CHAPTER 1
Later That Day
“When I look at it, I see you and your brother… so alike.”
Noeul’s mother smiled warmly as she touched his face. “The painting you made is beautiful, my boy. You truly have talent.”
Noeul shivered and withdrew his face from her hand.
“I’m not like Gong. I love him, but I’m not him,” he said sharply, emphasizing not.
His mother’s smile faltered. “No, I didn’t mean it that way at all. You’re not your brother; we all know that.”
Noeul softened instantly, pulling her into an embrace. “I know you didn’t mean harm. Sorry, eomma. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
Noeul’s mother asked him to place the painting in the room he and Gong had once shared. He hesitated before opening the door. Memories of the past flooded his senses as his gaze swept across the room.
Most of Gong’s belongings had been packed away into boxes. Only a few remained: his favorite manga, left open with a folded page, resting on the bedside table and the worn basketball he had spent countless afternoons playing with.
Noeul placed the painting on his bed. Almost unconsciously, his hand rose to the ring hanging around his neck, his fingers closing tightly around it.
Opposite their room was Ji-Woo’s. Noeul walked over and turned the doorknob.
Locked.
He took out his phone and dialed Ji-Woo’s number.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
The irony tasted like ash.
By the time he returned to the dining area, his parents were already taking their seats at the table. His mother had prepared a simple meal: steamed rice, hot soup, and familiar dishes they had shared for years.
“Where’s Ji-Woo?” Noeul asked hesitantly. “Won’t he eat with us?”
He already knew the answer.
“He has some work to finish, so he’ll come later,” his mother replied, her hesitation mirroring his own.
Noeul scowled. “Like the last two times I visited? When he says ‘later,’ I guess he means after I leave.”
“You have to try to see things from his side,” his mother said carefully. “Your relationship with Ji-Woo isn’t like before. He’s upset. He blames you for…”
“It’s my fault anyway,” Noeul cut in. His stomach knotted, his eyes burning at the familiar rejection.
His mother looked at him gently. “You must be strong, my son.”
“Strong like you?” Noeul asked, with a sharp voice.
“I don’t have the strength to discuss this again,” his father interrupted, his voice firm. “It’s been months since we last sat down together. Today should be calm. Today we remember your brother. Let’s eat in peace.”
The irritation settled in Noeul’s chest. His father had always avoided confrontation, sweeping problems aside instead of facing them. He had so much to say… but what was the point? The damage had already been done.
They ate in silence, the soft clink of chopsticks and spoons filling the room.
After a moment, his father cleared his throat. Regret softened his expression. “It’s good that you’re here. I know… today is difficult for you too.”
Noeul nodded, unable to speak. His mother reached for his hand and squeezed it. The touch brought a small comfort, but the grief remained, heavy as ever.
He waited until the meal ended before speaking.
“I’m leaving for New York.”
His voice sounded indifferent, despite the turmoil beneath it.
“What?” His mother reacted first. “When?” Her chopsticks hit the table with a sharp clatter.
“The day after tomorrow.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “No. I can’t bear losing you too.”
He placed a hand on her back, stroking it gently.
“You’re not losing me, eomma. I was hired for a well-paid position. I’ll be able to help with Ji-Woo’s tuition.”
His father shot him an angry look and took a sip of the soju.
“There are good jobs here,” he said. “Why go so far away?”
“Appa… I need a fresh start.”
“So soon after graduating?” his mother protested. “We barely had time together.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” Noeul replied quietly. “I don’t have friends here anymore. And Ji-Woo doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”
“He does want you here. You know that. We all do.” His mother reached for his hand. “Please, son. Don’t go. Please.”
He wanted to tell her there was nothing left to keep him here, but he couldn’t. It might be the last time he saw them like this.
“Don’t you need a visa to work in the U.S.? I heard from a colleague it’s very difficult to get one.”
“I already have a work visa,” Noeul replied.
“What about housing? Renting there must be expensive. I can’t afford to help you.”
“I never asked you to. The company provides accommodation for its employees.”
“Tsk.” His father clicked his tongue and looked away. “Do what you want.”
As they ate dessert, his mother spoke about Gong, small memories, jokes from past meals, moments of laughter from a time when harmony still existed in their family.
When the meal ended, they cleared the table in silence, together but distant. In another life, shared pain might have drawn them closer. Instead, Noeul stood among the people he loved and wondered when home had become a place where he no longer belonged.
Before leaving, he stepped into the hallway and took out his phone. His thumb hovered over Haneul’s name. He didn’t know why he still had the number saved. Perhaps deleting it would make something too final.
He opened their old conversation.
For a moment, he simply stared at the message he had sent the previous night. He hadn’t expected anything. The phone should have been turned off by now. Haneul had been dead for two years.
But beneath the message was the same word that had unsettled him when he first saw it.
Delivered.
His eyes narrowed. He stared at the word, then at Haneul’s name above it.
Maybe the number had been reassigned. Maybe there was some other explanation. He waited a few seconds, before slipping the phone back into his pocket, and walked away.