Han Yoojin, then a first-year student at Gangrim Arts High School, stayed behind in the practice room long after class had ended, preparing for a performance to be shown at the upcoming school festival.
The festival was usually led by the second-year students.
The seniors were too busy preparing for university entrance exams, while the second-years used it as a chance to show off their progress.
That year, however, an unusual decision was made — two first-year students, Han Yoojin and Yoon Dongha, were chosen to perform alongside their seniors.
The school wanted to flaunt its most talented pupils in front of the invited cultural figures and parents — a decision born of pride as much as ambition.
Though Yoojin's role was part of a group performance, the opportunity meant everything.
She was always the first to arrive and the last to leave the practice room, and even on the first anniversary of her father's death, that did not change.
By the time she dragged her tired body home, it was almost ten o'clock at night.
Inside, the house was silent — too silent.
It was the hour the memorial rites should have begun, yet there was no smell of food, no movement, only a cold stillness filling the air.
"Mom?"
Calling out for her unseen mother, Yoojin stepped into the master bedroom.
There, she saw her mother lying on her side, clutching her husband's portrait.
Her eyes were closed, as if asleep.
Beside her were half-empty bottles of sleeping pills and two drained bottles of soju rolling on the floor.
The sight made Yoojin's knees give out.
She fell to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Somehow, with shaking hands, she called 119.
When the paramedics arrived, she lost consciousness.
She could only nod numbly as people asked her questions — "Yes… yes…" — until her mother's cold body was carried into the morgue.
Even as she sat by the funeral altar, she could only stare at the photograph of her mother, expressionless, while overhearing the whispers:
"How could she? Leaving her child like that… selfish woman."
After that, Yoojin drifted away from people.
At sixteen, she was completely alone — and the world's gaze turned cold.
"That girl… both her parents killed themselves."
"She's cursed. Bad luck follows her."
"Creepy."
Teachers avoided her, classmates turned away, and within the tight community of her arts school, she became isolated.
Her world shrank until only ballet remained.
Only Se-ryun, her friend since middle school, stayed by her side — her one true friend, a sister in all but blood.
She was the reason Yoojin had managed to keep going.
Lost in thought, Yoojin blinked and called Se-ryun, who was already waiting for her.
— Yoojin! Where are you?
"Almost there. Navigation says ten minutes."
— It's snowing hard! Isn't it dangerous? God, why didn't you leave earlier?
"I'm fine. I'll drive slowly. You must be bored waiting."
Yoojin felt guilty. Se-ryun had arrived at the pension earlier that morning.
— Seriously, who goes on a girls' trip to a seaside pension in a blizzard? Are we insane?
She was only teasing, hiding her worry behind a joke.
But Yoojin knew she'd soon have to tell her the truth — that she was pregnant with Choi Hyun-oh's child.
When Yoojin had first confessed that she was trapped in a sponsorship contract with the Gangrim Group, Se-ryun had held her and wept.
Now she would have to tell her that things had gone even further.
Her stomach twisted; she forced a small, hollow smile.
"Still, isn't it nice? Just the two of us. I'll cook something good for you."
— No thanks! You'll eat like a bird and I'll be the one who gains weight!
"Then I'll teach you ballet again."
— No way. Ballet is hell.
"Okay, okay. Any cute guys at the pension?"
— Ugh, no. The guys who come to places like this are weird. Just get here safely.
Talking to Se-ryun lifted Yoojin's mood a little.
She had often wished for a sibling — an older brother, a sister, someone to lean on.
But thinking of Se-ryun, she realized that having a true friend by her side was more precious than sharing blood with someone who might only share her misery.
* * *
Checking the navigation screen, Yoojin lightly tapped the brakes, careful not to skid on the snowy road.
The road to the seaside pension was a narrow, one-lane coastal route.
The area was sparsely populated; snow was already piling up along the shoulders.
Heavy wind from the sea whipped the thick snowflakes through the air, pelting the car windows.
The sedan crawled forward, its weight keeping it steady, while the wipers moved frantically.
Inside the quiet car, Yoojin gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes fixed ahead.
Then — Honk!
A long, sharp horn cut through the howling wind.
It was only mid-afternoon, but the blizzard made it hard to see even a few meters ahead.
Yoojin turned on her headlights, slowing down, her palms sweating.
Her body tensed with the instinctive fear of an approaching accident.
Honk!
Again, louder and closer this time — unmistakably real.
The coastal road had no sidewalk, so she steered closer to the guardrail.
But the horn grew nearer, more urgent.
She leaned forward, trying to see through the storm.
Through the curtain of white, two orange headlights appeared — coming straight at her.
A green 2.5-ton recycling truck.
Her pupils dilated in terror as the massive shape bore down on her.
The orange glow filled her vision, blinding her.
Three seconds? Maybe five.
Time stopped. Her thoughts froze.
The truck was crossing the center line — heading straight for her lane.
Yoojin understood instantly: if she didn't move, it would be a head-on collision.
If I have to hit the guardrail, fine — anything but that truck!
She slammed the accelerator.
The sedan roared forward, tires slipping on the icy road.
The truck veered — aiming for the driver's side.
As she turned her head and saw it closing in, she knew there was no escaping.
This was how it would end.
Was this what my parents felt, right before they gave up?
Then, suddenly — the baby.
The life growing inside her.
How could she have forgotten?
In that instant, nothing else mattered — not Hyun-oh, not her parents, not even Se-ryun.
Only the fragile heartbeat she carried within her.
Her hands tightened on the wheel.
She jerked it hard to the right, trying to protect her belly.
The truck swerved too, clipping the rear of her car — Crash!
Metal screamed. The sedan slammed into the guardrail, smoke rising from the hood.
Blood trickled from her forehead where it had struck the window.
Through blurred vision, she saw a man step out of the truck.
Middle-aged, with slightly long hair, wearing a baseball cap that shadowed his face.
He walked closer, peering into the driver's side window.
Yoojin banged on the glass, desperate.
"Help me! Please — help me!"
But the man only looked once, turned away, and climbed back into the truck.
He reversed to gain distance — then hit the accelerator, ramming her car again, full force.
Boom!
The guardrail snapped piece by piece.
The sedan teetered over the edge, half-hanging above the cliff.
The metal creaked under the weight.
Yoojin's body trembled uncontrollably.
She leaned back, praying the car wouldn't tip forward — and then the rail gave way.
The sedan plunged.
Thud! — airbags exploded, glass shattered, the world turned upside down.
Through it all, Yoojin wrapped her arms around her stomach,
protecting the child as the car rolled down toward the frozen shore.
* * *
And in that final flicker of consciousness, Yoojin remembered the first time she had seen her baby — just a month ago.
She had been lying in a private obstetrics clinic in Gangnam, a place where celebrities went to give birth.
"You're eight weeks along," said the doctor. "Can you hear the heartbeat?"
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.