My mother came back quieter than usual.
That alone was a warning.
She set the grocery bag on the counter and took off her shoes slowly. No comments. No complaints. No immediate inspection of the house.
"…You're late," I said.
"Yes," she replied.
Nothing else.
Ha-rin glanced up from the sofa.
"…Did something happen?"
My mother shook her head lightly. "Nothing important."
That meant it was.
She moved into the kitchen and began washing vegetables that didn't need washing. I waited. So did Ha-rin, pretending not to.
After a moment, my mother spoke again.
"…I ran into Mrs. Kim downstairs."
Ha-rin stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"…The neighbor?" she asked.
"Yes," my mother replied. "The observant one."
That was not reassuring.
"She mentioned," my mother continued casually, "that there's been some light talk."
I put my phone down.
"…About what."
My mother shrugged. "Nothing clear."
That was worse.
"She said," my mother added, "'Have you noticed that young woman who comes and goes these days?'"
Ha-rin's fingers tightened around the cushion.
"And," my mother continued, "'She's always with the same young man.'"
Silence filled the room.
Ha-rin didn't look up.
"…What did you say," she asked quietly.
"I said," my mother replied, "'People have friends.'"
Ha-rin exhaled slowly.
"…That's all?"
"For now," my mother said.
I stood.
"…So awareness has started."
"Yes," my mother replied. "Very faint. But it exists."
Ha-rin hugged the cushion closer.
"…I knew this wouldn't stay invisible forever."
"It hasn't," I said. "It's just noticeable."
"…That's not comforting."
"It is manageable."
She looked at me.
"…You always say that."
"Because it's usually true."
My mother turned from the sink.
"No one knows who you are," she said calmly. "They're just curious. Curiosity fades if it's boring."
"…And if it doesn't," Ha-rin asked.
"Then we adjust," my mother replied.
I nodded. "We keep patterns dull."
Ha-rin sighed and leaned back.
"…I hate that I feel safer when you say things like that."
"That reaction is reasonable," I replied.
She looked away.
"…Still annoying."
"Yes."
My mother watched us quietly for a moment.
"…You're handling this better than I expected," she said.
I didn't like that phrasing.
Because expectations meant pressure.
And pressure never arrived alone