My mother noticed first.
She didn't say anything at the start. She rarely did when she was suspicious. Instead, she watched—quietly, carefully—like she was waiting for a pattern to complete itself.
It completed over dinner.
Ha-rin pushed her bowl away after only a few bites.
"…You're done already?" my mother asked lightly.
"Yes," Ha-rin replied. "…I'm not very hungry."
My mother hummed, noncommittal.
"You said that yesterday too."
Ha-rin stiffened—just a little.
I spoke before the silence could stretch.
"She ate earlier."
My mother turned her gaze on me.
"…You're answering quickly," she said.
"That is efficient."
"That is suspicious."
Ha-rin coughed softly, reaching for her water.
"…Auntie," she said politely, "I've just been tired lately."
My mother smiled.
The kind of smile that meant she was filing that information away.
"Tired," she repeated. "Of course."
My father, who had been quietly focused on his food, glanced up.
"…You've both been tired a lot," he said.
"Yes," I replied.
"…Together," he added.
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"…Interesting."
My mother set her chopsticks down.
"So," she said casually, "are you working again?"
"No."
"Still not?"
"No."
She tilted her head.
"…Then you're home a lot."
"Yes."
"…And Ha-rin is also home a lot."
"Yes."
She smiled wider.
"…Very interesting."
Ha-rin's ears turned red.
"…Auntie," she said, flustered, "it's not what you're thinking."
My mother's eyes lit up immediately.
"Oh?" she said. "Then what am I thinking?"
Ha-rin froze.
I intervened.
"She is thinking too much," I said.
My mother gasped.
"How rude. I'm thinking very reasonably."
My father leaned back in his chair.
"…She's right," he said. "This does look… coordinated."
"…It is coincidence," I replied.
"…That's what people always say," my mother said cheerfully.
Ha-rin looked between them, then down at her hands.
"…I really am just resting," she said. "…Nothing strange."
My mother studied her for a moment.
Then sighed.
"Well," she said, standing, "as long as you're healthy."
She paused.
"…You are healthy, right?"
Ha-rin's hand moved unconsciously toward her stomach.
Stopped.
"…Yes," she said quickly.
My mother's eyes followed the motion.
Very slowly.
Very precisely.
Silence fell.
Then—
"Oh," my mother said softly.
My father choked on his water.
"…What," he asked, coughing.
My mother waved a hand.
"Nothing," she said. "Just—mother's intuition."
She turned back to Ha-rin with a bright smile.
"You rest well," she said. "Don't overdo things."
"…Thank you," Ha-rin replied.
Dinner ended shortly after.
Later, as Ha-rin retreated to her room, my mother cornered me in the kitchen.
"…You're hiding something," she said flatly.
"Yes."
"…Is it serious."
"Yes."
She narrowed her eyes.
"…Is it dangerous."
"No."
She studied my face for a long moment.
"…Then I'll wait," she said. "But you won't keep this from me forever."
"That is correct."
She clicked her tongue.
"…You always were bad at secrets."
I considered that.
"…Statistically," I said, "that is inaccurate."
She rolled her eyes.
"…Go check on her," she said. "She looks overwhelmed."
"Yes."
As I walked away, I heard her mutter—
"…Kids these days…"
But her voice wasn't angry.
Just worried.