Chapter 7 Monroe
I’m curled up in bed with a paperback when I hear the lock on the front door click.
The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the centralized heating and the occasional car passing on the street below. I’ve been lost in my book for the past hour—a romance novel Kelly lent me, swearing it would change my life—but the sound of the front door opening pulls me back to reality.
Jin’s finally home.
I set the book aside, pages splayed open against the comforter, and listen to the familiar noises he makes as he moves through the apartment. Keys dropped onto the counter. Leather jacket shrugged off. His boots left by the door. The heavy tread of his footsteps as he makes his way to the bedroom.
When he appears in the doorway, my stomach roils.
There’s blood on his shirt.
Not a lot by Korean mafia standards—only a few dark splotches near the collar and a smear along his forearm—but enough to make an American expat schoolteacher pause.
His expression is unreadable, jaw clenched and eyes dark and distant. It’s the look he gets when he’s processing information he doesn’t want to share.
“Jin,” I murmur, sitting up straighter. “Are you okay? Did it all work out?”
“I’m fine—and it went fine. Everything’s fine.” He’s tugged off his shirt and turned his tattooed back to me, already heading into the bathroom. “It’s nothing.”
“I’d say blood on your shirt is definitely not fine.”
“It’s not mine.”
He leaves it at that, offering no other explanation as the bathroom door snicks shut. If he meant to reassure me, he hasn’t. If anything, the knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
Not his blood means someone else’s blood. Someone he hurt, or someone who was hurt near him, or—
I don’t let myself finish that thought.
The shower turns on and steam curls out from under the crevice in the door. Normally I’d return to my book while he showered, but tonight I’m way too distracted. It lays forgotten in my lap as I stare at the closed door and remind myself this is the part of his life I’ve agreed to accept.
Most of the time I’m able to compartmentalize it. I can love Jin without necessarily loving what he does in the Baekho Pa, and it’s possible we can build a life together so long as he keeps those two worlds separate (or so I thought).
But I can’t help starting to wonder if keeping me in the dark is benefiting me after all. Is Jin really protecting me or is he leaving me defenseless?
The first two weeks of the school year go by faster than I anticipate. It’s a cycle of lesson plans, faculty meetings, and the expected craziness that comes with wrangling a classroom full of energetic little kids.
My students this year are a lively bunch. Most of them are eager and bright, their little faces lighting up when I praise their English pronunciation or reward them with scratch-and-sniff stickers for good behavior.
But there’s always one—a boy named Jung-suk with a mischievous streak a mile wide—who seems determined to test every boundary I set. He talks out of turn, pokes the girl who sits in front of him, and has an uncanny ability to produce paper airplanes out of thin air.
I’m learning to pick my battles.
Kelly, meanwhile, has met a promising guy at a bar in Seomyeon. His name is Ahn Hyun-woo, he works as a lab tech, and according to her breathless recaps during lunch breaks, he’s “finally a normal one.”
I give it two weeks before she finds some fatal flaw—he chews too loud or is weirdly close with his mom or doesn’t believe in dessert—but for now, I’m happy to let her gush.
I’ve got my own issues to deal with. Without a doubt, the hardest part of my first trimester has been managing the nausea.
Morning sickness, it turns out, doesn’t care what time of day it is. It hits me during first period, during lunch, and even during the weekly spelling test I give in the afternoons.
I’ve learned to keep crackers in my desk drawer and to eat small, frequent meals instead of anything too heavy.
But the biggest help has been the ginger tea.
Mr. Noh started bringing me the Saenggang-cha after that first faculty meeting when I’d bolted from the room about to hurl my insides.
Now it’s become a small daily staple—a steaming cup waiting for me in the faculty lounge most mornings, brewed with honey and a gentle hand.
Considering he’s busy in his role as the new gyogam of the school, I’m more than grateful.
It’s one of the only things that settles my stomach these days.
The final bell rings after another afternoon battling the pregnancy sickness. My classroom erupts into motion at once.
Children scramble to pack their bags, chatting to each other in a mix of Korean and the English phrases I’ve been drilling into them for the past few weeks.
I stand at the front of the room, smiling and waving as they file past.
“Goodbye, Ssaem!” they chirp, one after another, their small voices chirpy and cheerful.
“Goodbye! See you tomorrow!”
I watch them go with the fuzzy warmth small children usually give me. It’s one of the reasons I went into teaching in the first place and why I’ve often spent my free time volunteering at local orphanages.
It’s not the money or the prestige but interacting with children and helping guide them in their learning.
Once the last student has disappeared through the door, I sink into my desk chair with a sigh.
Kelly appears in the doorway only half a second later, a binder clutched to her chest.
“There you are! I was hoping you’d still be here,” she says, wandering over to perch on the edge of my desk.
“Quick question. Did you understand the new section in the revised curriculum? The part about differentiated assessment strategies? Because I read it three times and still have no idea what they’re asking for. ”
“Honestly? Not really. I was hoping someone would explain it at the next department meeting.”
“Fat chance. You know how those meetings go. Two hours of talking in circles and nothing actually gets clarified,” she huffs. “It’s gotten even worse since Mr. Noh-Memory joined the staff—”
“Ahem. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Kelly’s eyes double in size at the sound of the voice in the doorway. Mr. Noh’s appeared, tapping lightly on the frame, his expression warm and apologetic.
“Oh… ahhh… no…” she stammers, blinking. A rosy blush quickly migrates across her ivory complexion. “We were... I was just… um…”
Mr. Noh presses on, ignoring her babble. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Miss Ross, I just wanted to check—did the saenggang-cha help this morning? I was hoping it would make the assembly easier.”
“It did,” I say, offering him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”
“It’s no trouble at all. My wife swears by ginger for stomach ailments. I’m happy to keep bringing it as long as you need.” He nods, then spares a glance at Kelly. “Karen, have you finished inputting your grades into the new system? I believe the deadline is end of day tomorrow.”
Kelly’s smile freezes. “I’m working on it. And, actually, my name’s not Karen. It’s Kel—”
“Excellent. I will leave you two to your discussion. Keep up the good work.” He gives us both a polite nod and disappears down the hallway.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Kelly throws her hands up.
“Karen? Karen? Do I look like a Karen?!”
I choose not to answer her loaded question, diverting my attention to packing up my teacher’s tote bag.
“How hard is it to remember a one-syllable name?” Kelly rants on.
“Kelly is two syllables,” I point out.
“Not the point, Monroe!”
I’m biting back a laugh when there’s another tap at the door.
We both look up, half expecting Mr. Noh again, only to discover we’re wrong. My heart does a little flip as we do.
Jin stands in the doorway, dressed in his usual plain black T-shirt and dark denim, looking distinctly out of place against the colorful alphabet posters and construction paper art decorating my classroom walls. But in the best way imaginable.
His hair is windswept and messy, half across his brow and borderline falling into his eyes.
…his eyes which are decidedly on me. Which are penetrating enough that heat creeps up my cheeks.
“Jin?” I say in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking you to dinner,” he answers casually, the left side of his mouth tugging up only slightly. “Is that allowed, Miss Teacher, or am I breaking all the rules?”
Kelly’s brows shoot toward her hairline. She turns her head toward me and mouths, “Oh my god! Sooo hot!”
I’m unable to contain my smile as I ignore her and answer, “I’ll allow it. But I might have to give you detention if you don’t learn to behave yourself.”
Our flirtation lingers in the air as I slide my tote over my shoulder and meet him at the door. Kelly hops off my desk with her binder still pressed against her chest.
“Have fun, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Jin takes me to one of my favorite restaurants in all of Busan.
It’s a cozy little place hidden away on a side street in Nampo-dong that has tables with built-in grills and potted plants for decor.
The menu is simple, comprised of various cuts of meat you cook yourself, served alongside what’s known as banchan—Korean side dishes like a spicy cucumber salad or steamed eggplant meant to be paired with the grilled meat.
Jin handles the grilling, laying strips of marinated beef across the hot surface and flipping them at exactly the right moment. The meat sizzles and pops, filling the air with the amazing aroma of seasoned beef and chicken.
I watch him work, my chin propped in my hand. “So,” I say, “are you going to tell me why you picked me up from school? Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not exactly your usual style. You tend to avoid stuffy establishments like schools.”
Jin shrugs, using the tongs to transfer a cooked piece of beef onto my plate. “Sometimes I don’t like you walking too many blocks. Or taking the subway.”
“I’ve been taking the subway for two years. Since before I met you.”
“I’ve never liked it,” he says, adding another piece to my plate then a third. “I’d prefer it if you let me arrange a driver for you.”
I stare at him. “A driver? Jin, it takes me fifteen minutes to get from home to work. By foot and subway. That seems a little excessive.”
“It would put my mind at ease.”
“Why?” I press. “Is there something I should be worried about?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches almost imperceptibly. “No.”
“You sure? Because you say it’s nothing, but then you also don’t want me riding the subway.
So which is it?” I reach over and touch his wrist, meeting his gaze directly.
“All I’m asking for is honesty. If you think it’s too dangerous for me to walk around on my own, I’d like you to say so. I want to know about it.”
A moment passes where he doesn’t answer and his expression remains maddeningly neutral.
But I do know him well enough to pick up on the tension in the set of his shoulders. His tight grip on the tongs is another telltale sign.
“It’s okay,” he says finally. “I’m just being extra cautious, Tokki-ya. Get to and from work how you wish.”
I’m on the verge of pushing harder. Demanding answers and making him tell me what’s really going on that has him so concerned.
But I’m also aware I’ve hit a wall with Jin. Pushing now will only make him retreat further.
So I let it go.
…for now.
“Fine,” I say, picking up my chopsticks and unfolding the napkin they were wrapped in. “But if something changes, I want to know. Remember we promised honesty with each other? No more ‘it’s nothing’ when it’s something. Deal?”
Jin studies me for half a second, then nods. “And you say your mother is the bossy one,” he teases. “It seems you’ve learned her ways.”
I snort out a laugh. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Eat more,” he says, jutting his chin at my plate. “You need your strength.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue with his latest order. Some battles aren’t worth fighting.
I opt to keep up my usual schedule. I walk the few blocks to the subway station then ride it into Suyeong where the academy is located.
The weather is cool and breezy and typical for April, and the journey is enjoyable and provides ample time to clear my head.
Maybe once I’m further along in my pregnancy and my feet start swelling and aching more, I’ll take Jin up on his offer of a chauffeur.
It’s Friday afternoon when the final bell rings and my students leap up to pack their things. I follow their example, stuffing my binders and laptop into my tote bag.
My phone buzzes on my desk with a text from Jin.
Working late again. Don’t wait up.
And then a prompt follow-up text.
I’ll make it up to you, Tokki-ya.
I sigh, tucking the phone into my bag.
It’s the third time this week he’s been home late, and while I understand the demands of his position, I can’t help the flicker of disappointment that comes with it.
The classroom has emptied in a matter of a couple minutes. The chaotic frenzy my students often provide has been replaced by an almost eerie stillness.
I gather the last of my things—my bag, my jacket, the container of crackers I keep stashed in my desk—and head for the door.
Kelly waves at me from down the hall, already halfway to the exit. “See you Monday, Monroe!”
“See you!”
I pass Mr. Quincy, one of the other American teachers, and exchange a quick goodbye before making my way toward the side exit of the building. It’s a shortcut I discovered during my first year teaching at Suyeong Academy.
The narrow walkway is situated between two buildings and shaves a couple minutes off my walk to the subway station.
As I push through the door, I catch a glimpse of Mr. Noh in the main hallway, speaking with a parent. The woman looks upset, gesturing emphatically while Mr. Noh nods along with patient understanding. I make a mental note to thank him again for the tea on Monday.
Afternoon light still quickly fades away this time of year, which means the passageway between the buildings is a little dim and plagued by shadows.
I push through, walking briskly down the walkway with my tote swinging from my shoulder.
Jin said he won’t be home for dinner, but I’ll put something together anyway. We have some chicken breast thawing that I could use to—
A figure leaps out from behind a dumpster.
I stop short, my heart lurching into my throat.
He’s tall with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes and a mouth twisted into a sneer. But most of all, I notice the sharp blade.
A knife.
The man has a knife, and he’s pulled it on me as he blocks my passage forward.
“You,” he grunts. “Scream and I will gut you like a fish.”