makes an appearance once more. “I offered, didn’t I?” 

"Nayeon-unnie!" Hyejoo yells excitedly, picking up speed once she spots Mina and Nayeon waiting for her on a bench outside the school. 

Mina's heart soars at the sight of her daughter—wearing her uniform proudly with a wide, toothy smile on her face. Once Hyejoo reaches them, she stops to catch her breath. Nayeon sticks out her fist and Hyejoo gleefully bumps it with hers. 

"How was school, honey?" Mina asks, scooting to the side so that Hyejoo is sitting in between them. 

"It was great! The teacher taught us about omnivores, herbivores and carnivores!" Hyejoo's hands are on top of Mina and Nayeon's thighs as she goes on to explain her lesson for the day. Mina listens attentively, not wanting to interrupt. 

On the other side of the bench, Nayeon makes all the right noises when listening to a child. She gasps, coos, nods along, and laughs when Hyejoo makes an unfunny joke. She seems to be great with kids. Mina finds her eyes trailing over to her neighbor more than once. 

While Hyejoo is in the middle of arguing that Gureum is a herbivore, (there's no way he would hurt other animals, unnie!) Nayeon looks up and catches Mina's stare. 

"You okay?" Nayeon mouths, quirking her eyebrows in a silent question. 

Mina nods and looks away. 

(Slowly but surely, Nayeon becomes a part of their lives.)

Nayeon works Tuesdays to Saturdays.

Every Monday, she gets out around the same time as Mina does, makes up an excuse and joins her in waiting for Hyejoo to finish up school. Sometimes, she makes Mina buy her a hotdog along the way. Other times, she buys them both coffee. One time, they even brought Gureum along to Hyejoo's school. What matters is that she's always there with her bunny smile. It comes to the point that she no longer has an excuse waiting for her at the tip of her tongue. She just steps out of the apartment at exactly 2:30 PM, waits for Mina to come out and asks, "Ready to go?" 

Hyejoo calls Mondays unnie days and always has something to look forward to at the start of each week. 

It takes a while for Mina to realize she looks forward to it too. 

Mina finds herself tucking away bits of information about Nayeon in her thoughts. 

Nayeon was born on September 22, 1995. Her zodiac sign is Virgo. Her favorite hobbies are watching K-Dramas and dancing to some of the new hits released by idols. Her fingers are freakishly long. She has two little sisters: Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung, who are still living in Incheon. When she laughs, Mina has to cover her ears to avoid going deaf. She loves coffee with vanilla. Her purse is a mess. Her favorite color is purple. She can’t hold umbrellas properly. She keeps little mementos that remind her of her friends, like a polaroid Jihyo took of them or a rabbit keychain Dahyun gifted her on her birthday. Her parents send her little paragraphs detailing their day. She doesn’t love her job but she likes it enough to stay put. She thinks she would’ve been an idol, in another life. She’s had two boyfriends and one girlfriend. 

Mina keeps them tucked away in the recesses of her mind. 

Against her better judgment, she remembers them. 

One day, Nayeon sends Mina a text. 

From: Nayeon-unnie 🐰

picking up my sister from the station so i cant come with u today :(((

[Read at 10:38 AM]

To: Nayeon-unnie 🐰

That's ok I'll tell Hyejoo :) 

[Delivered at 10:40 AM]

Mina taps the screen with her fingers, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. 

Hyejoo pouts when she sees that Mina is alone. 

“Where’s Nayeon-unnie?” she asks. 

"She had somewhere to be," Mina answers, stretching out a hand for Hyejoo to take, which her daughter does a second later, "Come on, do you want some ice cream? It'll cheer you up."

The gloomy expression on Hyejoo's face disappears into an excited smile and Mina tries not to think about Nayeon. 

"For real?" Hyejoo gushes, "I can have ice cream?" 

"Yes," Mina answers, sticking her pinky out and grinning when Hyejoo wraps her own around it, "Consider it a treat for being such a good girl."

Mina is aware that Nayeon doesn't know about Hyejoo's illness. There never seems to be the perfect time to bring it up. Besides, Hyejoo looks so happy and healthy already. What good would it be to remind her of the times she could barely rise from her bed due to the effect of her treatment? After all, each time they visit the hospital for their routine checkups, Hyejoo always grows quiet. Like she doesn't want to be there at all. 

I don't like the hospital. Everybody always looks so sad. 

Mina knows there's another reason she doesn't want to tell Nayeon. Nobody wants to get attached to sick kids, after all. Hyejoo's father is proof of that. 

She doesn't want to go through it again. 

The next day, there’s a knock on the door. 

Hyejoo is at school and Tzuyu is using her precious spare time at the apartment. 

“Are you expecting visitors?” Tzuyu asks, her eyes focused on the pile of homework she has to get through for the day. “Because I was hoping for some peace and quiet today.” Under the coffee table she's using, Gureum is sleeping peacefully. 

Mina frowns, rising to her feet. “Not really.” 

When she swings the door open, she’s surprised to find Nayeon on the other side. Standing behind her neighbor is a girl Mina has never seen before. A girl with short, choppy black hair, large eyes and a mole under her lower lip. She seems very young and very pretty. 

“Nayeon-unnie,” Mina says, leaning on the doorway, “don’t you have work today?” 

Nayeon shrugs. "I took a day off to drag my little sis around the city," she says, gesturing to the girl behind her, "Mina-yah, this is Chaeyoung." 

Chaeyoung smiles, a dimple carved on her right cheek. "So you're Mina," she greets, bowing her head, "Nayeon hasn't been able to stop talking about you on the phone. You're prettier in person."

Before Mina can respond, Nayeon elbows her sister hard. "Chaengie!" she whines, "Why would you say that!" 

"What? It's true!"

"Now you're just embarrassing me…" Nayeon throws Mina an apologetic look. "Anyway, we just dropped by to see if you wanted to grab some coffee out?" 

"Oh, I have a visitor—"

A hand on Mina's shoulder interrupts her next sentence. "Can I join?" It's Tzuyu, smiling brightly at the newcomers. "Hi, Nayeon-unnie!" 

"Hey, Tzuyu, I didn't think you'd be here today." Nayeon gestures between Tzuyu and her sister. "This is Chaeyoung, by the way." 

Tzuyu waves at Chaeyoung, who waves back, albeit shyly. 

Mina throws her best friend a look. "Don't you have homework?" 

Tzuyu tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed playfully. "Homework can wait," she declares, pushing Mina out of the apartment and grabbing the apartment keys for her, "I could use some coffee—I haven't slept for two days, you know."

Chaeyoung is very different from her sister.

Where Nayeon is loud, chirpy and extroverted, Chaeyoung seems reserved. She listens to the stories being told by her sister and chips in every now and then. Sometimes, she makes a joke that has Mina and Tzuyu laughing along, not because the joke itself was funny but because they’d feel bad if they didn’t laugh. But most of the time, she’s quiet. Mina finds herself being the center of Chaeyoung’s gaze since the younger girl doesn’t know how to make it seem like she isn’t staring, even though she is. 

Mina wonders if she’s being analyzed or if her neighbor’s sister has a crush on her.

But overall, the coffee date is good. Mina and Tzuyu have to leave early though, the former explaining that she has to pick up her daughter and the latter saying she still has homework to do. The two sisters nod at them. Before they leave, Nayeon looks at Mina, throws her the trademark bunny smile and says, “Tell Hyejoo I’ll make it up to her soon!” 

Chaeyoung’s gaze burns holes on her back. 

Later that night, as Mina leaves the apartment to throw the trash away, she stumbles across Chaeyoung having returned from a quick run to the nearest 7/11. 

“Hi, Chaeyoung-ssi,” Mina greets, “Are you staying another night at Nayeon’s place?” 

Chaeyoung nods. “Yeah, apparently she’s not done showing me around the city.” 

In the quick elevator ride up to their floor, they share small talk. Chaeyoung is an art major back in Incheon. She hasn’t graduated yet because she took a semester off. Nayeon is helping her pay her tuition, since an art degree is one of the most expensive ones you can study. Mina hums, listening attentively, as she files away more information about Nayeon in her thoughts. 

“My sister helps me out a lot,” Chaeyoung shares, “and Jeongyeon, too, since she’s trying to start her own chain of bakeries. Nayeon is used to taking care of everyone because she’s the eldest but a part of me thinks that it’s also because she wants to.” 

“She seems like the type,” Mina comments lightly. 

They reach their floor and stand in front of Nayeon’s apartment. Chaeyoung grins at her. “She likes you,” she says out of the blue and Mina feels her cheeks grow warm, “Well, Nayeon likes everybody but I can tell that you’re different.” 

Mina thinks about the first time she met Nayeon. “I think it’s because of my daughter,” she tells Chaeyoung, “They really hit off. I’m not that interesting, after all.” 

But Chaeyoung just shakes her head and pulls out something from her 7/11 paper bag. It’s a small pack of strawberries. “I don’t know Hyejoo as much as Nayeon does,” she says, “and yet I can tell that she’s a good kid. She seems really special. Unnie always talks about her too. Tell her she can have this.” 

Mina accepts the small gift and smiles at her new friend. “Thank you.” 

But Chaeyoung doesn’t leave yet. Instead, she stares at Mina with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’re not just a mother, you know,” she tells her gently and Mina’s eyes widen a fraction at the sincerity she hears in Chaeyoung’s words, “You’re your own person and Nayeon likes that person as much as she likes the mother in you.” 

“Chaeyoung…” 

The younger girl smiles broadly before she uses her key to enter her sister’s apartment. She waves at Mina before she shuts the door. All that’s left now is Mina’s thoughts, running on loop but getting stuck on Nayeon all over again. 

(Mina finds herself thinking of Nayeon during her most mundane moments—when she’s doing laundry, when she’s watching TV, when she’s reading a book, when she's walking Gureum—but most especially when she’s waiting for Hyejoo to come out of her school. She thinks of Nayeon when she sees Hyejoo’s bright, happy smile and she thinks of Hyejoo when she bumps into Nayeon in the hallway outside their places. It’s hard not to. Her daughter and her neighbor have bonded and grown a precious friendship, rooted in their mutual love for dogs and Nayeon’s love for children.

Maybe that’s what terrifies Mina the most.)

Monday next week, Nayeon knocks on Mina's door two hours earlier. 

"Hi," Nayeon greets when Mina finds her on the other side, "Do you have any plans today?" 

Mina thinks about her usual schedule: wake up, make breakfast, prepare Hyejoo, drive her to school, go home, make lunch, play with Gureum, pass the time with Animal Crossing, wait for Hyejoo to finish her classes and then pick her up. 

"Not really,” Mina answers, “I was just waiting to pick up Hyejoo.”

“Right, right.” For some reason, Nayeon looks nervous. Her hands are shoved deep into the pockets of her leather jacket and she’s nibbling on her lower lip. “I was wondering—you can totally say no if you don’t want to—but maybe we could go out today? Before we pick up Hyejoo?”

Mina raises her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side. “Isn’t that what we’ve always been doing?” she asks teasingly, wondering why Nayeon looks so nervous, “I don’t see why that has to change. You don't have to ask, unnie.” 

Nayeon goes quiet. “Yeah,” she says softly, eyebrows knitted together, “you’re right.” 

Mina can't help but feel like there's something Nayeon wants to say to her but she's too afraid to voice it out. But Mina's never been one to push so she just grabs her coat from the rack, picks up her keys and follows after her neighbor, thinking about the type of coffee she wants to order. 

It goes on like this—

Nayeon arrives early at Mina's door, asks her if she wants coffee and then spends more time with her every Monday. Sometimes, it's not even coffee they go to. Nayeon picks out restaurants she wants to try and waves away Mina's offer to pay her half. Then they pick up Hyejoo afterwards, Nayeon even suggesting to get some ice cream on the way home. Hyejoo looks forward to Mondays more now—not because there's free ice cream but because she gets to see Nayeon. 

The same uneasy feeling she felt when she first met Nayeon returns to Mina's chest. 

(Hyejoo doesn't know the extent of what she has lost—a normal childhood that doesn't involve hospital visits, a loving father who never left, and a future where she doesn't have to worry about passing her illness to her own kids—but Mina is afraid that this will be the first time she'll experience the gaping hole a loss leaves behind.)

It’s not like she expects Nayeon to leave. 

There’s just something in her heart that shrivels up at the thought of letting another person in because there’s always the possibility they could leave her. When her ex-boyfriend left after finding out about Hyejoo’s illness, it had crushed Mina. The only thing that kept her going forward was the thought of Hyejoo in her arms. It didn’t matter if she was hurting, as long as Hyejoo was home. 

Mina thinks of Nayeon and tries not to. 

The day before Nayeon's birthday, their neighbor plans to go back home to Incheon to celebrate with her close family and friends. 

Hyejoo is adamant in giving her a birthday present so before Nayeon leaves, Mina takes her daughter shopping. They spend only half an hour at the mall before Hyejoo is pointing at what she wants already. Mina laughs when she spots it, knowing without a doubt, that Nayeon is going to like it. 

(Mina spots a tiny keychain just as she's about to pay for the present. After a second's hesitation, she adds it to the cart. Hopefully Nayeon likes it too.) 

"Unnie! Unnie!" Hyejoo calls once the elevator doors spring open and they spot Nayeon leaving her apartment. 

Nayeon looks surprised to find them there but her mouth curls into a wide smile. "Hi, kiddo," she greets, crouching just so that Hyejoo can throw her arms around her, "What's up?" 

"I wanted to give you your present!" Hyejoo tells her, gesturing wildly for the shopping bag hidden behind Mina's hands. They didn't have time to wrap it up in a box so she decided to rip off the receipt instead. 

Mina catches Nayeon's gaze and looks away sheepishly. Something warm and soft settles in her chest. Despite it being light, she can't help but feel like its weight in her heart. 

"You didn't have to, Hyejoo," Nayeon says, looking touched, "Old people don't really celebrate birthdays anymore, you know." 

Hyejoo playfully rolls her eyes. "You're not that old, unnie." 

"You're just saying that, kiddo." 

Hyejoo puffs out her cheeks and hands Nayeon the shopping bag. "You can open it now," she says, "I want to see your reaction!"  

Nayeon laughs and concedes. She peeks into the shopping bag, surprise and joy flickering across her face once she realizes what it is. Mina holds her breath as her neighbor takes it out of the bag, fingers clutching the stuffed animal gently. 

It's a white rabbit plushie. 

"It reminds me of you," Hyejoo explains shyly, "because omma always tells me you have a bunny smile. She thinks it's cute!"

Mina groans, hiding behind her fingers, as she hears Nayeon's sparkling laughter.

"Well, you can tell your omma that I think her gummy smile is cute too." 

Hyejoo nods excitedly and Nayeon embraces her again. The sight is enough to warm Mina's heart. It makes her want to immortalize this picture in the back of her eyelids and never forget it. But she settles for watching the duo break apart, Nayeon still beaming like this is the best birthday gift she's been given. 

"When you make your birthday wish tomorrow," Hyejoo begins, clutching her unnie's hand as Nayeon stands up, "do you mind telling me what you wished for?" 

“But if I told you, that means it won’t come true,” Nayeon says, frowning. 

“I always tell my mom what I want for my birthday,” Hyejoo explains patiently as she rocks on the balls of her feet, “and she always does her best to get it for me. For my birthday last year, I asked her to take me to a restaurant where we could eat all kinds of kimchi and she did!” 

Mina laughs at the memory. She expected Hyejoo to ask for another dog but apparently, Gureum is enough for her. Nayeon chuckles as well, understanding the reasoning behind Hyejoo’s words and pats the top of her head affectionately. 

“Well, it’s easy to get what you want if it’s food or a toy,” she tells the child with a somewhat serious expression on her face, “but if it's something else—something you really want to happen but you know you just can’t get it easily—like good luck for a new job or for clear weather on a soccer tournament, then you don’t want to jinx it.” 

“Jinx?” Hyejoo repeats, a frown on her face. 

Mina steps in. “It’s like bad luck,” she answers, “but it’s more than that. Like a superstition. By saying something that you want to happen out loud, you end up giving the universe power to not make it happen.”

Hyejoo scowls. “That doesn’t seem like a very nice thing for the universe to do.”

“That’s because the universe is unkind and unfair, honey,” Mina tells her daughter quietly, trying not to let the bitterness seep through her voice. 

She thinks of Hyejoo in the hospital all those months ago, looking so exhausted she could barely open her eyes. She thinks of the countless medicines and injectables her daughter had to endure just to get better. She thinks of the sleepless nights where she tossed and turned and spent the majority just praying for Hyejoo’s pain to lessen.

The universe is a bitch. 

Nayeon’s hand on her shoulder stills the memories running behind her thoughts. She blinks and finds her neighbor giving her a warm smile. “Thank you for the gift,” she says, loud enough to make sure Hyejoo can hear the gratitude in her voice too, “but I should be going. My train is going to leave in a few.” 

Mina nods. They say their goodbyes to their neighbor, the mother-and-daughter duo heading to their own apartment. They hear the tell-tale sound of the elevator shutting close and the low thrum signalling its descent. Mina drives the key into the lock, trying to imagine Nayeon back in her house in Incheon, surrounded by her family and friends. She wonders what Chaeyoung will give her as a present—

Her present. 

Mina remembers the keychain she bought earlier sitting idly in her purse and curses herself. She actually forgot to hand in her present. When she looks up after opening the door to their place, she finds Hyejoo looking at her with a displeased expression written all over her features. Gureum is already yapping excitedly, emerging from Hyejoo’s room and bounding straight towards her owner. 

“You didn’t give unnie her gift,” her daughter says with a pout, bending down to kiss her dog.

Mina remembers the sound of the elevator shutting close and comes to a decision. 

“Stay here,” she tells Hyejoo, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Lock the door and don’t let anybody in, okay?” 

Hyejoo rolls her eyes and even pushes her mother out the door. 

Mina takes the stairs. It’s not easy running down nearly seven flights of stairs but she makes do. They didn’t celebrate Nayeon’s birthday last year since they weren’t that close with their neighbor yet so she wants to make up for lost time, even if her gift is as mundane as a keychain. This is the thought that pushes her forward, keeping her legs moving even when she already feels so winded. 

She catches a glimpse of Nayeon leaving the complex by the time she reaches the ground floor and hurries forward. “Nayeon-unnie!” she yells, her usually meek voice catching even the attention of the other patrons in the lobby.

Thankfully, Nayeon hears her, turning around with raised eyebrow as she holds the rabbit plushie Hyejoo had given her minutes before. 

“Mina-yah?” Nayeon asks, tilting her head to the side as Mina comes to a stop in front of her, taking huge lungfuls of air, “Are you okay?” 

Mina doesn’t answer. Instead, she just takes the keychain from her purse and thrusts it forward for Nayeon to take. She tries to ignore the blush creeping up her neck. A moment passes before her neighbor is taking the item gently from her hand.  

“That’s from me,” Mina murmurs, trying not to let Nayeon see just how badly her fingers are trembling, “I hope you like it.”

Amusement dances in Nayeon’s gaze. “A penguin keychain,” she notes, keeping the gift cupped in her palm, “Can I ask why?” 

“They’re my favorite—a friend from college once told me that I reminded her of penguins,” Mina answers breathlessly, “and I just—I want you to have a little piece of me too… wherever you go.” 

The look on Nayeon’s face is something she’s always caught glimpses of during their conversations and Monday meet-ups. The kind of look that you find yourself wearing without meaning to—full of fondness, gratitude and happiness. It’s a look that makes Mina feel so warm and light. It’s the same feeling she gets when Hyejoo wraps her arms around her and tells her ‘thank you’ for all that her mother has done. 

“I’ll keep it with me wherever I go,” Nayeon tells her, the smile turning into a grin, “Thank you, Mina-yah.” 

Just like that—Mina realizes she has let another person in once again—and for the first time since she’s met her neighbor, she realizes she doesn’t care. 

(Mina should’ve known better than to let her guard down.)

Two weeks after Nayeon’s birthday, the worst happens. 

“Hello?” Mina asks, halfway through making her lunch. It’s 11:24 AM.

“Ms. Myoui?” a voice on the other end of the phone says, “Your daughter Hyejoo is at the clinic right now. She’s currently experiencing a high fever. It’s best if you come pick her up right away.”

Mina drops her spatula and ends the call. 

As she hurries to shut off the stove and grab her shoes, she thinks back to all the warnings the doctors told her—warnings she never forgot but pushed away in the back of her mind because she thought things were going to be okay. 

There's a possibility the cancer could relapse.

It's important that we keep checking on her blood levels. 

As long we monitor her, she'll be fine. 

She tries to be rational. Maybe it’s just a fever, a side effect to the weather. It’s nearing December already—the cold is bound to get worse. The reasonable voice in her head keeps spouting out justifications and excuses but Mina knows that the only way her thoughts will be silenced is if she sees Hyejoo for herself. So once her shoes have been pulled on and her laces are tied, she hurries to the front door, says goodbye to Gureum and swings it open—

“Ah, Mina-yah!” 

—only to walk straight into Nayeon.

Thankfully, Nayeon manages to grab her shoulders and steady her. “Hey, hey, what’s got you in a hurry?” Her neighbor is smiling good naturedly, even though worry seeps in at the corner of her lips. She must see the turmoil in Mina's eyes. 

Mina is shaking her head and pulling away from Nayeon. "I have to go," she says, mentally calculating the time it'll take to reach the school, "I'll see you later.'

"Is something wrong—"

"I'm fine." Mina pulls out her phone, intent on calling Hyejoo's doctor to inform him that they'll be dropping by later but her hands shake so badly she can't find his name. 

Why is she panicking now? This has already happened so many times before. Hyejoo's fever rising, her getting so sick she can't eat, bruises appearing on her skin—each time something went wrong, Mina was quick to send them to the hospital with a racing heart but steady hands. So why is she shaking so badly? Why can't she find her doctor's name? Why can't she breathe? 

She suddenly sees hands envelop her own and gently pry the phone away. 

"Let me," Nayeon says, her voice low and soft, as she looks through Mina's contacts, "Who are you looking for?" 

Mina takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Nayeon doesn't know about Hyejoo's illness. All the months they've spent together, Hyejoo was healthy. There wasn't a sign that she'd been through extensive treatment. Mina never had the guts to tell Nayeon as well, stuck in the fantasy that she didn't have to. The doctors told her everything was fine, after all. She relied on their optimism and let her guard down. 

(Because if she tells Nayeon, what if history repeats itself?) 

"It's fine," Mina says again, trying to take her phone away. She's led them to the elevator now. Inside her mind, she's thinking about Hyejoo, sick and feverish, waiting to pick her up. "I just need to go." 

"You're not," Nayeon firmly says, gently nudging Mina inside the elevator, "Now tell me who you're looking for so that I can help you." 

Perhaps it's the authority in Nayeon's voice or the ticking time bomb in Mina's brain but she ducks her head low, takes another deep breath and murmurs, "Please call Dr. Park and tell him that my daughter is sick again." 

Mina can't bear to look at Nayeon, afraid that if she does, she'll find the same look her ex-boyfriend gave her when he found out that Hyejoo was far from the healthy baby girl he expected. 

Hyejoo is trying to fall asleep when Mina enters the clinic. She’s at the very edge of the room, her body facing the wall. From a distance, Mina can already see the small bruises that line her arms. Her brain short circuits. Why didn’t she see them before? Has she been such a terrible mother she never noticed her daughter getting sick again? Has her brain been filled with so many thoughts of Nayeon that she failed to remember the most important thing in her life? 

“Hyejoo,” she calls, settling on the edge of the bed and resting her hands on her daughter’s waist. She is warm to the touch; “Hey, honey, wake up. I’m here.” 

Hyejoo stirs and turns to her mother. Her face is pale, her lips chapped. She looks exhausted. “Omma?” she murmurs, sitting up, “I don’t feel so good.” 

“I know, baby,” Mina says, tears prickling the back of her eyes as she opens her arms and Hyejoo falls into them, “Let’s go to the hospital now, okay? Dr. Park is already waiting for us.” 

“But—” Hyejoo’s hands curl into fists on her back “—I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“I know,” Mina repeats, rising to her feet as she keeps her daughter locked in her embrace, “but we have no choice.” 

Nayeon is waiting for them in the passenger seat of the car, the worry never leaving her face. 

“Hey, unnie,” Hyejoo greets, a smile twitching on her lips, “are we going to get ice cream later?” 

Nayeon laughs, even though it sounds painfully hollow. “If you want, kiddo.” 

Mina deposits Hyejoo into the backseat of her car but just as she’s about to slip out and leave for the driver’s seat, she feels her daughter’s hand circle her wrist. Keeping her rooted and asking her to stay. The gesture is enough to bring more tears into Mina’s eyes and she hastily wipes them away. She has to be strong for Hyejoo. She can’t fall apart now. 

“Nayeon?” Mina calls, settling next to her daughter and adjusting their positions so that Hyejoo’s head is on her lap, “Can you drive us to the hospital?” 

Nayeon is quick to answer “sure” and transfers to the driver’s seat. Mina looks back down at Hyejoo, who has her eyes closed, as she falls back to slumber. She reaches out and combs her dark hair, which was already getting longer after the months of chemotherapy last year, and hates the thought that it might never reach her waist. 

(Mina hears the dreaded words—we need to run more tests—fall from Dr. Park’s lips again.

Beside her, Hyejoo ducks her head. Judging by the way her shoulders shake, it’s obvious she’s succumbed to tears. Mina reaches out and holds her daughter’s hand, offering whatever comfort she has, and knows that it will never be enough.

The knot in her chest returns—it never left.) 

“Hyejoo has leukemia,” Mina tells Nayeon the first night Hyejoo is back in the hospital; her neighbor went home for a quick change of clothes and returned with a small tub of ice cream. But Hyejoo is asleep now, once again tied up with IV tubes for the chemo drugs. It feels sickeningly familiar. 

Nayeon falters. "Oh," she says, eyes wide, "I didn't realize…" 

Mina takes the tub of ice cream and gestures for Nayeon to come sit with her near the window. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she says, "I just didn't know how to say it." 

But Nayeon shakes her head, understanding shining in her eyes. "You're not obligated to." She glances over her shoulder to look at Hyejoo's sleeping form and says, "I always thought she was just skinny… I didn't think she was…" 

"A cancer patient?" Mina quips, her gaze fixed on the ice cream. It's Hyejoo's favorite flavor: cookies and cream. "We thought she was going to be okay. Before you moved in, she was undergoing chemo." 

Nayeon looks back at her. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

"It's fine, Nayeon-unnie." Mina's voice wavers. "I'm okay." 

"No, you're not." Her neighbor lets out a deep sigh and reaches out to pry the ice cream tub open. "You don't have to pretend you're okay in front of me, got it? I'm your friend, after all." 

"Why are you opening it?" 

"Because you look like you need it."

Mina wants to weep. She spent the first five years of Hyejoo's life worrying that she was never going to reach past it. And when the treatments worked, she thought she could finally have the life she always wanted for her daughter. But the world is too cruel for this. Here they are now, back to where it all started—back to where Mina gave birth to her baby only for her to be taken away, to where she last saw Hyejoo's father's smile at her, to where Hyejoo's pain is riddled within the walls of this hospital. 

That’s because the universe is unkind and unfair, honey.

Mina doesn't think she'll ever be okay. 

Nayeon stands up, walks over to her side and then crouches by her knees. "Hey," she says, seeing the tears in Mina's eyes, "it's okay. You can cry. I'm here." 

Mina never imagined their first hug, despite the months they’ve spent together, would be at the hospital with her daughter lying in bed a few feet away. She's never been one to initiate skinship with her friends. But sitting here now, with a knot in her chest so painfully tight that she can't breathe because of it, she reaches forward and wraps her arms around Nayeon. Her neighbor tenses at first but it lasts for only a second before she's returning the embrace. 

Mina only worries about the tears spilling onto Nayeon's shoulder for a short moment before she feels a gentle hand caressing the back of her head. 

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Nayeon whispers into her ear, "Every now and then, you can cry. I won't judge." 

Mina wants to laugh but she only dissolves into more tears. Nayeon judging her is the last thing she's worried about. It's the possibility of her leaving that scares her the most. 

(But that's the thing—

Nayeon doesn't leave.)

On Hyejoo's seventh birthday, she spends it again at the hospital. Only this time, there's a new face to add in their small group. 

Nayeon arrives a little after Tzuyu does, a small present hidden behind her back. She obviously fails to hide it better because once Hyejoo spots the gift, she's sitting up excitedly and pointing at it. 

"Is that my present?" the child gleefully asks, laughing when Nayeon sighs loudly at having been caught, "I knew it! I knew it!" 

"Don't get too excited, buddy," Nayeon says with a cheeky grin, "You still have a cake to eat."

Hyejoo turns to her mother, frowning. Mina just laughs and ushers for Tzuyu to bring the cake over. They don't have much time anyway since Tzuyu has to go home to study and Nayeon needs to feed Gureum, since Mina asked her to. But after today, Gureum will be staying at Tzuyu’s place. 

They don’t know how long they’ll be here for, after all. 

When Tzuyu hands her the birthday candle, Mina thinks back to the time she thought Hyejoo would never make it past five. 

She hopes Hyejoo can do it again. 

They sing happy birthday to Hyejoo, clapping their hands together and admiring the large smile on the birthday celebrant's face. Then Tzuyu snaps a picture as Hyejoo closes her eyes and blows out the flame, making a silent wish behind clasped hands. Nayeon cheers proudly, belting out another, "Happy birthday, kiddo!" and Mina takes this time to make her silent wish, even though her daughter is already grown enough to make her own. 

Please keep Hyejoo alive. 

"What did you wish for?" Tzuyu asks, settling in next to her goddaughter, "I hope it's not another dog this time." 

Hyejoo smiles, eyes sparkling. Despite the persistent fever she experienced when she got here and the dark shadows under her eyes, she looks happy. If Mina can look past the IV tubes attached to her wrist and the bruises lining her skin, she can pretend they’re just back home, celebrating in Hyejoo’s room. The only thing missing is Gureum. 

“If I tell you, then it won’t come true,” Hyejoo tells Tzuyu, sounding very grown-up for her age, “I don’t want the universe to jinx it.” 

Nayeon laughs, remembering the conversation, and smears icing all over Hyejoo’s nose. Tzuyu scolds her unnie, telling her that the cake is meant to be eaten, but Nayeon simply smears more on her face too. As the three of them collapse in a fit of giggles over the cake, Mina feels her stomach twist painfully. 

She remembers what Nayeon had told Hyejoo before—

But if it's something else—something you really want to happen but you know you just can’t get it easily—then you don’t want to jinx it.

She wonders what Hyejoo wished for. 

(“Let’s just hope the cancer responds to the treatment,” Dr. Park tells her, “but if it doesn’t…” 

Mina doesn’t need him to finish the sentence.

It’s something she expected but never wished to experience.) 

Despite Mina telling her not to, Nayeon always sleeps over. 

Since Mina doesn’t have a job and relies on the monthly allowance from her parents, she’s the one who has all the time in the world. She never leaves the confines of the hospital, preferring to read her books or watch a movie by Hyejoo’s side. It’s a familiar routine, one that she’s done before. She’s been in this place so many times she recognizes the majority of the nurses. Just like what Hyejoo said, they don’t look too happy to be here either. Mina can understand. 

But Nayeon comes.

She always comes. 

Even though Nayeon has a stressful job, her own circle of friends and an apartment to come home to each night, she always sleeps over at the hospital. Even if it means waking up extra early just to get ready for work or insisting that Mina takes the couch or resting her head on Hyejoo’s bed just to get a wink of sleep. Mina doesn’t understand why. Yes, Hyejoo looks up to Nayeon like the older sister she never had but that doesn't mean their neighbor has to do all of these things. It’s simply too much. 

And it’s the complete opposite of what Mina expected. 

(The last thing Mina heard from her ex-boyfriend before he left was “I’ll see you at home later.”

It was a lie. 

When Mina went home, all his belongings were packed and gone. 

It was as if he was never really there in the first place.) 

But with Nayeon, it’s different. 

She has taken residence right next door to home, brought down all of Mina’s walls and walked straight into their hearts.  Each time Mina catches a glimpse of her bunny smile, she memorizes it in the back of her eyelids. And when Nayeon touches her in any way, like when she holds her hands or grips her elbow or even wraps her arms around her, Mina feels her touch like it’s burned into her skin. Everyday, Mina finds herself thinking of Nayeon. She thinks of how loud her laugh is, of the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles and how her long fingers grip Hyejoo’s shoulders each time they hug. 

Mina doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

She doesn’t need a third heartbreak.

(But it awfully feels like Nayeon wants to stay.) 

It’s been a month since Hyejoo was admitted to the hospital. 

The leukemia has returned, vicious as ever. It fills up Hyejoo’s bones and submerges in her blood. The doctor’s give her more medicine to drink, inject more treatment into her spine, run more tests. It’s twice as exhausting as before. Because when it comes to relapses, the possibility of never being cured is high. So they’re trying to fix it before it gets worse and before it’s too late...

Mina doesn’t want to think about it. 

Hyejoo looks upset to be back in the hospital. She tries to be strong but Mina can see right through the facade. When they’re alone, she doesn’t do much. She’s quiet and often stares out the window, admiring the view. Each time Mina strikes up a conversation, Hyejoo answers shortly before she’s back to thinking deeply. It feels like she’s so far away, even though she’s just right there. It terrifies Mina. 

Even when Nayeon or Tzuyu are around, the sadness lingers. It's so palpable Mina feels it in the air each time Hyejoo wakes up to find herself spending another day in the hospital. She doesn't know how to ease the pain and agony her daughter wears. She doesn't know how to make it better at all. 

Nayeon tries her best. 

She comes to the hospital with hilarious stories from work, shows Hyejoo pictures of Gureum and Gucci that Tzuyu sends and even brings the occasional ice cream every now and then. Mina can see how Hyejoo’s mood shifts when Nayeon is at the hospital but it doesn’t mean her sadness disappears. It’s there, sitting behind tired eyes, forced smiles and thin hands. 

It breaks Mina to see it. 

It breaks her even more when Nayeon pretends not to see it as well and treats Hyejoo like they’re still back home. They talk about school, work, TV shows—everything in between. Despite the coughs that wrack Hyejoo’s body, the hair that has fallen off, or the bruises that appear on her skin, Nayeon doesn’t look at her differently. Or maybe she’s just in denial too. 

Mina knows she is.

(It just gets worse—

“Ms. Myoui.” Dr. Park’s expression is grim. “The treatment isn’t working.”

Mina has run out of birthday wishes to make.)

Hyejoo is visited by her friend Yerim. 

Mina knows of Yerim, has listened to countless stories from her daughter about her best friend, has seen Hyejoo and Yerim playing at school before Mina picks her up, has even talked to Yerim one time when Hyejoo didn’t want to go home yet. Yerim is outgoing and friendly. Hyejoo once told Mina that Yerim was the one who reached out to her first and said that she wanted to be friends. 

Sitting on the couch with Yerim’s mother, Mina watches the two children babble on about all the things Hyejoo has missed at school. Hyejoo’s smile is wider, her eyes brighter and her laughs louder. She looks the happiest ever since she was admitted at the hospital again. Yerim sits next to her by the bed and doesn’t let go of her hand. 

Mina stares at them, thinks about how lovely it would be if they remained friends, and has to hold back the tears spilling from her eyes.

She doesn’t want to think about a future where they won’t be friends. 

“Your daughter is very strong,” Mrs. Choi tells her, smiling gently, “It’s good to see her smiling.”

Mina nods, not trusting herself to speak.

She wants to say Hyejoo isn’t strong by choice—she’s strong because she has to be. 

(The treatment isn’t working.)

Later that night, Nayeon arrives late. 

“Sorry,” she says, slipping inside the hospital room and tiptoeing towards Mina sitting on the couch. Hyejoo is fast asleep, curled up on her side with her left hand outstretched to accommodate the IV tube. Nayeon takes a seat next to Mina and puts down her stuff. She’s still wearing her work uniform. “I had a late shift today so I couldn’t come earlier—”

“You don’t have to come, Nayeon,” Mina says quietly, her eyes fixed on the liquid dripping from the IV bag, “It’s better if you don’t, anyway.”

From the corner of Mina’s eye, she spots Nayeon recoil, almost like she’s been slapped. “What—” she sputters. For the first time since they’ve gotten to know each other, Mina hears anger and disbelief coloring Nayeon’s tone; “What are you talking about?”

(The treatment isn’t working.)

Mina closes her eyes and clenches her fists. It’s a tone she never wants to hear from Nayeon ever again. “You don’t have to come everyday,” she goes on, voice slightly shaking, “Based from previous experience, the treatments are just going to get worse before it gets better. You’ll see Hyejoo vomiting, her hair falling out and her getting weaker everyday—”

Nayeon’s tone is even colder when she says, “You think I can’t handle that?” 

Mina opens her eyes and turns to her neighbor. “I just don’t want you to see it,” she whispers, “I don’t want you to look at Hyejoo and realize that this isn’t worth staying for—” 

“Why are you saying all these things?” The carefree expression Nayeon always wears has melted into a look of frustration. Her eyes are dark and persistent but Mina can see the questions popping up behind them. “What happened today that’s got you talking like this? And what makes you think that I’m going to let Hyejoo be when she needs all the support she can get?” 

A lump forms in Mina’s throat. Pair that with the knot in her chest and she’s unable to breathe. Not even looking at Nayeon, looking painstakingly fierce and heartbreakingly open, can help ease the pain in her heart. So she looks away, stares at the peaceful expression on her daughter’s face and murmurs, “Yerim visited today.”

Almost at once, Mina feels Nayeon relax next to her. “You mean Hyejoo’s best friend?” 

“Yes.”

“How did she react?” 

Mina shrugs, hugging her arms for warmth. “The usual,” she answers quietly, “It was like a regular day for them. Yerim told Hyejoo what she missed at school and even said that Teacher Kang was asking how she is.”

Nayeon hums. “That’s good, right?” 

It’s not. Mina can feel her chest rattle when she feels the weight of Nayeon’s gaze on her face. She knows her neighbor is waiting for her to shatter. And when she sees the pained expression on Nayeon’s face, she also knows she’s waiting to pick up the pieces. 

(The treatment isn’t working.)

“It’s not,” Mina tells her, voice shockingly even despite the turmoil in her chest, “It’s not good because I don’t want Yerim to get hurt if Hyejoo doesn’t—if she doesn’t—” She chokes on a breath, tears springing to her eyes, as the worst of her thoughts manifest in her brain, “—if she doesn’t make it.”

“You’re thinking too much—” 

But Mina is shaking her head as she squeezes her eyes shut. “You don’t understand,” she goes on, “Ever since Hyejoo was born, the doctors have told me of her survival rate. They were never optimistic to begin with.” 

Even in the darkness of the room, Mina can see the pain flickering in Nayeon’s eyes due to the glow of the street lights outside. She doesn’t take her stare away, wanting to say what’s been stuck in her head all this time and needing Nayeon to understand the situation. She needs Nayeon to understand why she isn’t just overthinking this.

“In leukemia, the doctors tell you there’s a five-year survival rate,” Mina says, “If you don’t have the cancer after five years, then you’ve been cured. But it’s different with Hyejoo. The second she was born, her time has been limited. Dr. Chou—Tzuyu’s father—told me that it’s unlikely she’ll even reach her fifth birthday. Her entire life, I’ve felt like I’ve been chasing after smoke. I can’t hold her in my arms without thinking about the time she won’t be there anymore. I look at this beautiful, wonderful child and I wonder why God or even the universe didn’t spare her. Why her? Why couldn’t it have been me instead? Why did it have to be her?” 

Mina’s eyes are now wet with tears. She can feel them streaming down her cheeks in steady streams. With shaky fingers, she wipes them away and continues to stare at Nayeon. 

“I’ve chosen to love her no matter what, even though I know I’m just going to get hurt in the end,” Mina says, feeling pathetic for herself, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way, Nayeon-unnie.”

She’s supposed to be strong—even if it’s not for her, then at least for Hyejoo. But sitting in the dark, with her daughter sleeping peacefully in front of her, she can’t help but feel like this is a long time coming. The string holding her heart together has finally snapped.

(The treatment isn’t working.)

“I’ve accepted that this is my daughter’s fate,” Mina whispers, feeling her own lips tremble at the weight of her confession, “but it doesn’t make things easier.” 

The last time she allowed herself to say all these things was on Hyejoo’s first birthday with Tzuyu holding her close. Here she is again, sometime after Hyejoo’s seventh, and it still hasn’t become any easier. Even though it hurts so much, like her tears have taken hold of her throat and refused to let go, at least it means Hyejoo is still here and there’s still something worth hurting over. 

Soft hands suddenly cradle her face and wipe away the tears falling from her cheeks. 

“Mina-yah,” Nayeon whispers, eyes filled with tears as well, “I’m so sorry.” 

The silence is unbearable. 

“Does Hyejoo know?” 

Mina looks away, sniffling. “How do you tell a child her days are numbered?” she murmurs, her eyes now fixed on the small furrow between Hyejoo’s brows, “How can—how can I even—”

Nayeon doesn’t say anything else. She continues to hold Mina close, keeps her face locked in her hands, and offers her silent comfort. After a few minutes, Mina finally gives in and buries her face on Nayeon’s shoulder. At once, her neighbor’s hand comes up to wrap around her. Her embrace is warm and comforting. For one selfish second, Mina lets herself go. 

It’s peaceful for a moment. 

“Mina-yah,” Nayeon says again as the night goes on, “why were you trying to get me to leave?” 

Mina sucks in a deep breath and grips Nayeon’s waist. “Because he did,” she confesses. 

The silence that follows makes Mina want to retract her words. She’s aware of letting Nayeon in, little by little, until she’s made herself home in Mina’s heart. But she’s never expressed her fear out loud—that by realizing the extent of Hyejoo’s illness, Nayeon will leave her. 

She can’t bear another person she loves leaving her too. 

Wait—?

“I won’t, you know,” Nayeon tells her quietly, running her fingers through Mina’s hair, “I have this firm belief that you don’t leave the ones you love, no matter how much it hurts you to stay.” 

Ah.

There it is. 

Mina has fallen in love before. She recognizes this feeling—the slow, descent to a warmth that reminds her of home and the fullness in her chest each time she thinks of that person. It’s nothing new. But with Nayeon, it takes her breath away. Because she’d been so desperate to keep her at arm’s length, to protect herself from getting hurt again, from being left behind by somebody she held so dear. She felt it with her ex-boyfriend. Soon, she’ll feel it with Hyejoo too. This is why she tried to stop herself from letting Nayeon—she’d been trying to minimize the casualties—

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Nayeon is persistent and stubborn with her stupid bunny smile and her loud laugh and her large hands and even larger heart and—

Mina loves her. 

(Why does everybody she loves leave her behind?)

Dr. Park sets her aside a few days later and tells her the truth. “The test results don’t look too good,” he explains, his eyes filled with remorse, "I hate to say this but have you considered hospice treatment?" 

Mina rubs her face, knowing all too well what the word means. "How long?" she croaks, "How long does she have?" 

The doctor sighs and presses his lips together. They're standing outside Hyejoo's room. Clutched in his left hand is a clipboard, filled with scribbles regarding Hyejoo's prognosis. Mina doesn't have to look at it to understand that it just spells out bad news. 

"The cancer is unpredictable," he says, his voice softening the blunt way he forms his words, "and she could die by multiple ways. Pneumonia again or liver failure or other infections we might not foresee. Sometimes, the body just shuts down and there's nothing we can do about it." 

"How long?" Mina repeats, her voice shaking with barely controlled agony.

Dr. Park looks at her. "Soon," is all that he says. 

They've stopped the chemotherapy now. 

It's a losing battle. Mina doesn't want to stop fighting. But she can tell Hyejoo is in pain. So for the following months after Dr. Park's prognosis, Mina never leaves her side. There is nowhere else she wants to be. 

They stay in the hospital because Hyejoo's immune system has weakened so badly that her taking a step outside could speed up the process of what the cancer has started. Tzuyu doesn't drop by as often. Mina can't blame her. Seeing Hyejoo like this is the most difficult thing she has to experience. It makes her think back to every sin she has committed in her life and wonder if this is karma trying to punish her.

Because Mina sees this for what it really is.

Punishment. 

One day, when Nayeon informs Mina that she'll be late again, Mina decides it's time. 

"Hey, honey?" Mina asks, taking Hyejoo's attention away from her switch, "There's something we need to talk about." 

It's a regular Thursday afternoon. Hyejoo sits by the window with her IV stand next to her. Her hair has grown again, tendrils of it curling against her ear. Mina approaches, her heart racing painfully in her chest, and takes a seat next to her daughter. 

"Yes, omma?" Hyejoo says, glancing up at her, "What is it?" 

Mina thinks back to her conversation with Nayeon before. How do you tell a child her days are numbered? With clenched fists, she realizes she's going to find out soon. 

"Remember when we watched that dog movie?" Mina opens up, feeling tears stinging the back of her eyes already, "A Dog's Purpose? Do you remember when Bailey got so old that Ethan had to take him to the vet?" 

Hyejoo stops playing on her switch and looks up at her mother with wide eyes. 

"You mean when Bailey was going to die?" she asks quietly. From her tone of voice, it's clear that she understands where Mina is going with this. 

Mina nods. "Yes," she says, "I brought that up because I wanted to tell you that we're just like dogs. When we get old or tired or sick, we just… move on." Please don't make me say it, she thinks to herself, aware that every fiber of her being is holding itself together so that she won't fall apart in front of Hyejoo. 

Hyejoo grows quiet. 

Mina takes a deep breath. "The doctors have tried their best, honey," she murmurs, "but you remember what I told you before? About your blood cells? They can't… fix it."

Hyejoo’s gaze doesn’t waver. “That means I’ll die, right?”  

Again, it is quiet. Mina holds back a sob and nods slowly. She can’t even say it out loud. God, she feels so weak. She’s supposed to be the one supporting her daughter but it’s the other way around. Hyejoo is the one who's supposed to feel like she’s lost something so dear to her because it’s her life, after all. She’s the one who’s going to die. And yet, Mina is the one who cries. It’s Mina who can’t stop her tears, who feels like she can’t breathe, whose hands shake so badly she can’t even hold Hyejoo’s inside her own. 

Death happens to the ones who get left behind. 

“Then I’ll come back.”

Mina looks up, heart jumping to her throat. Hyejoo leans forward and holds her mother’s hands tight. Her smile, unlike the ones Mina has been wearing the past few weeks, reaches her eyes. 

“Bailey came back to find Ethan, remember?” Hyejoo goes on to say, her smile turning into a grin, “I’ll do the same thing with you, omma! It might take me a while since I still don’t know how to ride the bus on my own and I might have to ask for directions from everybody around me but I’ll find you! You can count on that.” 

Mina lets out a deep sigh. "For real?" she asks quietly, despite the absurdity of the situation.

Hyejoo nods, sticking her pinky out. A moment later, Mina intertwines their pinkies together. "I promise," Hyejoo whispers, eyes shining.

Despite the pain wracking her chest, Mina lets out a soft laugh. She loves her daughter so much. She loves her childlike innocence, her stubbornness that’s so much like hers and the joy she brings to their home just by being her. Even until now, when they’re already at the end of the tunnel, Hyejoo still makes Mina the happiest person ever. 

“I love you, honey,” Mina says, wiping away her tears, “You know that, right?” 

Hyejoo’s grin widens. “Of course, omma,” she says, “You might not say it all the time but I know that you do. You tell me you love me everyday when you make breakfast for me every morning, when you feed Gureum everytime I forget to, when you fetch me from school and when you tuck me into bed every night. And I love you too—I love you a lot.” 

Mina kisses her daughter’s forehead, tears falling from her eyes, and hopes for the best. 

Later that night, Nayeon arrives so late Mina is already asleep.

But Mina stirs awake when she hears whispering. She opens her eyes and finds Nayeon seated by the edge of Hyejoo’s bed. The bedside lamp is turned on so she can see the tears that fill up her neighbor’s eyes as she speaks to the child sitting up on her bed. Their voices are hushed, clearly trying to let Mina have her peaceful slumber, but she hears their words anyway. 

“You’re going to be okay, kiddo,” Nayeon whispers, one hand gripping Hyejoo’s elbow, “I talked to Dr. Park earlier so I know…” 

Hyejoo sighs. “It’s okay, unnie,” she murmurs, “When I’m gone, at least omma won’t be so sad anymore.” 

It feels like a punch to the throat. 

“That’s not true,” Nayeon argues quietly, even though there seems to be no fight in her voice, “Hyejoo, don’t think like that. Your mom would want nothing more than for you to stick around longer… even if it’s just for a while.” 

Hyejoo is silent. 

“You’ll take care of her, right?” she asks after a moment, raising her head and meeting Nayeon’s tearful gaze, “I don’t want omma to be sad because of me.” 

Nayeon nods. "Of course, kiddo.” 

“Promise?" Hyejoo stretches her hand, pinky sticking out.

Nayeon seals the deal. "I promise."

Mina squeezes her eyes shut, not trusting herself to move. The knot in her chest—the knot that never let go of her heart—has squeezed so tight she’s not surprised to feel herself bleeding all over. Because she is. She’s in so much pain she doesn’t know how to hide it anymore. She’s about to let out a sob when she hears Hyejoo speak again,

“You should tell her, by the way.” 

A chuckle from Nayeon. There’s no humor in it. “I know,” she says wistfully, “but not now.” 

“If you keep waiting for the right time, it will never come."

“Since when did you get so wise, kiddo?” 

Mina opens her eyes when she hears Hyejoo giggle. “I’ve always been wise, unnie,” she says, “You guys just don’t believe in me that well.” 

Nayeon scoffs. “That’s not true.”

“Everybody treats me like a kid,” Hyejoo argues, “like I don’t understand what’s going on.” 

Nayeon lets out a soft sigh and reaches out to tap Hyejoo’s nose. “That’s because you are, you know,” she points out, “You will always be a kid for us.” 

Mina wants to share in this intimate conversation but she knows she’s intruding in a very private moment. So she bites her tongue and watches Hyejoo and Nayeon silently. From her years of being a mother, she understands the need for children to have their privacy. If this is something Hyejoo chose to share with Nayeon, then Mina shouldn’t hold it against her. 

Hyejoo shifts, lying on her back and staring at Nayeon carefully. “I’m glad I met you, unnie,” she mutters, hiding a yawn behind the hand that holds the IV tube. 

Under the glow of the lamplight, Mina sees Nayeon’s teeth bared out in a wide, bunny smile. “I’m glad I met you too, Hyejoo.”

“When I get back in the next life,” the child begins, sounding very sleepy already, “I’ll try to find you too.”

“And I’ll be here, waiting.” 

When Hyejoo finally succumbs to sleep, Mina sees Nayeon lean forward and press a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, the same way she did earlier. 

The worst happens—

Hyejoo passes on.

The funeral is quiet.

Despite never having seen Hyejoo in person, Mina’s parents fly straight from Japan. Hyejoo’s classmates and teachers are also there, along with the parents. Yerim cries into her mother’s arms. At the very back, Dr. Park and Dr. Chou stand, wearing identical solemn expressions. The ones who know of Hyejoo have shown up to show their support but Mina can’t bear to accept it. 

During the service, she sits next to her parents and barely listens to the words being preached by the priest. Behind her are Nayeon, Tzuyu and Chaeyoung. The whole time, she can feel Nayeon’s stare on her back.

One sentence rings out: “For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in him, may not perish, but may have life everlasting.” 

Mina closes her eyes, feels the cool wind press against her tear stained cheeks, and thinks: 

Let the world burn—I want my daughter back. 

(When a mother loses a husband, she is called a widow.

When a child loses a mother, he is called an orphan. 

What do you call a mother who loses a child?

Mina didn’t want to know but now she does.)

There is no word for it. 

There is no word for a loss so immense you feel the empty hole it leaves behind the rest of your life. There is no word for a pain so agonizingly indefinite you wonder if you’ll ever be okay again. There is no word for something so completely devastating that it rips at your very soul and makes you wonder if you’re already living in your own personal hell. 

There is no word for a mother who loses a child.

“Mina,” her father says, curling his fingers on her shoulder, his grip tight, “I think it’s time you come home. There is nothing left for you here.”

Mina thinks of Hyejoo. 

She doesn’t think of Nayeon.

“Mina-unnie." Tzuyu's voice is quiet. "Do you want us to come over later?" 

Mina blinks. She'd been staring at an empty space on the street but now that her eyes have readjusted, she sees Tzuyu and Chaeyoung looking at her worriedly. Next to her, Nayeon squeezes her arm. They’re standing in front of the apartment complex. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

"It’s fine,” Mina says, waving them off, “It’s been a long day. You guys should go home.” 

Mina pretends not to see all three of them sharing a worried glance. 

“It’s not good for you to be alone right now,” Chaeyoung murmurs. 

The words take their time settling in and once the enormity of Chaeyoung’s words fully hit her, it makes her feel dizzy. Because ever since Hyejoo was conceived in her belly, Mina has never been alone. There has always been someone who looks up to her, who makes her smile and laugh, who she cooks meals for every single day. And now that Hyejoo has...passed on, there’s nothing left for Mina to do. She has lost a vital piece of her life and now she has to learn to move on without it. 

But how can you move on from this?

“I’ll be okay,” Mina murmurs, “I just… I need to think.” 

Tzuyu looks like she’s going to argue but Nayeon nudges her. After a moment, Tzuyu sighs and reluctantly nods. “I’ll call you later,” she says. Then she turns to Chaeyoung: “You’re going back to Incheon tonight, right? My place is near the train station.”

Chaeyoung steals a glance at Mina and leans forward to whisper into Nayeon’s ear. Mina pretends not to look at them, focusing on her nails instead. There’s a tense awkward silence, one that’s filled with so many unsaid things, but Mina doesn’t want to hear them. She just wants to be alone. 

“I’ll be going now,” Chaeyoung finally says, hesitantly stepping forward and squeezing her elbow, “If you need anything, just call us.” 

Mina nods. 

“Mina-unnie,” Tzuyu calls and Mina looks at her best friend. There’s something in Tzuyu’s eyes, filled with so many words that she can’t bring herself to say, and Mina feels the weight of her silence settle on her shoulders. Like she’s Atlas and she’s just been handed the world into her hands. In Tzuyu’s gaze, Mina can see the thoughts swirling in, all getting jumbled together in their mess. They were never the type of people to express their feelings with words but Mina can understand what Tzuyu is trying to tell her.

I’m so sorry.

She nods again. 

When Tzuyu steps forward and embraces her, Mina allows herself to weep. “I love you,” she hears her best friend whisper into her ear, “I’m always here for you.”

Mina doesn’t doubt it.

The apartment is cold and empty when she unlocks the door and steps inside. 

No Hyejoo in her room. No Gureum to run to her. No warmth in a place where she felt so at home and happy. All the memories she has within the four walls of this apartment—so full of happy memories and childlike smiles—has now faded into black and white. She looks around, seeing the places where Hyejoo would sit or where she’d finish her puzzle pieces or where she’d play with Gureum, and the hole in her chest deepens. Before, it’d been a knot—so painfully tight she couldn’t ignore its presence no matter how hard she tried. But now, there’s an empty space where the knot used to be. She knows that it will never be filled. 

She goes into Hyejoo’s room and flicks the light switch on. It’s messy, as expected from a seven-year-old. The video games are stacked on top of the desk. Her shoes are strewn across the floor. The clothes in her drawer are usually arranged by color but for some reason, Hyejoo must’ve been looking for a specific one. Now, it just looks like a tornado has swept across the room. On the last night she’d been here, Hyejoo had been answering her Math homework. What remains is a notebook propped open, filled with formulas and scribbles. 

Mina decides to clean up. It’s the least she can do. Hyejoo always smiled sheepishly each time she came home to find an organized room. She didn’t mind her mother cleaning up, as long as she didn’t go through her stuff. 

She arranges the clothes first. Then puts the video games in alphabetical order. Hyejoo’s school books are quietly stacked up on the bookshelf. Mina makes the bed, smelling the faint hint of her daughter between the sheets, and bites her lower lip to stop herself from breaking apart. When her hands start to clean up the desk, her eyes catch on to the schoolwork Hyejoo had forgotten to put away. 

She knows better than to pry but she’s already so desperate for some piece of her daughter she pulls the paper out. It’s an English essay. Her eyes catch on the instructions at the very top. 

Describe your best friend with adjectives. 

Mina expects to read a description about Yerim.

She didn’t expect to read about herself. 

Hyejoo wrote: “My best friend is really my mom! Her name is Mina. She’s 25 yaers old now (I think!) Shes pretty nice hardwerking and awsome! She makes my favorite meals everyday and if I’ve done something good, then she gets me ice cream!!! :D When I was at the hospital, she never left my side. She’s loving, caring, beeutiful and sweet. She always listens to what I have to say and teaches me stuff like philosophee or vocabulary (and when I get things right she always looks so proud) She’s really quiet and does not talk about herself a lot. My godmother (Tzuyu-unnie) described her as being shy and awkword. I didn’t even know my mom did ballet before or that she used to have her own dog named Ray or that she came from Japan and move to South Korea when she grow up. Tzuyu-unnie had to tell me this things. But that’s okay!!! :D I still love my mom even though she doesn’t tell me stuff like that. Maybe she’ll tell them when I get older soon!!!! I will look forward to that :D :D :D 

- Myoui Hyejoo” 

The paper in her hands shakes. Then the shaking reaches up to arms, to her shoulders and then to her lips. Tears stream down her cheeks and fall onto the words Hyejoo has written. She quickly wipes them away, not wanting to ruin this, and stumbles back onto the bed she fixed earlier. 

She puts the paper down, afraid of wrinkling it, and buries her face into her hands. 

In the apartment that used to be filled with Hyejoo’s laughter, all Mina hears is silence. 

Later that night, there’s a knock on the door. 

Mina isn’t surprised to find Nayeon waiting on the other side. 

“Hey,” her neighbor says. She’s dressed in her sleepwear, dark hair tied in a messy bun on top of her head and glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She gives Mina a small smile. 

“Hi,” Mina says in return.

“Have you eaten yet?” 

Mina hasn’t. “Yeah,” she lies smoothly, leaning against the doorway, “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Nayeon frowns but doesn’t comment on her formalities. “I wanted to check up on you,” she explains, “What my sister said earlier was right, you know. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

Mina wants to turn her away already, content in wallowing her own despair. But then she thinks about the conversation Nayeon shared with Hyejoo that one fateful night. You’ll take care of her, right? Her heart clenches in itself and she finds herself stepping back and opening the door wider.

Nayeon steps inside. From the corner of her eye, Mina spots her shivering. She, too, must feel the chill of the empty apartment. It reflects the hole in her heart. 

“Where are your parents?” her neighbor asks, taking a seat on the couch. Mina follows and sits next to her. 

“They’re at a hotel,” she answers, tone neutral.

Nayeon’s frown deepens. “They didn’t offer to stay with you?”

Mina shrugs. She didn’t want them to. Something changed when Mina got pregnant seven years ago. The perfect image of a daughter they so meticulously raised fell apart. While they offered support in their money, they never reached out to Hyejoo and made her feel like she was part of them. To let them into her apartment—where she raised her daughter completely on her own—would be an insult to Hyejoo’s name. 

“It’s… complicated,” she says, rubbing her hands together, “Do you want some coffee?”

Nayeon smiles. It doesn’t show her teeth. “You know how to make it, right?” 

Of course Mina does. She spent the past several months spending time with Nayeon at coffee shops, waiting to pick up Hyejoo after her class and tucking bits of information about her neighbor in her thoughts. Now that she thinks about it, she realizes that those trips will be in vain now. There will be nobody to pick up at exactly three o’clock, no daughter to come running up to her, no Hyejoo to ask for ice cream from her Nayeon-unnie. 

After Mina is done making two cups of coffee, she hands Nayeon her cup and sits next to her. 

The silence is unnerving. 

For the first time in a long time, Mina realizes that Nayeon doesn’t know what to say. When they spent time together, it was always Nayeon bringing up work stories or random topics that just came up in her head. She always had something to say. And when she had nothing to say at all, she listened. But Mina doesn’t want her to listen to her. Because then they’d both just be sad.

“You don’t have to stay,” she murmurs, rubbing her thumb across the rim of her coffee mug, “I’ll be fine.” 

Nayeon lets out a soft sigh. “You’ve forgotten what I told you before, haven’t you?” she asks. 

When Mina doesn’t say anything, Nayeon takes a quick sip of her coffee and sets down the cup on the table in front of them. Then she looks at Mina carefully, her eyes soft and gentle. Mina doesn’t want to see it. It makes her feel like she’s being pitied. And she doesn’t want to be pitied. Being the center of people’s pity would mean they looked at her like she just experienced a tragedy. And even though she has, she doesn’t want them to think that Hyejoo was nothing more than a tragedy. 

She is—was—so much more than that. 

She was everything. 

“I’m not gonna leave,” Nayeon whispers, hesitantly reaching out and curling her hand on Mina’s cheek, “You don’t leave the ones you love.” 

Then why did Hyejoo leave? Mina thinks to herself, tears filling her eyes, as she leans into Nayeon’s touch. Her lower lip quivers. Her chest hurts so much. It feels like a fire has started inside—the kind of fire that leaves you gasping for air but you can only choke on the fumes. She drops her forehead onto Nayeon’s shoulder, one hand lifting to cover her mouth. She presses back on the scream that wants to be released—the type of scream that squeezes her throat so tight. God, it hurts. It hurts so bad. How can she live with this? How can she move on? 

“I don’t know what to do without her,” Mina confesses, her hand curling into a fist as she feels her neighbor adjust their positions, “I—I—I don’t know anymore, Nayeon.” 

Nayeon hugs her tight. “You don’t have to know everything,” she murmurs, “You’re allowed to feel lost right now. Nobody expects you to just move on.” 

Mina inhales sharply through her mouth as she buries her nose into Nayeon’s neck. She feels embarrassed that her tears are soaking through her neighbor’s shirt but she can’t bring herself to pull away. She’s afraid that if she does, she’ll fall apart even more and remain stranded in her grief. 

"She's—was—a good kid," Nayeon says and Mina hears her swallow audibly, "and you gave her the best life she ever wanted. She was happy. I know she was." 

Mina thinks about the past several months. Watching Hyejoo regain her strength, only for her fall back into her sickness. Seeing the smile fade into nothingness. Understanding that her daughter is tired. Pretending that everything was fine and that they were going to be okay. 

Mina wants to scream at the world, wants to ask why it had to be them, wants to take the hole in her chest and fill it up with something—anything—just to stop feeling like this. Like there's nothing worth doing, like nothing matters, like she could die here right now and nobody would care. 

The world will still move on. 

Nayeon's arms tighten around her, almost like she can hear her thoughts, and Mina stills. Her fingers clutch at Nayeon's back, wanting to find comfort and relaxing in her embrace. She feels Nayeon press a kiss on the side of her head and whisper I'm here.

Mina knows she's lying to herself.

The world will move on but Nayeon will still care. 

There’s nothing left to do except think. 

Mina finds herself taking late night walks. Since the apartment is now empty and Mina can’t bear to take care of Gureum knowing he was Hyejoo’s dog, she ends up looking for new things to do. She’s always alone due to Nayeon working late into the night and Tzuyu catching up on her studies. She doesn’t mind. If they were around, then she’d feel suffocated. Plus, she doesn’t want to be a burden. She doesn’t think she can handle the pity in their eyes and the nerves in their voices. 

Mina pretends to be fine. 

She doesn’t have a choice. 

Maybe she should have asked for Gureum back. At least with him around, she'll have something to do, another living being to look after. Or maybe she should just get a new dog. But getting a new dog would be like trying to fill up the hole Hyejoo left behind. That doesn’t sound right. It almost seems like she’s trying to replace Hyejoo. And she’s not. Because Hyejoo is irreplaceable. Her beautiful, wonderful, happy daughter—

Mina realizes she’s standing in front of the entrance to the park. A wave of sadness and longing washes over her. It’s so intense that tears immediately fill her vision. As she wipes them away with the sleeve of her jacket, she thinks back to a two-year-old Hyejoo, smiling brightly as she practiced her walking and fell into Mina’s arms. She thinks back to all the times Tzuyu went with them, taking pictures and sharing in their little bubble. She thinks back to her daughter running straight to the duck pond with Gureum hot on her heels. The little, happy moments they had—Mina imagines it disappearing like smoke. 

She knows she will never be as happy as before. 

Mina digs her hands into her jeans and keeps thinking. 

Mondays aren’t the same. 

Nayeon comes over and they spend time together. The entire day is filled with TV shows, cooking sessions and talks over coffee. Mina doesn’t know how to feel when Nayeon talks about Hyejoo like she’s still there. A part of her wants to be upset. A larger part is grateful. Because she doesn’t want to pretend like everything is okay and she also doesn’t want to forget the pain. Even though it hurts so bad, at least it was real. 

Hyejoo was real. 

She was here. She was happy. She was hers. 

On Mondays, she looks at Nayeon and remembers Hyejoo’s voice: omma, it’s unnie day today! 

(It feels so wrong to be alive—

Mothers aren’t supposed to outlive their children.

With each passing day Mina wakes up to an empty apartment and Nayeon’s bunny smile waiting for her outside, she feels the growing guilt in the pit of her stomach. 

She thinks of Hyejoo and Nayeon that one night—

You’ll take care of her, right?

Her thoughts don’t stop.)

“Where are you going?” 

Mina’s hand stills on the doorknob. When she looks to her side, she finds Nayeon waiting patiently outside her own apartment. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t sleep so she grabbed her jacket, pulled on her shoes and took her key with her. 

“You should be in bed,” Mina says tiredly. She rubs at her eyes, pointedly ignoring the worry in Nayeon’s and the deep frown on her face. “I’m just going to grab a bite to eat.”

“Maybe you should listen to your own advice.” Nayeon is wearing outerwear, which means she expected Mina to leave tonight. “And don’t you have food at your place? Last time I checked, your fridge was stocked up.” 

Mina shrugs, not really in the mood to talk. Her eyes flicker from one place to another, never settling for long. She knows Nayeon is trying to catch her gaze. Her hand falls from the doorknob and she digs them into the pockets of her jeans. She’s aware that they’re shaking. 

“I needed some air,” she murmurs. 

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“I’m not asking for your permission.” 

Mina is about to argue again when she feels Nayeon’s hand reach out and grip her arm. The tension leaves her shoulders. Perhaps this is the side effect of love. Because all the words die in Mina’s throat and the anger fades. It’s the same feeling she gets each time she’s about to scold Hyejoo for not doing her homework on time or for not cleaning up after herself, only to be engulfed in a hug and flashed a sheepish smile. 

Sorry, omma. I’ll do better next time.

There is no next time. 

Mina finds Nayeon’s eyes. They’re warm, tinged with worry and affection. She searches long and hard for the pity she expects to see and gives up halfway through. 

“Okay.”

Nayeon is perfect in every way. 

When Mina looks at her, the storm in her heart calms. When they hold hands, it fills her bones with warmth. And when Nayeon smiles, it stops Mina’s thinking long enough to remember that she loves her. And if she continues to stop thinking, then she can believe that Nayeon loves her too.  

You don’t leave the ones you love, no matter how much it hurts you to stay. 

Nayeon promised to never leave her. 

Even though Hyejoo already has. 

It takes six nightly walks with Nayeon to realize what Mina’s been thinking all along. 

(It’s not enough.) 

Nayeon, despite having work the next day, goes along to Mina’s nightly walks. 

Nayeon, with her warm eyes and bunny teeth, makes her laugh and listens to her.

Nayeon—beautiful, wonderful, and kind-heard Nayeon—stays true to her promise.

She doesn’t leave.

(But it’s not enough.) 

One day, Tzuyu drops by the apartment with a scrapbook in her hand and news that she’s seeing Chaeyoung. When she tells Mina they’ve started dating, Mina can’t hold back her surprise. Has she been so out of it that her own best friend didn’t share what was going on in her life? How did it happen? When did it happen? The last time they were together, it was back at Hyejoo’s funeral—

She wills her thoughts to stop.

She doesn’t want to think about the funeral. 

When they enter her apartment, she half-heartedly listens to Tzuyu sharing the details of her budding relationship with Chaeyoung, how they hit it off when she accompanied her to the train station. Mina’s eyes are fixed on the scrapbook, its cover face down so she can’t see what it’s about. She feels lost and confused. Why does it feel like everybody is moving forward and she’s just stuck in the same place? 

It’s only been a few months since Hyejoo has passed.

But already, Nayeon can talk openly about her. Tzuyu and Chaeyoung are now together. Even Gureum has stopped whining every night, as told by her best friend. Everybody seems to be moving on. How did they do it so easily? Mina can’t help but feel upset because of this. It feels like an insult to Hyejoo. How could they forget about her and move on? Did she mean nothing to them?

She’s aware she’s thinking irrationally but that’s what she’s been doing for the past several months. Think, think, think. If she stops thinking, then she stops remembering. And if she doesn’t remember how deeply Hyejoo was rooted in her life, then what’s the point of her existence anymore? She is Hyejoo’s mother. She is first and foremost a mother. What’s a mother without her child? 

Nothing.

She is nothing. 

Tzuyu’s hand on her wrist makes Mina look up. 

“I made something for you,”  Tzuyu says, handing Mina the scrapbook, “Remember what I told you years ago?”

Mina frowns and turns the scrapbook over. It’s mint green, Mina’s favorite color. There’s nothing on the cover, except for Tzuyu’s handwriting at the very bottom: For Mina-unnie. When she opens the first page with Tzuyu looking at her carefully, her heart stops beating and her hands start shaking. 

It’s a scrapbook of Hyejoo. 

A book of firsts, Tzuyu once told her. 

It has all the pictures Tzuyu took of Mina and Hyejoo over the years. The captions only have the dates and small descriptions of the event in the photo. The pictures speak for themself. The first page has a pregnant Mina at six months, smiling happily at the camera. The second one is of Hyejoo in the NICU, looking thin and light. The third shows Hyejoo’s first night back at the apartment, followed by her first walk, her first birthday, her first tooth popping out. It has everything. It’s clear Tzuyu took her time with the scrapbook, possibly searching for the perfect shot to paste inside. It’s simple but it says a lot. And with each page that Mina flips over, she can feel Tzuyu’s love radiating from it.

It’s the way she took her pictures, always showing Hyejoo in her happiest moments and angling the camera to capture Mina as well. Proof that even though Hyejoo’s life ended in a tragedy, she wasn’t a tragedy herself Mina reaches out and traces her daughter’s face with the tips of her fingers, wanting nothing more than to hold her for real. She doesn’t add any pressure to her touch, afraid that she’ll ruin what’s sitting in front of her. 

Mina feels Tzuyu reach out and curl her palms into her cheeks. She looks up to see her best friend wiping away the tears that have filled her eyes using her thumbs. For one entire moment, they are quiet. 

“I miss her too,” Tzuyu whispers, “Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her, unnie. I know it’s harder for you. I don’t know how to make you feel better, because I know that you won’t. Not for a long time, anyway. But I’m hoping this will help…” 

Mina cradles the scrapbook in her chest, leaning into Tzuyu’s touch. “It does,” she says, even though she’s not sure how it helps to soothe the ache in her chest. Still, seeing Hyejoo’s happiest moments immortalized in her mortal hands—it helps. For a short while, it does.

She looks up at Tzuyu, sees the pain reflected in her eyes, and realizes that this is how Tzuyu moves on.

(People have different ways of grieving—

Nayeon talks about how she feels, even though it hurts.

Tzuyu used her pain to make something beautiful, even though it hurts.  

Meanwhile, Mina hasn’t found her own way.

But she understands what she needs to do.

Even though it will hurt.)

On their last nightly walk together, Mina turns to Nayeon and asks, “How do you do it?” 

Seoul is alive, even at night. They find themselves on the road leading to the city, where the lights are brighter and the crowds are noisier. Nayeon is wearing a blue beanie with a white hoodie and baggy sweatpants. Even though her hair is tousled and her eyes are tired, Mina can’t help but think she still looks so beautiful under the glow of the orange streetlights. And when she turns to look at Mina with furrowed eyebrows and a slightly confused smile, Mina feels her breath catch in her throat. 

She can’t help but memorize this image, knowing it’s going to be their last. 

“Do what?” Nayeon asks.

“Stay,” Mina answers after a moment. She looks up at the sky and sees stars. When Nayeon doesn’t respond, she fills the silence with what’s been on her mind for the past several days, ever since Tzuyu gave her the scrapbook; “You told me before that you don’t leave the ones you love, even though it hurts you. How do you do that?”

Nayeon doesn’t say anything. They keep walking. Mina is about to change the subject when she feels her neighbor reach out and link their pinkies together. The gesture is all too familiar—she remembers that this is what Hyejoo did when she wanted a promise to be kept. She wonders how many times her daughter did the same thing with Nayeon. 

You’ll take care of her, right? 

“Because you love them,” Nayeon answers, her gaze never leaving Mina’s, “That’s why you stay.” 

Mina wonders what it would be like to kiss Nayeon. She hasn’t thought much of it before, too preoccupied with everything that’s been going on. But standing here, under starry sky and the glow of the streetlights, with Nayeon’s steady eyes and her pinky firmly wrapped around her own, Mina wonders what would happen if she just—if she just stops thinking. She wonders if Nayeon would kiss her back. 

She wonders if it will change anything. 

But all she does is nod her head and look away. “Okay,” she murmurs and breaks their pinkies apart.

There is a hole in her heart. 

One that can’t be filled. 

There are different ways to move on.

She can’t forget.

Why would she want to forget the one thing that made her happy? 

She knows she will never be happy again. 

What choice is there left?

She moves on, even though she doesn’t want to.

But what about Nayeon? 

It will never be enough. 

The apartment was their home—Mina and Hyejoo’s. Every single nook and cranny is filled with memories. Both good and bad. This is where Mina was left behind by her ex-boyfriend and where she took that heartbreak and channeled into something more. She turned her pain and made a family out of it. This apartment is where Mina raised Hyejoo, loved her, laughed with her, and cried for her. This is where her life was changed, where she was given a new purpose, where she understood what it meant to be a mother and the sacrifice it came with. 

It’s not home anymore. 

It’s just empty. 

Mina leaves with the scrapbook in one hand and her passport in the other.

(She looks back.) 

There is nothing left for you here. 

Two years later.

It’s Hyejoo’s tenth birthday. 

Mina gets out of classes at five o’clock and takes the bus home. Her legs ache from the ballet practice she endured earlier. Sometimes, the pain is unfamiliar, catching her off guard at how her tiptoes ache. It’s been a long time since she danced, after all. As she sits at the very back near the window, she thinks about the homework she has to do tonight and the upcoming recital she has to practice for. It helps to be busy. It’s her way of moving on. 

(On some days, like today, Mina’s chest hurts so bad it feels like she’s back at the hospital all over again.) 

Today is supposed to be Hyejoo’s tenth birthday. 

When she gets home and sees the cherry blossom trees lining the front of the Myoui mansion, she thinks back to the time she wished Hyejoo could see it too. For a minute, she stands there, staring at the pink petals, before she shakes her head and heads inside. 

The house is quiet. Her parents aren’t home. Mina sees a pile of letters on the table near the door and takes the ones where the maid has separated for her. There’s three of them. She’s sure they’re from Tzuyu. She takes off her shoes and hurries to the kitchen. Earlier, before she left for school, she asked the baker to make her a cake but didn’t tell him why. She finds it in the fridge, waiting patiently for her, and takes it upstairs with the letters stuffed in her bag. 

When she reaches her room, she places the cake on top of her table. The scrapbook Tzuyu made for her sits next to it. It’s propped open to the page of Hyejoo’s seventh birthday, where Nayeon was present. Mina’s eyes scan it for a quick second before she reaches out and closes it shut. 

She pulls out the number 10 candle from her bag and sticks it onto the cake. Then she lights it with the match she also grabbed from the kitchen earlier. The smell of smoke fills her lungs. In her mind’s eye, she sees Hyejoo clasping her hands together and closing her eyes shut to make a wish. 

If I tell you, then it won’t come true; I don’t want the universe to jinx it.

Until now, Mina doesn’t know what her daughter wished for. 

She does the same thing she always does on Hyejoo’s birthdays.

She makes a wish. 

Happy birthday, honey. Please come back and find me soon.

Then she blows the candle. 

The first letter is from her university, informing her of some policy change she hardly cares about.

The second one is from her best friend, as expected. It’s a birthday card, with a family drawn inside. It consists of Hyejoo standing in the middle with Mina on her left and Tzuyu and Nayeon on the right. Guruem can also be seen in the corner, wagging his tail. He’s doing good under Tzuyu’s care. Mina still asks for pictures.

The third one doesn’t have a return address. She can feel the thickness of the letter just by holding it in her hand. There’s also something solid inside. Mina frowns when her thumb brushes it, feeling the hardness of the item through the envelope. Wanting to satisfy her curiosity, she opens it and shakes it.

Her heart stills when the item drops into her hand.

It’s the penguin keychain. 

I want you to have a little piece of me too… wherever you go.

“Nayeon,” she whispers, her chest tightening as she closes her fist over the keychain. She pulls out the paper inside the envelope and opens it. There, she finds Nayeon’s handwriting. She’s not familiar with it since she rarely saw Nayeon write. But it feels like her. The way she writes her Hangul characters—how they seem neater than Mina expected—and the indents on the paper, like Nayeon knew what she was going to say and how to say it. Mina stares at the words without understanding them, unsure on how to feel about hearing from Nayeon after two years. 

Mina left without saying goodbye, after all. 

Because you love them—that’s why you stay. 

It just wasn’t enough. 

With shaking fingers, she adjusts her hold on the letter and starts over.

“Hi kiddo,” Nayeon says, gently dropping her bag on the grass next to Hyejoo’s grave, “Been a while since I dropped by, huh?” 

The words engraved on the tombstone are Nayeon's only greeting: 

Myoui Hyejoo

Born November 13, 2015 

Beloved daughter and loving friend

Died May 8, 2022.

It’s nearly six o’clock in the evening. Nayeon clocked out of work early and came straight to the cemetery. It’s been a few weeks since she last visited. The flowers she bought last time have now wilted. She throws them to the nearest trashcan and puts the new one on display. She didn’t know Hyejoo’s favorite flower, if she had any, so she bought lilies instead. They symbolize devotion, Chaeyoung said.

It’s Hyejoo’s tenth birthday today. 

Nayeon stuffs her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and takes a seat next to Hyejoo. It’s nearing winter, so it’s colder than she expected. At least she remembered to bring her gloves this time. Last year, when she visited Hyejoo, her fingers turned blue due to the cold. 

From a distance, she can see the sun setting into the west, signalling that night is near. 

She hopes Mina got her letter and the penguin keychain.

It’d been a hassle, begging Chaeyoung to give Tzuyu the letter so that she can send it herself. Since Tzuyu refused to give up any sort of information about Mina, Nayeon has spent the past two years coming up with the right words to say to her in the letter. Sending one on Hyejoo’s first death anniversary would be too soon. So she waited another year. 

She wonders if Mina has anything planned on Hyejoo’s tenth birthday.

She wonders how she will react to the words she wrote. 

She wonders how she is right now. 

Like usual, Nayeon starts the conversation by telling Hyejoo about her day and what she’s missed. It’s similar to what she used to do when the kid was still back at the hospital. She tells her about her day at work, about Gureum, about Yerim. It’s not much. She tries to stay updated so that she’ll have something to share with Hyejoo when they meet up. 

It’s not the same. 

“I miss your mom,” Nayeon blurts out, sighing to herself, “It’s been two years since I last saw her. Sure, it gets easier to like… think about other stuff but I don’t know… nothing feels right anymore.”

No response. Nayeon is used to it. She picks at some invisible lint on her work pants and lets out a deep breath. 

“I’ve stopped being angry now,” she continues, “I don’t have the right to be angry. I was just your neighbor, remember? Your annoying neighbor who tagged along every Monday and treated you to ice cream. You’re probably laughing right now, kiddo. I can imagine your voice, actually. Oh, you’re so dramatic, Nayeon-unnie, you’re more than that. Yeah, yeah, I get that.” 

There’s no bite in Nayeon’s voice, only an underlying sadness in it. Her chest wants to cave in under the weight of the longing and pain she feels right now. Each time she thinks of Hyejoo, it’s like a needle in her chest. Every sting just opens up more wounds. She misses her so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She can only imagine how it's worse for Mina. 

“You were right,” Nayeon goes on, rubbing her eyes, “I should’ve told her a long time ago.” 

Told her what? She imagines Hyejoo saying cheekily, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to hear it come out from Nayeon’s mouth. God, it hurts to think about what she’d say in this situation.

“Told her that I loved her,” Nayeon whispers quietly, knowing that wherever Hyejoo is, she can hear her, “You kept pushing me to tell your mom ever since you found out that I liked her. God, you were insufferable. You kept teasing me behind her back. You were like, do you want me to call you unnie or omma? Your choice. I had to buy ice cream to shut you up. Damn it, kiddo.” 

The wind picks up. Nayeon closes her eyes and imagines Hyejoo’s giggles. It makes her smile, even though her heart aches so bad. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, lower lip trembling at the words resting behind her lips—at all the apologies that never run out each time she finds herself here, “I know you’ve heard me say sorry a hundred times already but it’ll never be enough.” 

Nayeon opens her eyes and looks at the lilies sitting peacefully next to the grave. She reaches out and touches the petals with the tips of her fingers. They’re beautiful. Then her hand drops, resting on top of the ground where Hyejoo is. She curls them into a fist, clutching the grass into her palm, and doesn’t let go. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of your mom like I promised I would.” 

Silence.

Nayeon wishes she could hear Hyejoo’s voice one more time, even if it’s just a whisper. Even if it’s not really her. Some days, she struggles to even remember what the kid’s voice sounded like. 

“Your mom loves you very much,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the name engraved on the stone, “and I love you too. Present tense. We all know love doesn’t die.” 

Unconsciously, she turns her head over her shoulder. She does it every single time. A part of her, however small and irrational it might be, always expects Mina to be standing behind her, having finally returned home. And like all the other times, she only finds an empty cemetery. 

I wait for you to show up. You never do. 

Nayeon turns back to Hyejoo. “I’m sorry for disappointing you, kiddo,” she mutters, “First, I couldn’t tell your mom that I loved her. And now, I can’t even keep my promise to you.”

She releases the grass in her grip and leans back. She hates crying. It always makes her feel vulnerable. Being the eldest in their family has taught her to be the stronger sibling, to be the one who comforted Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung, to never be the caught one shedding tears and wiping them away. And yet, she can feel the sting of tears in the back of her eyes. She remembers Hyejoo in her hospital bed, her pinky stretched out.

Promise?

“I’m sorry I failed you,” Nayeon whispers, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, “You shouldn’t have trusted me in the first place. I just let you down.” 

She thinks back to the last time she saw Mina and how she let go of Nayeon’s pinky. 

“I let both of you down.” 

More silence. This time, Nayeon doesn’t know what Hyejoo would say to her. She imagines her to be angry but it doesn’t seem right. Maybe, the kid will find another way to forgive her. She seems the type. Or maybe she’d just hit Nayeon on the head and ask for ice cream again. 

“Oh yeah,” Nayeon says, reaching into her bag to take out a pint of Hyejoo’s favorite flavor, “It’s not your birthday if it doesn’t have ice cream, right?” 

She puts the extra spoon she brought and sets it on the grass. Then she opens the ice cream and digs in. When she started visiting Hyejoo’s grave, she felt bad for bringing ice cream with her. But then again, Hyejoo would probably tell her to eat it for her. 

She was such a good kid. 

“I still have your rabbit, by the way,” Nayeon continues absentmindedly, “He’s a little dirty but it’s nothing a good dry cleaning won’t fix.”

Silence again. 

“I gave your mom her penguin keychain back,” she says, humming to herself as she remembers her birthday three years ago, “I also wrote a letter for her. It’s not angry as all the other ones I wrote and threw in the trash. I did ask her why she left, though, even if I already have an idea. Maybe you can go over there and give your mom a hug for me, huh, kid? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

I want you to have a little piece of me too… wherever you go.

Her heart grows heavier the more she talks to herself. Or to the air. Or to Hyejoo listening to her. She hopes the kid isn’t actually listening. She wants her to have moved on to a better place or to find her way back to them, just as she promised. 

“You might be wondering why I gave her the keychain back,” Nayeon opens up, setting the ice cream down on the grass and bringing her knees to her chest, “Well, it’s like this—when your mom gave me that gift years ago, she told me it was a way to keep a little piece of her around. Super sentimental, right? Maybe you should ask your mom if she has a crush on me, kiddo.”

The tombstone stares back.

A tiny smile forms on Nayeon’s face. “You see, Hyejoo,” she begins, “I don’t want a little piece of your mom to hang from my bag and bring with me wherever I go. I want the real thing—I want all of her. Even until now.” 

She imagines Hyejoo saying, wow, you’re so whipped for my mom it’s kinda gross. 

A laugh drags it way out of her mouth. “Tell me about it.” 

The silence continues. The wind picks up and makes her shiver. She needs to go home soon, even though home reminds her of the people who are no longer there, the people who left her behind. She shuts the pint of ice cream, despite it being half full, and puts it back into her bag. If it melts, then so be it. 

"I have to go soon, kiddo," she says, feeling tears fill the back of her throat; it gets easier but it doesn't mean it hurts any less. She swings her bag over her shoulder and moves to stand up.

The lilies look so lonely. 

"I'll be back soon," she promises, knowing she can keep this one, "but kid, you really gotta hurry up. You promised me and your mom you'd come back, right? Don't tell me you got lost along the way. I gave you directions already."

She thinks of Hyejoo's wide grin and the hole in her chest deepens. 

"You said you don't want your mom to be sad anymore," she murmurs, reaching out and touching the top of the tombstone, "so come back, Hyejoo. Come back soon." 

The silence is so deafening it makes her ears ring. She pulls her hand back and stares at the engraved words on the stone. Night has fallen, enveloping them in the darkness. 

"Happy birthday, kiddo," she whispers, "I wish you were here." 

Nayeon isn’t sure who she’s talking to anymore.

the end.