“I think he’s someone I should be thanking,” he continued, his voice low from just behind her. “I’d like to meet him and thank him in person.”
Ji-woo went rigid. “Tae-joon, I’m not the kind of person who deserves all that.”
“What are you talking about?” His voice was sharp.
“I just mean, you don’t have to go to such lengths,” she said carefully.
“I don’t think this is going to such lengths.”
When Ji-woo didn’t answer, Seo Tae-joon fell silent. “You think this is too much, don’t you, Ji-woo?”
Yes. You always did too much, even in the past, Ji-woo thought. But she only shook her head. She understood what he was trying to do, how he was trying to show her how much he cared. And in a way, she felt it was her fault for making him feel that way.
“I’m worried about you,” she said. Seo Tae-joon remained quiet, so she went on. “My parents… they both died in an accident. At least, that’s what I was told it was.”
He didn’t speak. He wanted to turn her, to look her in the eyes, but he felt that if he moved, she would stop talking. He was so careful with her that his very grip on her shoulders loosened.
Ji-woo continued. “I have no proof, of course,” she said. “But it always felt strange to me. I’ve always felt there was something wrong with their deaths.” She turned around suddenly, her gaze locking with his. “If something happens to you, I’ll have nothing good left. So please, be careful.”
“Ji-woo,” Seo Tae-joon murmured, pulling her into a hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder and nodded. “Okay, I’ll listen to you,” he said. “But just because that happened to your parents, it doesn’t mean it’s our fate.”
“That’s not the answer for us,” he said, his voice firm. “Just because you were hurt in the past, doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting forever.”
Ji-woo felt her eyes sting and she looked down.
She remembered the words she had screamed at him once, when she’d begged him not to sacrifice himself for her.
No matter what happens, I don’t care what you want. You will never leave me like that again.
As a tear finally escaped and traced a path down her cheek, a soft sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, rumbled in Seo Tae-joon’s chest. He had to be her light. He had to take care of her, to guide her. He couldn’t let the ghosts of her parents haunt her forever. He would be the one to keep her safe, to lead her away from the darkness that had shadowed her entire life.
“You’re truly amazing,” he whispered into her ear, pulling her even closer.
In my eyes, he thought, Ji-woo will always be the most beautiful, the most incredible person. The woman who saves trees and takes care of me… she’ll always be the sexiest, most amazing part of my life.
It felt pathetic, but Ji-woo only cried harder at his words. She melted into his embrace as his soft laughter filled the room.
When they returned to the living room to join Mi-sook, the older woman was watching Ji-woo with an intent gaze.
“You have dark circles under your eyes,” she observed. “But you’re glowing.”
Ji-woo tilted her head. “Pardon?”
As she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Ji-woo’s face, Mi-sook’s eyes lit up with understanding. “You’ve become a woman!” she exclaimed.
Ji-woo turned away as the older woman gave her a mischievous look. Mi-sook’s sly smile only grew as Ji-woo blushed, pouting as she looked away. She reached out and patted Ji-woo’s hand, though her expression remained teasing.
“Was it good?” she asked suddenly.
“Mi-sook!”
“All day, you’re out mending trees, but at night—”
“Stop!” Ji-woo cried, mortified, trying to hide her face from the old woman.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before they both looked away, Mi-sook suppressing her laughter while Ji-woo tried to compose herself.
“I still miss him, you know,” Mi-sook said, the teasing tone gone from her voice as she stared down at the coffee mug on the table. “He wanted to be home, but I dragged him to the hospital. I was greedy, I just wanted a little more time with him, and so he never got to go home again. Making him stay when he shouldn’t have… that’s my biggest regret.”
Ji-woo remembered her uncle reading poetry to Mi-sook, his voice growing weaker through the late stages of his liver cancer. He had used poems to confess his love, right up until the end, when he could no longer speak at all.
“I wonder if that person is well,” Mi-sook mused.
Ji-woo frowned. “Who?”
“The person who paid for your uncle’s hospital bills.”
An image flashed in Ji-woo’s mind: the classical CD, tucked away at the bottom of her drawer.
“I really don’t know what I would’ve done without that person’s help,” Mi-sook said, lost in thought. “I wonder if he ever got to meet his son.”