Minsu

This little girl, whose hands I should have taken as a child, is still free-falling in my dreams.

I see her when I close my eyes at night. She visits me whenever the ghost of insomnia stands looming in a corner of my bedroom, its imposing dark silhouette sucking in all the shadows of my thoughts. Taking up more space, its murmurs echo the sum of my regrets, listing the names of the skeletons hiding in my closet until the very sound of my heartbeat becomes the thunder of a judge's gavel, condemning me for past sins I have yet to atone for.

Even getting out of bed is a battle—a struggle between the need to go for a walk so I won't be stuck alone in the prison of my own mind and the weight of my mother's and sister's faces staring at me, their open eyes devoid of life.

At least, for the next forty-eight hours, I don't have to entertain the monster I married. Jae-sang has gone on his annual technological detox and won't be back until Sunday evening.

Sometimes, I think I overestimated my mental fortitude to cohabit with the man who murdered my sister. Now, I feel nauseous remembering how I once stumbled through life during the hardest moments of grief, clinging onto him—leaning against the shoulder he had so conveniently placed for me to rely on.

I finally succeed in putting my feet on the floor, ignoring my bedroom slippers in favor of the cold. The lace fabric of my nightgown clings to my back, sticky with sweat. The room is cool enough that I shouldn't be sweating this much, but I guess for someone responsible for the death of two family members, I'm only getting a taste of the temperature in hell awaiting me when I pass away.

I drag myself to the bathroom. Even though my mind is wide awake and set on tormenting me, my muscles have fallen into a deep slumber. My legs protest under the weight of my body, seemingly because I'm also dragging the corpses of Mom and Haeyoon along with me.

By the time I step under the shower, I have no idea what's holding me upright. Ever since Kyungho gave me that envelope containing pictures of Jae-sang and Haeyoon, I've been fighting gravity to avoid crumbling to the earth and digging a hole deep enough to bury myself.

The only thought that has kept me standing is avenging my sister's death.

As the refreshing stream rains over my body, I try to dissipate the clouds of guilt with happier memories of the past.

I am no longer a grieving woman who married a murderer, but an eight-year-old girl who has just won an award at a theatrical competition for primary schoolers.

A sea of journalists snap pictures of the finalists on stage, their flashing lights blinding me. The chorus of applause. Family members rush onto the stage to offer hugs and flowers, their gazes bright with pride.

I remember the twinge of disappointment tugging at my heart because I knew my father had chosen to attend my sister's debate competition at her high school, which coincidentally happened on the same day.

The cheers of the surrounding families echoed in my ears like a mocking cacophony. My shaking fingers gripped the bronze award, which now felt heavier than steel. I pushed through the crowd, desperate to escape the public scrutiny so I could cry in private.

I halted abruptly when a familiar voice called my name, making me turn around to scan the crowd.

"Minsu-ah! Over here!" The feminine tone ached with familiarity. "I'm over here!"

I whipped my head toward the voice, a flicker of hope zigzagging through my chest, threatening to burst out and consume me whole in exhilaration.

It was impossible for Haeyoon to be here. Her team was among the last on the long list of those to compete. She couldn't have left already.

"Oh my gosh! Are you blind? I'm right here!"

No auditory hallucination could recreate the signature, jokingly annoyed tone of my big sister. Sure enough, as a group of people obstructing my view moved away, I finally spotted Haeyoon in her school uniform, waving frantically at me.

For the first time, I experienced in real life the cinematic slow-motion moment. Haeyoon's smile was radiant as she waved me over with so much enthusiasm that her short square bob danced around her face. A huge bouquet of flowers and a plush toy waited in her arms.

My feet carried me toward her, my brain still unable to process that my eyes weren't deceiving me.

"Haeyoon, how are you here?" I asked, intrigued. "What about the debate?"

"I begged in tears until Dad pulled some strings to move up our team's match to the first position. I couldn't miss the acting debut of a future icon."

Haeyoon smiled at me, patting my hair with maternal affection. She was only sixteen but to me she had the infinite wisdom of someone who'd lived a thousand years. A dam inside me broke, and hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I tackled my sister in a bear hug.

Later, as we walked out of the venue, we stopped by an ice cream truck, where Haeyoon bought me a treat on the condition that I stop crying. She must have thought I missed Dad, who hadn't come with her. But I didn't spare him a single thought as I paraded through the streets with my flowers and my toy. The biggest gift I received that day was Haeyoon's presence.

"Do you really think I could become a famous actress someday?" I asked eagerly.

"Of course! You already have everything it takes," she said, counting on her fingers. "Talent. The prettiest face. And a strong will."

Her compliments made me blush profusely, and I started daydreaming out loud.

"Imagine me being the lead actress of a popular drama broadcast on mainstream media. Meanwhile, you're leading Nexus Group and becoming the most powerful businesswoman in South Korea. We'd be an epic sibling duo."

"You're right. That would be a brilliant future for us. Except for one thing. I'll work at Nexus Group, but I won't be able to take the reins."

"Why not?"

"Hm... it's complicated. I promise to explain it to you once you're a little older," she added with a pinch to my cheek. "Though I'm sure Dad will have that talk with you before I do."

"Dad doesn't like to talk to me. He's always avoiding me."

At that, Haeyoon stopped walking and crouched in front of me, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Minsu-ah, listen to me. Our father loves you deeply," my sister asserted. "The problem is, sometimes when adults are hurting, they don't want their children to see them suffer, so they stay away to avoid making you sad too."

"Is Daddy sad because he misses Mommy?"

"That's right. But he isn't mad at you at all."

Back then, her reassurance planted a tiny seed of expectation in my subconscious. As I grew up, I eventually learned that Haeyoon was adopted, and as the biological daughter of my parents, it would be my duty to take my position as chairwoman when my father stepped down.

My childhood dream of becoming an actress remained just that—a child's fantasy. Maybe deep down, I'd hoped that if I made the right choices and upheld the family legacy, it would bridge the gap between my father and me.

That hope fueled me enough to dedicate my teenage years and twenties to perfecting myself as the successor of Nexus Group.

I don't regret trading my childhood dream for my career—if it means that a part of my mother gets to live on within me. But I wouldn't hesitate to trade back all these years if it meant I could have my sister back.

Haeyoon and Mom had so much more to contribute to this world than I do. It doesn't make sense that fate decided I would be the one to survive them.

By the time I get out of the shower, the urge to go for a drive has completely surrendered to the need to stay home and lose myself in mindless entertainment—an unsurprising consequence of my memories dragging me back to a time when the scars on my heart first took root in the murky land of childhood expectations.

A bottle of wine and a bowl of strawberries dipped in chocolate fondue make the perfect companions as I settle onto the living room sofa. I browse through channels for a while, skipping over anything broadcasting Korean dramas, before finally settling on a variety show.

Three glasses of wine in, I've started to loosen up. I even laugh at the host's horrible jokes and place silent bets on which idol from the guest panel will win the ridiculous games organized by the production team.

The first time I hear the buzz of the gate, I ignore it. Who in their right mind would show up unannounced at my house at two in the morning?

The second time, it's persistent enough to mildly tempt me into checking the video intercom doorbell to see who this unwanted guest is. But if I wait just five more minutes, maybe they'll think nobody's home and leave.

On the TV screen, the idols are now competing in a crab-walk course across a pond while wearing giant frog mascot costumes. I cackle loudly when two of them bump into each other and fall into the water. They immediately start arguing over whose fault it is. I have to wipe tears from laughing too much. 

My phone vibrates on the table.

After checking the caller ID, I put it back down.

Several seconds after the missed call, a notification pops up. I fight the urge to ignore it, but in the end, I blame my curiosity on the alcohol.

It's Jungwoo.

"I know you're avoiding me, but can we talk, please?"

Another message follows almost immediately.

"I've brought pork ribs and spicy tteokbokki with me."

My fingers start typing before I can stop them.

"Are you seriously bribing me with food?"

"It's not a bribe if it's energy fuel."

I refuse to acknowledge the sudden change in my heartbeat as I read his response.

"Energy fuel? For what?"

"For whatever you want to do to me tonight."