"You may now kiss the bride."
The pastor's voice echoed through the empty room. There was no music. No guests. Just a pastor, a photographer, me and my stepmother.
Her in a white bridal dress. Me in a suit I didn't even iron properly.
We stood in front of the altar like newbies doing their first crime together.
She looked tense, eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder. I swallowed hard. Slowly, we leaned in, both unsure where to look, what to feel.
Just as our faces got close enough to breathe the same air, one single thought hit me like a hammer to the skull:
How the hell did I end up here, marrying my stepmother?
Six Weeks Earlier...
The rain hadn't stopped since morning.
Sunwoo Han attending the funeral of his father Sungmin Han, which was held in the old family house on a faraway village, which his father barely visited in years. A low-roof home with broken wooden doors and that musky scent of age and some murmuring words no one would remember.
MC stood near the gate, hands in his coat pockets, eyes blank. His stepmother Ha-eun sat by the porch, wiping silent tears with the edge of her sleeve. His aunt was holding her, trying to be the adult, while his father's mother Seoyeon stood apart near the altar, quiet but weeping.
He watched the incense stick smoke curl into the wind.
His throat was dry.
His chest was heavy.
But he didn't cry.
Because the last words he exchanged with his father were a nasty loud fight. Sharp and Ugly.
"Go ahead. Ruin your life," his dad had said.
"Better than living like a coward like you," Sunwoo had thrown back.
That was five days ago.
Then came the call from stepmother Ha-eun.
An accident on the highway. Night time.
He never got the chance to apologize. And now his father lay there in a wooden box, wrapped in sheets and Sunwoo with regrets.
After few days they returned, and the city felt quieter than usual.
Their apartment sat on the 9th floor, tucked between buildings. Sunwoo unlocked the door first. He didn't say anything as he stepped in. Neither did the stepmother Ha-eun.
The place felt colder now.
For days, they barely spoke. Only essentials.
"You want dinner?"
"No."
"I'll be late."
"Okay."
He hadn't called her name in a long time. Usually just "ajumma" when his father was around. Now, every word felt awkward, coz Ha-eun married, Sunwoo Han's Father after they shifted to city few years back and he never really had quality time with her.
She had started checking job listings.
Sunwoo saw her laptop always open at the corner of the table — part-time work, delivery, online tutor, office assistant. She scribbled things down, made calls, then quietly closed it when rejected.
He was in his final semester. His own job hunt had begun — rushed resumes, half-hearted interviews, company exams. Everyone around him was talking about future plans. He barely had a present.
One evening, he saw her standing by the window, phone against her ear.
"No, sir, the apartment is still under EMI... No, my husband just passed away... Yes, I'm aware of the pending dues... We'll manage it... Please give us a little more time."
He turned away before she noticed him listening.
They were two people trapped in the same house, trying to survive a storm no one could see.
After few weeks Sunwoo had just returned from a final round interview. It didn't go well. No one said it outright, but he could feel it in the awkward glances the recruiters gave each other.
He climbed the apartment stairs, heavy steps echoing against the concrete walls, and noticed a bundle of letters stuffed halfway into their mailbox.
The edges were crumpled. Some were marked "URGENT", others with red stamps that written default notice. He gathered them silently, his fingers tightening as he saw the familiar bank logos, loan warnings, and a handwritten envelope that made his stomach churn.
Ha-eun was wiping down the kitchen counter, dressed in the same worn apron she wore every day. Her hair was tied back messily, strands falling loose near her ears. She looked up when she heard the door.
"ohh we got mails?" she asked, drying her hands.
"Yeah," Sunwoo muttered. He tossed the stack on the table.
Ha-eun approached and reached for them. "Let me see."
"No. We'll read them together," he said, voice firmer than usual.
She hesitated, then nodded.
They sat down at the table. Neither reached for the letters immediately.
Sunwoo finally picked up the first one — a demand notice from their bank. The EMI payment had bounced. Another envelope, this one from a private lender, threatened legal action if the pending interest wasn't paid within two weeks. The landlord sent a final notice to vacate if dues weren't cleared. The amounts were beyond what either of them could handle.
As Ha-eun read, her face slowly lost color.
Sunwoo jaw was clenched. He stared at the edge of the table, fingers digging into his knee.
They went through them all — one by one.
That night, they opened the last envelope. It wasn't from a bank. It was a letter from a lawyer — a warning that the final grace period on a private debt was ending. His father's name on every document.
"All the amount sums up to $280,000."
He said it out loud once, like tasting poison.
Ha-eun sat across the room, her shoulders small and folded into themselves. She hadn't spoken in over an hour. The funeral had taken the last of her strength, but this—this was something else. A different kind of death.
"How the hell did he get this much loan…" Sunwoo muttered, more to himself. "He didn't own anything. No land, no business."
He rubbed his face, then dropped into the chair opposite her. They said nothing for a while. Just the distant hum of the city crept in through the window. Somewhere far away, a dog barked.
They sold what little they could. Cleared out their bank accounts. The emergency fund his father had saved for a "rainy day" barely lasted a drizzle. They even sold the old watch—his sixteenth birthday gift.
Still, it bought them a few more days. A week, maybe two. Enough to stop the phone calls. Enough to breathe.
4 days later,
She had been looking for things to sell in the house, her movements slow and tired, dragging herself from one corner of the house to the next. The closet in his father's old room stood half-open, untouched since the day he'd left for work.
She pulled over a stool, climbed carefully, and reached toward the top shelf. Her fingers brushed something that didn't feel like dust or wood. A thin edge. A corner of something tucked out of sight.
She tugged gently.
An envelope.
Ha-eun found a old envelope sealed.
"Sunwoo," she called, voice low but urgent.
He came quickly, his brows furrowed. "What?"
She handed it to him without a word.
He stared at it. Didn't take it. Not yet.
"Where was it?"
"In the closet. Way in the back. Behind the shelf board."
He finally reached for it, turning it in his hands.
"What do you think it is?" she asked softly.
"I don't know," Sunwoo said. His voice was flat. Distant. "But after all this… I'm not sure I want to."
No reply. Only silence.
Sunwoo's fingers hovered over the edge of the envelope.
With a careful rip, he broke the old seal. Inside were a few sheets of thick, yellowing paper—handwritten, stamped, and official-looking.
He unfolded them slowly.
At first, it was just lines. Names. Dates. Legal terms. His father's name. His grandfather's and so on.
Then, in bold letters near the center of the page:
"Han Family Land Deed"Province: Gyeongsangbuk-doLand Size: 178,000 m²Status: Inherited by Lineal Descendants
Sunwoo blinked.
"What…?"
Ha-eun stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat. "Is that… real?"
They flipped to the second sheet. A map. A crude one, sketched with a ruler and pen, but unmistakably marked with boundary lines and topographical notations. A river ran along one edge. A small, forgotten village was circled in red near the bottom corner.
Third page—inheritance confirmation. Only legal heir and terms involved in Article143.
Neither of them spoke.
He looked up at her, eyes wide, almost laughing. "Did you know about this?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. Not once. Your father never mentioned anything like this."
Sunwoo sat down hard in the chair, the documents trembling slightly in his hands. His thoughts scrambled like startled birds.
All this time. The loans. The debts. The silence. And hidden in the back of a dusty closet—land. Real land. Not just any land, but nearly forty-four acres.
His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.
Ha-eun knelt beside him. "He must've been hiding it… and planning on giving it to you after graduation."
Sunwoo's hands moved with new urgency as he spread the old documents on the table. "We need to check the location. See what it's worth—quick."
He pulled out the laptop, flipping it open. The screen glowed to life in the dim living room. Outside, the street was quiet. Only the hum of the fridge and the rapid clicking of keys filled the silence inside.
He typed in the coordinates printed on the deed. Numbers. Region. District.
Enter.
A map loaded.
He leaned in. His brow furrowed, trying to place it. Then he zoomed out, just a little. Then more.
And then it hit them.
They both froze. Their jaw dropped to floor
The blinking red marker sat squarely—dead center—in the capital city of a new state from a faraway place. Not on the outskirts. Not in some remote field. Downtown. Prime commercial zone. The kind of land developers bled for. A golden square of untouched property amidst a jungle of steel and glass.
"What the F*ck" Ha-eun whispered.
Sunwoo's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
And then, slowly, his lips curved. Not in surprise. Not even in joy.
But something menacing euphoria come up to him.
He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the ceiling, and let out a deep, low laugh. It started small, but grew louder. Harsher. Edged with something unhinged.
The laugh of a man who's been kicked into the dirt and suddenly finds gold beneath his boots.
He raised his hands, grinning like a madman.
And then—
thud.
His hands made the files fall from Haeun's hands. The papers scattered on the floor.
That's when Ha-eun noticed it—peeking out from beneath one of the aged documents. A sheet new looking one. Too crisp. Too white. No yellowing edges or fading ink.
Sunwoo's laughter cut off mid-breath.
"What's that?" she asked.
They both reached for it.
He picked it up carefully, turning it over.
A property transfer file. Dated two days before Sungmin Han's death.
The recipient: Ha-eun Choi.
Silence.
Ha-eun stared at it, her lips barely moving. "Ohh no..."
Sunwoo didn't respond.
His hands dropped to his sides. The flicker of madness drained from his face, replaced by something unreadable.
Betrayal? Shock? Angry?
No. Just stillness.
He looked at her, eyes searching. "He gave it to you… all of it."
Ha-eun held the paper like it might burn her fingers. "I never asked for anything I swear, I didn't even—"
"I know," Sunwoo said quietly.
But his tone was distant. Like he wasn't speaking to her at all.
Just staring through her, into some space only he could see.
"Tshh", He twitched his neck to side.