The gate clicked softly behind Min-Ju as he disappeared into the dark.
The yard felt emptier after that—too quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Ji-Soo stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at nothing. Her chest still ached where his words had landed. She hadn't wiped her tears yet. She didn't want to.
Footsteps approached.
She didn't look up at first.
"Ji-Woo."
The voice was calm. Certain.
Ji-Soo's fingers twitched.
Slowly, she turned.
Mrs. Kim stood a few steps away from her, posture straight despite the long day, her coat still on, eyes steady but rimmed with something fragile. She didn't look angry. She looked… resolved.
"I know," Mrs. Kim said quietly. "You don't have to pretend anymore."
Ji-Soo swallowed. "You think you know."
"I do." Mrs. Kim took a step closer. "I looked for you. Not just once. I called hospitals, records offices, people who owed me favors. Everyone said the same thing."
Her voice tightened just slightly.
"They said you didn't die."
Ji-Soo's breath caught.
"I know you're my Ji-Woo," Mrs. Kim continued. "And the girl with me—the one in my house—she's Ji-Soo. She's my daughter too."
Ji-Soo's eyes filled again, but this time she didn't let the tears fall.
"Does she know?" she asked, her voice barely there."Does Ji-Soo know… that I'm alive?"
Mrs. Kim shook her head.
"No."
Ji-Soo let out a shaky breath, relief and fear crashing together.
"She can't know," Ji-Soo said quickly. "She promised me."
Mrs. Kim frowned slightly. "Promised you what?"
Ji-Soo's hands clenched at her sides.
"Before," she said. "Before she thought I was dead. She promised that if anything happened to me… she would take revenge."
Mrs. Kim went still.
Ji-Soo lifted her head, eyes burning but steady.
"She believes I'm gone. That's what's keeping her alive. If she finds out the truth—if she finds out I survived—she'll break. Or worse."
She shook her head firmly.
"So please," she said, voice cracking at the edges. "Don't tell her. And I can't go with you. Not now. Not like this."
Mrs. Kim searched her face—really searched it—like she was trying to memorize every line.
"You're asking me to leave my child behind," she said softly.
Ji-Soo nodded. "I am."
For a moment, it looked like Mrs. Kim might argue.
She didn't.
Instead, she closed her eyes briefly, like someone swallowing a pain too big to speak.
Ji-Soo stepped past her.
Mrs. Han stood frozen near the doorway, having heard enough to understand without understanding everything.
Ji-Soo stopped in front of her.
"I'm sorry," Ji-Soo said quietly, bowing her head just a little. "But I'm not going anywhere."
Mrs. Han didn't stop her.
Ji-Soo walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, and closed her bedroom door behind her.
The click echoed.
Mrs. Kim remained in the yard, staring at the door long after it shut—knowing she had found her daughter, and lost her again in the same moment.
--
The drive back to Seoul felt longer than it should have.
Mrs. Kim sat in the back seat, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes fixed on the passing highway lights.
The city rose slowly in the distance, bright and indifferent, as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
She carried the truth like a weight in her chest—heavy, sharp, unmoving. Ji-Woo is alive. Ji-Soo is alive. And neither of them can know.
The car stopped in front of the house.
The driver stepped out first. Mrs. Kim followed, her heels touching the pavement with quiet finality.
The front door opened almost immediately.
Ji-Woo stood there, still in her hoodie, hair slightly messy, eyes alert like she'd been waiting without realizing she was waiting.
"You're back early," Ji-Woo said. Then, more carefully, "I thought you said you'd be late."
Mrs. Kim didn't answer. She walked past her, slipping off her coat with practiced ease.
Ji-Woo turned, unease creeping in.
"Did the meeting go bad?" she asked, following her into the living room. "Was it about Jeonju? You don't usually go that far for nothing."
Mrs. Kim placed her bag down. Slowly. Precisely.
Ji-Woo stopped a step behind her.
"Mom?" she tried again. "Did something happen?"
Mrs. Kim's jaw tightened for just a second—so small it could've been missed.
She turned.
Her eyes met Ji-Woo's, and for a heartbeat, something almost broke through. Recognition. Guilt. Fear.
Then it was gone.
"Make sure," Mrs. Kim said calmly, "that you find out who did this."
Ji-Woo blinked. "Did what?"
Mrs. Kim was already turning away.
"Whoever caused the accident," she added, her voice flat but cold underneath. "Don't stop until you know."
Ji-Woo's brows knitted together.
"Wait—why are you saying this now?" she asked, taking a step forward. "Mom, what did you see in Jeonju?"
Mrs. Kim paused at the foot of the stairs.
For a moment, Ji-Woo thought she might finally answer.
She didn't.
She walked up the stairs without looking back.
Ji-Woo stood there, heart thudding.
"…Mom?" she called once more.
No response.
Ji-Woo took a step after her—then stopped.
Something about Mrs. Kim's back, the way she held herself, the way she didn't slam the door or raise her voice—made Ji-Woo pause.
This wasn't avoidance.
It was restraint.
Ji-Woo lowered her hand slowly, fingers curling into her sleeve.
Whatever her mother had brought back from Jeonju, it wasn't something she could touch yet.
Not without breaking something.
Ji-Woo stayed where she was, staring up the stairs, a quiet, uneasy feeling settling deep in her chest—
The sense that the truth was close. And that following it now would cost more than she was ready to pay.
Ji-Woo stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, the faint scent of soap clinging to her hoodie. She rubbed at the fog on the mirror absently, mind still tangled in Mrs. Kim's words, when her phone buzzed in her hand.
A message.
Eun-Woo: I finally got a role in the play.
Ji-Woo's eyes skimmed the screen, tired—then paused.
Another message came in almost immediately.
Eun-Woo: And before you ask—no. I'm not a tree this time.
She froze.
Then she laughed.
It slipped out of her before she could stop it—soft, surprised, real. The kind of laugh that loosened something tight in her chest.
She dropped onto the edge of her bed, towel slipping from her shoulder, thumbs already moving.
Ji-Woo: No way. A real role? With lines and everything?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Eun-Woo: I know. Shocking. I even get to walk across the stage like a human being.
She smiled, biting lightly at her thumb.
Ji-Woo: I'm proud of you, Mr. Actor.
A few seconds passed.
Eun-Woo: It's tomorrow night.
Her smile softened, warmth spreading through her chest.
Eun-Woo: I was wondering…I hope you'll come see me.
Ji-Woo stared at the screen. Just for a second.
The house was quiet. Mrs. Kim's door was closed upstairs. The questions from earlier still hovered, unresolved, heavy.
But this—this was simple.
She typed back.
Ji-Woo: Yeah.I'll come.
The reply came almost instantly.
Eun-Woo: Really?
She could almost hear his voice. Careful. Hopeful. Trying not to make it a big thing.
Ji-Woo: Really.
She set the phone down beside her, still smiling faintly, and leaned back on her hands.
For the first time that night, the silence didn't feel so heavy.
Tomorrow, she would sit in the dark and watch someone she cared about step into the light.
And for now— that was enough.