The apartment was too quiet. Always too quiet.
I blinked awake, heart immediately hammering. Had I overslept? Was Jihwa gone? Taken back. Taken away. Just like everything else in my life had been stripped from me. My chest tightened, panic rising, until the faint scrape of a spoon against a bowl cut through the silence.
I turned my head slowly.
There he was. A boy no taller than the chair he sat on, legs dangling, barely touching the floor. Dirty blonde hair fell over his forehead, head bent as he ate cereal from a chipped bowl, silent as a shadow. The morning light hit his face, and for a brief, crushing moment, I saw it—every sharp line, every exact curve. Kang's face.
Six years. Six years of begging, crying, praying for just a glimpse, and now… now he was here. My son. And yet, he was a stranger. I couldn't reach him. Couldn't touch him. Couldn't even breathe right.
"…Good morning." My voice was rough, like a whisper that hadn't been used in years.
The boy froze mid-bite. Then he lifted his head. Those brown eyes. Kang's eyes. Wide, unreadable, assessing me. A small nod, barely there, before he returned to his cereal. No words. No smile.
I swallowed hard and pushed myself upright, muscles stiff, movements awkward. How do you move around your own child when everything about it feels wrong? I tried to force myself toward the stove. Do something normal. Make breakfast. Pretend I can handle this.
An egg cracked into the pan, yolk breaking unevenly. Curse it, it slipped out, bitter and low. Kang's voice echoed in my head: "Pathetic. You can't even fry an egg." My chest ached.
Then the scrape of chair legs. Small, deliberate. Tiny footsteps approaching. Panic flared.
"Stay back, Jihwa. The stove is hot," I said sharply, without looking.
Silence. I glanced over. He tilted his head, studying me. That look—the calculating, silent weigh-you-like-a-judge look—made my stomach knot. I nearly dropped the spatula.
"Just… wait at the table, okay?" My voice cracked. I tried to force a smile, but it wouldn't come.
Back to the stove. Focus. Just for a moment, I looked away to grab a plate.
Then:
Crash.
Spatula clattered. My heart lurched.
Looking at Jihwa, I froze. Every feature—the curve of his jaw, the sharpness in his brown eyes, the way he held himself—reminded me of Kang Taejun. My chest tightened, my stomach churned, and a cold sweat prickled my skin. It was like staring at a ghost I had tried to bury long ago. Memories clawed at me, sudden and violent, and I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
My hands shook uncontrollably. Before I even realized what I was doing, a bottle slipped from my grip and smashed against the floor, porcelain shards scattering like tiny white knives.
'You… you look just like him,' I whispered, my voice trembling, barely louder than a breath. The words felt wrong, almost forbidden, yet they spilled out anyway. Jihwa blinked at me, confusion flickering across his face, but I couldn't look away—I couldn't unsee the reflection of a past I had desperately tried to forget.
"I thought you were my mommy, why do my eyes hurt so bad?'
Jihwa stood frozen by the counter. His face bleeding. Tiny hands flew to his face. A thin cry escaped him.
Blood.
My vision tunneled. His cheek—no, his eye—was glistening red. A jagged shard on the floor glittered like cruel glass.
"Jihwa!" My scream ripped from me. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the sting of glass slicing into my skin, shaking violently as I tried to pry his fingers away.
"No, no, no, don't touch it, baby, please—let me see—" My voice broke over and over. Chest heaving as I saw the blood streaking down my son's face. My baby. The one I begged for. The one I lost and found again. And now… bleeding because of me.
The shard was too close to his eye.
"God, no, please not the eye…" My hands trembled violently as I pulled the glass free. Red smeared my palms. Jihwa sobbed into my chest.
I froze. My lungs felt crushed. This is my fault. He's hurt because of me. Kang was right. I can't even protect my own child.
And yet… instinct took over. I scooped him up, ignoring the pain in my feet as the glass tore into me. I bolted out the door.
"Hold on, baby, hold on, don't close your eyes—stay with me—" I babbled, tripping down the stairs, chest burning. Jihwa clung weakly, muffled sobs pressed against me.
I didn't feel my feet cut open, didn't notice the blood left behind. Only one thought mattered: I could not, would not, lose him. Not like this. Not again.
The hospital lights glowed red ahead. My breath ragged, heart threatening to burst from my chest, I whispered, clutching him tight:
"Please… please, oh…please… don't take him away from me."
The door creaked open too loud in the silence. My heart jumped at the sound. I slipped inside carefully, one hand wrapped around Jihwa's small fingers, the other ready to catch him if he tripped. He clutched his bear with his free hand—his new shadow, the only thing he would hold without hesitation.
That bandage over his right eye glowed stark white in the dim apartment light. Every time I looked at it, something in my chest twisted until it hurt.
"Careful," I murmured, guiding him over the uneven threshold. "Watch your step… there's a bump on the floor there."
He nodded silently, obedient, his tiny feet padding across the worn floorboards.
I shut the door and leaned my forehead against it for a heartbeat longer than necessary. My lips trembled. He's here. He's safe. But because of me… he's broken.
Dinner
I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to make my hands steady as I cut vegetables. My eyes flicked back to him every few seconds, terrified he might touch something sharp, might trip, might somehow get hurt again.
"You don't… like spicy food, right?" My voice came out hesitant, an attempt to break the suffocating silence.
He sat at the table, bare in his lap, small shoulders straight. He shook his head. "Papa doesn't let me eat spicy food."
Papa. The word cut through me like a knife. My grip slipped and the blade clattered against the cutting board.
He lifted his head. "Mommy?"
"I'm fine," I said too quickly, forcing a smile that felt like paper tearing. "Just… be careful with knives, okay? Never touch them. Never." My voice cracked. "They're dangerous."
He nodded solemnly, his face serious and small.
After dinner, I helped him into bed. He lay down quietly, tucking his bear under his chin. For a long time I just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring. His small face looked so peaceful in sleep… except for the bandage. That bandage tore me apart every time I saw it.
"Jihwa," I whispered, brushing his hair back.
His one uncovered eye fluttered open. "Yes, Mommy?"
The word hit me like a blow and a balm at the same time. My throat tightened.
"I'll never let you get hurt again," I whispered, voice trembling. "Do you understand? Mommy was stupid, Mommy wasn't careful before, but… never again. I swear it. You're my whole world now. Even if I break, even if I starve, I'll keep you safe." Tears blurred my vision.
He blinked at me, silent, and reached up with his small hand to touch my cheek.
"You're crying," he said simply.
"I'm crying because I love you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm crying because I almost lost you, and it was my fault."
He studied me, his little brow furrowing. "Papa always says crying is weak."
I froze. My stomach lurched at the word Papa again. I cupped his small hand tightly in both of mine.
"Papa is wrong," I whispered fiercely, desperate. "Crying doesn't make you weak. It means your heart is alive. Don't ever let anyone tell you that it's weak to feel. Okay?"
Confusion flickered in his eye, but he nodded slowly. "Okay, Mommy."
Hours later, when he finally slept, I sat by the window, knees drawn up to my chest, tears running down my face.
"I won't fail him again," I whispered into the night, my voice hoarse. "I won't. Kang can say whatever he wants. I'll prove him wrong. I'll protect Jihwa, even from myself."
But when I turned and glanced at his sleeping face, the bandage covering half of it, my breath caught.
In the dim light, with only one sharp eye visible, he looked so much like Kang that my heart stopped.
My knuckles went white on the window frame. My voice cracked in the darkness.
"Don't take him from me, Kang. Please… don't take him from me."
I stayed by his side long after he drifted off, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The bandage made his face look fragile, like one wrong move could shatter him completely. My hands ached to touch him, to hold him tight, but I didn't want to wake him.
Still, I couldn't sit silently anymore. My chest burned with the memory of the glass, the blood, the helplessness. I lowered my face to his little hand, brushing it gently with my lips.
"Jihwa…" I whispered, voice thick and trembling. "I promise. I will never… ever hurt you. Not with words. Not with my hands. Not ever. I won't raise my voice. I won't let my anger spill over onto you. You… you are all that matters to me."
Even as I said it, my chest tightened with guilt. I had failed him once already. Once is one too many.
I pressed my forehead to his little hand, feeling his warmth through the bandage. "I'll be careful, I'll be patient, I'll do everything I can to make sure you're safe. And if I ever feel myself losing control… I'll stop. I'll step back. I swear it. I swear it, Jihwa. You'll never have to be afraid of me."
His tiny hand twitched in his sleep, almost like an answer. My tears fell freely now, dripping onto the covers. I couldn't promise the world. I couldn't promise I could fix everything. But I could promise him this: I would never be the one to hurt him again.
I stayed there until his breathing evened out, until the shadows in the room didn't feel so suffocating. I whispered once more before I stood to leave, voice hoarse:
"I'll protect you. Always. I swear on it on my life."
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