Chapter 17 Monroe
The apartment looks exactly the same.
Same modest furniture and view from the window. The same walls that once housed a different version of me.
I set down the final box in the middle of the living room and take a second to process the fact that I’m back.
The apartment I once lived in before I ever met a man named Seo Jin-tae. Before ever convincing myself that we could be happy together.
Jin offered to help me move. He wanted to set me up in an apartment that was heavily guarded and surveilled by his men for safety reasons.
…because, he reminded me, he would always take care of me.
But I turned him down. I can’t keep relying on him, not now that we’re truly over.
So I’ve returned to my old neighborhood in Seomyeon, grateful that the landlady was willing to grant me a new, short-term temporary lease because I was such a good tenant in the past.
No renovations have been made. The building is still a modest concrete structure with AC units attached to the windows and an elevator that’s a little janky at times.
But I don’t mind.
It’s only for three months at most. Enough time to figure out what I want to do.
“This is cozy, baby,” Mom says from behind the kitchen counter. “I forgot how much I loved your old apartment.”
She’s being bright and keeping things positive, trying her best to help me in what ways she can.
We both know the place isn’t as upscale as the apartment I shared with Jin.
There are no sleek finishes or heated floors or walk-in closets.
But she gets how hard this whole thing has been for me, so she’s being uplifting.
She’s sticking by my side to help me through this.
“It’s okay,” I say, propping open the box I set down.
“Oh, baby… it’s more than fine. It’s yours, which is good. It’s good you have your own space. You’ll be able to process it all.”
I can’t even bring myself to answer.
Sometimes… I feel like I don’t even sound like myself anymore. I’ve always been an optimist. Always a “look on the bright side” type of person, out to spread cheer and compassion.
I wish I could say I was still that way. That I could somehow get the old Monroe back the same way I got my old apartment.
But as I dig inside the box and start pulling out my things, deep down I know it’s not happening. There’s no returning to the Monroe I once was because that Monroe is gone.
Her heart has been broken and her spirit crushed.
Just existing and staying out of bed all day feels like a feat in and of itself. Yet when I do go to bed, I end up lying awake for hours. I’m an insomniac who can’t turn her brain—or shattered heart—off long enough to truly rest.
It’s a paradox I’ve stopped trying to figure out. I’m slowly realizing maybe this will just be my new reality from now on.
The once-bright woman who was beat down by life circumstances so much, she’s going through the motions.
A knock at the door saves us from the awkward silence.
Kelly bursts in like a ray of chaotic sunshine, armed with a bottle of wine and a bag of takeout.
“I come bearing housewarming gifts!” she announces, kicking the door shut behind her. “Also, I’m starving, so I hope you don’t mind if I eat while I help you unpack.”
“Not a problem,” I answer. “But you didn’t have to bring us food.”
“Please, you’ve been living off of protein bars for a month.
You need to fill your stomach with real food.
Hi, Mama Ross!” she exclaims, waving at Mom as she puts down the bags and bottle of wine.
She turns back around to survey the half unpacked apartment.
“Okay, this is cute. Very... vintage. Very ‘struggling artist in a K-drama’ vibes.”
“You might need to work on your compliments.”
“I mean it in a good way! You’ve seen my place. Mildew showers and the landlord with the belly shirt and tuna breath. Trust me, you’re making out like a bandit. How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I answer numbly. I’ve turned my back to her and Mom, rummaging through the box more out of distraction from having to meet their eyes when the dreaded question is asked.
Is there any answer I could offer other than fine? Other than okay and alright?
I don’t want any pity, and I don’t want them to feel compelled to console me either. Like with most things as of late, I’m not sure what I want…
Mom and Kelly share a glance then change the subject.
“Okay, then let’s get you unpacked. We’ll have you settled in in no time.”
The next hour passes quickly as we work through the boxes and suitcases and put things away. Kelly provides running commentary on my wardrobe and what items she’d love to borrow some day, obviously still trying to lighten the mood.
Mom does the same, cracking jokes about how we need to go shopping at Seomyeon’s underground mall again, mentioning how she’s brought extra suitcases to South Korea for a reason.
If I didn’t know any better, things would almost feel normal.
Almost.
Except the heaviness in my heart never relents. It never eases up. There’s no break from the ache and the dull pain that remains.
It’s become a part of me I’ll have to learn to live with.
“So,” Kelly says, pausing mid-fold with one of my sweaters in her hands. “Are you coming back to the academy? Everyone keeps asking. Even Mr. Noh-Memory asked how you were doing.”
The mention of school evokes a complicated twist in my stomach. I loved teaching—my students and classroom and the sense of purpose it gave me.
But the thought of going back after what’s happened is jarring. Returning to the same place where I collapsed and this traumatic nightmare began…
A lump forms in my throat so thick I can’t swallow, accompanied by an itchiness in my eyes. I resist both, reminding myself to breathe and hold it together.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”
Mom looks up from where she’s putting plates away in the kitchen. “You don’t have to decide, baby. You have time to make those kinds of decisions later.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” I give a shrug, moving onto a different box. “Sometimes… I wonder if maybe it’s time to go back home.”
“Home?” Mom asks. “You mean Philly, Moni?”
“Maybe. It… it makes the most sense.”
Though I don’t glance up to watch them do it, out of my periphery I’m aware Mom and Kelly exchange a look. Probably uncertain what to say or if they even should say anything at all.
Instead we fall back into awkward silence, unpacking the rest of the apartment.
Sleep refuses to come later in the night.
I roll over every few minutes trying to get comfortable but finding it difficult to even get close. Either I’m too hot and the blanket is too heavy or I need to fluff my pillow, or suddenly I’m thirsty or need to scroll through my phone.
It’s funny when I think about how I used to fall asleep so easily on this mattress. Often I’d read before bed or watch a movie, then I’d be out for hours.
That’s no longer the case as I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the city outside my window.
My mind keeps circling back to the same painful places. Jin’s cold eyes when I gave him back the ring. The silence that followed me out of our apartment. Even the way he just stood there and let me leave, as if he had also accepted we were done.
The grief is too deep and paralyzing. It would kill any relationship.
It’s no surprise Jin and I weren’t strong enough to weather it. He’s shut down, and I’ve lost all hope.
In need of fresh air, I throw off the covers and pad to the window. Though it’s still spring, the temperatures are low enough to be chilly at night.
Exactly what I need right now.
I push the window open and draw a deep, steadying breath in hopes it’ll clear my head. Help turn my brain off long enough so that I can actually fall asleep.
My gaze pans from the surrounding buildings and the plum sky speckled with the occasional star to the black car parked several stories below. My bedroom window looks out on the side of the building, where the dumpsters and recycling bins are and no real parking exists.
So it’s strange to see a car parked downstairs so late into the night.
Directly below my window.
I frown, leaning forward as I try to make out the shape of whoever’s inside. The windows are tinted, the interior dark, offering no real details this far up.
Whoever it is clearly knows he’s hidden.
Seconds go by where nothing happens. The car idles, and I stare down at it, brows knitted.
Then the headlights flicker, piercing the dark alleyway, and suddenly the car’s pulling away. It turns the corner and disappears down the street as if it wasn’t parked down below for who knows how long.
I stay where I am, my pulse jumping due to the uncertainty of it all.
It’s probably nothing, but after everything in recent times, I don’t know anymore. I could be paranoid or it could be some looming threat.
Just another bad thing about to happen to me.
I return to bed but don’t fall asleep. I stay awake, still tossing and turning for hours, gradually accepting this is my new reality.
It takes about a week for me to settle into somewhat of a routine. Time still feels unfocused, more like I’m existing than living. The entire world is steeped in a haze of grief that keeps me numbed even when I urge myself not to be.
But at least the routine keeps me busy. It keeps me up and moving.
I’m still on leave from the academy, undecided if I want to return to teaching at the same place I collapsed and then lost my baby.
Hour to hour, my mind changes.
Mom and I spend a lot of time together, shopping and cooking and even going to the gym together to get some movement. Kelly comes over and sometimes we go for coffee, where she gushes more about her boyfriend Hyun-woo.
I’ve found a counselor. An American expat therapist based in Suyeong who specializes in grief and trauma.
When the afternoon of my first appointment rolls around, we talk about the miscarriage. She listens without judgment as I explain how my relationship with Jin quickly deteriorated and how I’ve been left heartbroken and feeling as if my life is completely derailed.
As tears water my eyes, she reminds me it’s okay to let it out. To cry or sob if I need to.
Something I’ve been forcing myself to stop doing, otherwise I’d be an even bigger mess than I already am.
Our next appointment is in a week.
It’s a start. More than Jin was willing to do.
After the session, I decide to treat myself to something small. A tiny act of normalcy. I take the subway to Unnie’s Cafe, one of my favorite spots from before.
The cozy little place smells like freshly ground coffee beans and still has the cute strung lights draped across the ceiling like constellations. As always, jazzy music plays in the background, the furniture comfy and mismatched.
I order a Dalgona latte and find a seat by the window, savoring the sweetness of the toffee flavoring while appreciating the frothy smoothness from the coffee itself.
Maybe if I can focus on little things like this and still find ways to enjoy them, I can get back to feeling more like myself.
Unfortunately, the feeling fades by the time I leave the café and step onto the busy street. I go from quiet and cozy in the café to disoriented and overwhelmed on the loud, crowded sidewalks.
There’re too many people passing me by. Too many cars in traffic.
I glance around, suddenly paranoid, a prickle of unease striking me. I’m not sure how it’s possible to feel so alone yet so overstimulated and crowded at the same time.
It’s as I pick up my pace and start hurrying down the street that I realize it’s something I can’t shake. The anxiety goes where I do as I glance over my shoulder and paranoia tells me I’m being watched.
I’m being followed.
Not just by the anxiety or depression.
This is more than the grief itself.
It’s the kind of unsettling watchful dread that I’m in imminent danger. There’s no escape and nothing I can do.
I rush down the stairs leading to the subway underground. But even as I board the train and ride it through different neighborhoods, I’m left with the same unease.
My eyes travel between the strangers around me, and my mind tells me something’s off.
Something’s wrong.
I dig my phone out of my purse and do what feels natural, typing up a text to Jin.
I think someone’s following me.
The other night there was a black car outside my window.
Now I’m out in Suyeong and I feel like I’m being
I never allow myself to finish the message, my fingers hovering over the screen. I blink and come to my senses as I realize I can’t send this message.
We’re broken up. Our engagement is over.
I gave back the ring. I told him I couldn’t have a happy ending with someone who didn’t want one for himself. He stood and watched me as I walked away.
What sense does it make to keep running to him every time I’m scared?
I’m on my own again; I need to solve my problems on my own too.
Putting my phone away, the text remains in the drafts. My subway stop arrives only a couple minutes later, and I step off onto the platform.
The walk home is short, but I’m still uneasy enough to glance over my shoulder as I go.
As far as I can tell, no one’s around. No one’s following me, yet the feeling persists no matter what.
At the front gate to my building, I stop before punching in the code. I throw one final glance down both ends of the street and remind myself I’m safe.
I’m back at my apartment, unharmed and in one piece. Then I punch in the entry code and step inside, ignoring the unease that’s followed me home.