In the end, having used the hospital's VIP suite like a motel room, they went home.
It was the memorial day for Mi-sook’s third husband. He was a distant relative of Ji-woo’s, some kind of uncle, and of all the husbands Mi-sook had lost, he was the one she had cherished the most.
As Ji-woo and Seo Tae-joon stepped through the door, the rich, savory smell of cooking filled the house.
Just inside the entryway, a neat row of pebbles had been arranged on the floor. Ji-woo noticed a few painted with charming little animals, and she stooped to pick them up, slipping their smooth coolness into her pocket. To anyone else, they were just rocks, but Ji-woo knew they were Gyu-baek’s handiwork.
This was his language, the way he had always worked so hard to express his feelings, even as a small child.
Ji-woo shot a look over her shoulder at the man following her. “You need more rest,” she said sharply. “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t.” Her gaze fixed on Seo Tae-joon’s bandaged forehead, and she bit her lip. It might not have looked severe, but Ji-woo had suffered a similar wound before; she knew how bad it could be.
She wore her fear like a suit of armor. The man who’d tried to kill her could come back, and she would be helpless. A chilling sense that their time together was limited, borrowed, settled over her.
“You were in an accident too, Ji-woo,” Seo Tae-joon reminded her. “I know exactly how you feel.”
“It’s different.”
“How is it different?”
Ji-woo shook her head, her voice low. “You woke up different. You hated me instantly. The moment you saw me, you pushed me away.”
“I was trying to survive,” Seo Tae-joon said, his brow furrowed. “My instinct is to save you, always. Don’t hold a moment when I wasn’t myself against me.”
But Ji-woo’s expression remained stubbornly unconvinced.
Seo Tae-joon’s shoulders slumped. “It’s because I’m not good at sex, isn’t it—”
“Just get inside and lie down!” Ji-woo snapped, storming into the house ahead of him.
Everything that had happened felt like a dream. She watched the news reports—the images of the landslide, the military jeeps of the rescue team, the faces of those they were saving—and felt a profound disconnect. All day, Ji-woo had managed to keep her composure because—
“Ji-woo, wait up!”
Because her life, impossibly, felt as normal as it had before.
The memorial table was already set up in the living room. Mi-sook had forgone tradition, opting instead for an arrangement born of memory. There was a cup of the coffee her uncle had liked, a plate of kimchi jeon that Mi-sook had slightly burnt, a bowl of undercooked rice, and an old, worn book of poetry.
“Mi-sook, I’m here,” Ji-woo called out, finally spotting her. Mi-sook wore the same expression Ji-woo saw every year on this day: the wistful, far-off look of a woman getting by on the fading memories of a man she once loved. But for the first time, Ji-woo saw her own future reflected in it.
“Hey!” Mi-sook’s face, lonely a moment before, lit up as she rose to meet them. She was still holding a small fruit knife. “You wench! I was worried sick about you!”
“Ah, Mi-sook!” Ji-woo laughed, feeling the weight in her chest lighten.
Mi-sook began gesturing wildly as she spoke. “I saw on the news there were no deaths, but the hospital director wouldn’t pick up his phone!” she exclaimed. “I know some people are fated to go before their time, but I was so furious, thinking you’d gone and left me behind!”
Ji-woo shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mi-sook. I can explain.”
“Don’t make me laugh!” Mi-sook scoffed. “You weren’t thinking about me at all!”
“I really wasn’t in my right mind!”
Mi-sook’s eyes started to well up, but just as the mood threatened to sour, Seo Tae-joon intervened.
“I think it was for the best that I went instead of you, Mother-in-law,” he said smoothly. He stepped carefully behind Mi-sook, gently taking the fruit knife from her hand and setting it aside.
“My son-in-law,” Mi-sook said, her gaze softening as she turned to him. Her entire demeanor shifted, her frantic worry melting away into the trusting look one gives a knight in shining armor. “Have you eaten? You rush off to save Ji-woo, and all we have to offer you is memorial food.”
Seo Tae-joon shook his head. “It’s fine.”
When he glanced at Ji-woo, she quickly looked away, her heart hammering against her ribs. He played the part of the perfect son-in-law so well. She knew everyone here would be horrified if they knew what he had truly done to her.
“I’ll help you clean up, Mi-sook,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck as she escaped to the kitchen. She slid the window open to clear the oily air and began running water over a frying pan left soaking in the sink.
“Ji-woo.”
Her breath hitched as his voice sounded right beside her ear.
“Was your uncle important to you?”
Ji-woo set the sponge down, her eyes fixed on the murky water. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go. He married late, but he took me in without a second thought. Mi-sook was always kind to me, too.”
She felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind, a silent embrace. His warmth seeped through the back of her shirt.
“Living with them is what healed me,” Ji-woo admitted softly.
Seo Tae-joon tightened his hold, resting his chin on the top of her head. The sudden weight made her stumble, but his strong arms steadied her instantly, pulling her flush against his chest.
“Then I need to be good around him,” Seo Tae-joon said.
“Even though he’s gone?”
“That doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I’m your husband. I need to learn.”
Ji-woo frowned. “Learn what?” When he didn’t answer, she picked up the sponge and went back to scrubbing.
“Death note,” Seo Tae-joon said finally.
The frying pan slipped from Ji-woo’s soapy fingers and clattered into the sink. The gears in her mind ground to a halt. Did he really just say death note? The kind of notebook where you write down the names of people you want to die?