top of page
CHAPTER 11: 1953
Seven months without Jaehyung passed, though dragged on like it had been seven years
Everything in their home reminded her of him. His pillows next to hers at night. His favorite coffee mug, the abandoned papers from the cases he couldn’t finish in time, even her precious son’s face.
Jaemin, now a year old, was her only real comfort.
He would laugh as she played with him, and she took to spending her countless sleepless nights in his room, watching his tiny chest rise and fall as he slept comfortably, completely unaware.
Though Hyerin thought Jaemin knew more than people gave babies credit for, she knew that he could feel what she did as she cradled him to her chest and kissed his little cheeks, as he smiled the same smile as the father he didn’t remember. Jaemin’s eye would stare at her for hours, fascinated by the very image of his mother, understanding what being a mother meant despite not being close to knowing the word.
Being a mother meant being strong for your child, despite your own broken heart.
She refused to touch any of Jaehyung’s things. If the war wasn’t over, Jaehyung would return. One thing of his, though, she kept with her all the time.
A single letter, written in his pretty cursive, dated two weeks after he left home. The only letter that he sent to her, short and simple, though she could hear the fear in his written tone.
He always played brave for her. It was now her turn to play brave for him, for their son.
She clung to her hope, and she tried to carry on as normally as possible for Jaemin. He knew something was wrong but the less he knew made it easier for her. The toddler never asked questions and for that, she was grateful.
Still though, her heart ached for her husband. For Jaemin, she wished he could see their son’s first step and words, both of which he had missed in those important first months of the baby’s life.
Selfishly, she yearned to be held in his familiar embrace, to kiss his lips again, just to hear his voice or see his eyes again would be enough to soothe her pained heart.
On a night after Jaemin had fallen asleep, she sat awake in their shared bed – shared only for less than a year – fingers curled around the wooded frame of their wedding photo. The white paint began to wear out where her fingers always pressed, and the glass clouded where she’d run the pad of her forefinger over his grinning face.
The feeling of his smooth skin and the memory of his smile began fading to her, as much as she would refuse to admit it.
Too long without him, and her mind tried to forget in order to preserve her sanity. Though she clung to him, the thoughts slowly became wisps of memories, faint images left him behind, only remembering the fleeting moments when they spontaneously crossed her mind.
Seeing the memories in front of her, fleeting images of her husband in his chair at the table, beside her in bed, standing in her son’s room, clawed at her heart. She didn’t know how much longer she could cope with the ghost of her husband haunting her constantly, both awake and asleep.
bottom of page