The seawater, already rising, began to lap against Yoojin's face. Her hair and forehead were soon submerged.
She thrashed, trying to break free, but the car only tilted further toward her side, and the ocean surged in through the broken glass.
Bracing herself against the car ceiling with both hands, Yoojin felt the sudden thud of impact beneath her — the vehicle had reached the seabed.
Through the cracking window, waves poured in violently, filling the cabin. Her hair floated around her like strands of black silk.
Before her head was fully submerged, she forced her barely moving arm to her belly, stroking it softly — as if to soothe the child within.
If you were born... would you be a girl or a boy? Would you look like me? Would you love to dance, like I do? You would've gone to kindergarten, then elementary school... we would've spent all that time together.
Her thoughts blurred.
But you met the wrong mother. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you into danger. I should've loved you more when I first learned about you. I'm so sorry… so sorry…
Yoojin whispered her apologies again and again, praying that the baby would be born into a kinder world in the next life.
And then — the cold sea swallowed her whole.
The last thing she felt was the biting chill that cut through her body like shards of glass.
The searing cold of that winter sea would never leave her memory.
The way the icy water invaded her nose, mouth, and ears — how it stabbed at every cell in her body, mercilessly.
She had convulsed again and again as her lungs filled with water, each spasm a battle against death.
And then — silence. The pain vanished.
When she opened her eyes, she wondered if she had become a ghost, drifting through the depths.
Or perhaps she had entered the afterlife.
But it was neither.
When her vision cleared, she saw the brown herringbone wooden floor beneath her.
The floor of her old house — the one she'd lived in until middle school.
That familiar warmth, that tiny piece of a cherished past she thought she had forgotten.
She looked around, dazed, and saw herself — standing in the entryway, shoes still on.
Turning to the right, she spotted the mirror atop the shoe cabinet, exactly as it had been.
In the reflection, she saw her younger self: long, glossy hair, a violet school jacket and tie, a fresh, youthful face.
And then, something else — a pair of feet, hanging in midair.
Her heart dropped with a violent thud.
She rushed into the living room.
There — suspended from the chandelier — was her father.
The sight she could never forget. The image that had haunted her dreams for years: her father, hanging motionless in the air.
Without even removing her shoes, Yoojin ran to him. Her trembling hands reached out first.
Is there still a chance to save him?
She grasped his legs — cold, stiff like wood. His body had already begun to harden, his hands and face tinged with a dull reddish hue.
Her eyes strained, veins rising beneath her skin as she looked up at him, unblinking.
There should have been a chair — she remembered. If she screamed now, her mother would rush in from next door and faint at the sight.
But not this time. Not again.
Not this time.
She looked around, found a pair of scissors, and climbed onto the chair her father had used.
Standing on tiptoe, she reached up, trembling, cutting at the tie that strangled his neck.The scissors slipped — her hands shook, tears streamed down her face before she even realized she was crying.
Then — a snap.
The tie gave way. Her father's body fell heavily to the floor.
Yoojin knelt beside him.
In the past, she would've screamed and turned away, unable to look.
But now, she wanted to see his face — the man who had once been so gentle to her.
His skin was pale, his tongue protruding, his eyes bulging from pressure.
To anyone else, it would've been grotesque.
But Yoojin pressed his tongue back into his mouth and closed his eyes with her trembling hands, lowering the lids that refused to stay shut.
"Dad... I've missed you so much. I'm... I'm glad I get to see you again, even like this."
Her heart pounded wildly.
She counted to sixty in her head — one, two, three, four — afraid that if she let go, his eyes would open again.
When the minute passed, she exhaled deeply and stepped back.
Then she shouted, "Mom! Mom!"
Was this hell? she wondered.
If it was, she would endure it — whatever pain awaited below her feet.
Her mother, Lee Ji-sun, clutched the lifeless body and screamed, "Yoojin's father, how could you leave me alone like this?"
But unlike in the original memory, she didn't faint.
Yoojin calmly dialed 119.
The dispatcher was startled — a teenage girl reporting her father's death with such composure.
Then she went to her mother and embraced her from behind as the older woman sobbed over her husband's body.
"Mom, don't cry. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."
"Yoojin, he's gone. What are we going to do now?"
"It's okay. I'll take care of us. I promise."
"Yoojin... how are we supposed to live?"
"We'll live. We'll find a way. Just stay strong, Mom."
Yoojin knew what this loss would do to her — how deeply the shock of her father's failure and death would carve into her mother's mind, how it would one day drive her to the same tragic end.
She prayed that this time, her mother would endure.
That she would stay.
That she would simply be there.
Because having someone beside you — someone who stands quietly with you in the dark — means everything.
It means having someone who cheers you on, who shares your silence.
To walk beside another, to rest together for even a moment, that is what family means.
And Yoojin understood now, more than ever, how precious that was.
It was the reason she hadn't been able to give up the baby.
Her father's sudden death had scarred her deeply.
She could remember almost nothing from the funeral — only that it was mid-November, bitterly cold.
She had hidden inside the resting room while her uncle received the guests, as creditors and unpaid employees crowded the halls, demanding money.
Her mother had collapsed and been hospitalized.
But this time, things were different.
Yoojin resolved to do everything she couldn't do before — to honor her father properly, to make this her first act of atonement.
She wanted to stay by his side, just a little longer.
It was the second day of the funeral, late in the afternoon after the coffin had been sealed.
"Yoojin!"
A familiar dialect cut through the air.
Se-ryun, her childhood friend, came running toward her, crying so hard her cheeks were blotched red.
She was chubbier, younger — a middle-school version of the girl Yoojin remembered.
"Se-ryun, don't cry."
Se-ryun, round and small like a jar, buried herself in Yoojin's arms, sobbing.Yoojin hugged her tightly, grateful for her friend's unchanging warmth.
While Se-ryun mourned her friend's loss, Yoojin felt an unexpected comfort —she was seeing someone she thought she'd never meet again. For a moment, her grief receded.
"I'm really okay. Don't worry."
"I'll stay with you, okay? You have to stay strong!"
"Mm... thank you."
Behind Se-ryun, a wreath arrived — from Seryun Law Firm, her parents' practice.
They were both lawyers, co-representatives of the firm that bore their daughter's name.
Se-ryun had been born into a family of privilege — lawyers on her mother's side, port magnates on her father's.
Before entering middle school, she had chosen Gangrim Arts Middle School simply because she liked the uniform.
Three months before the entrance exam, her parents had bought her an expensive clarinet, and she'd passed easily after cramming one piece over and over.
But she always complained.
"Fuc, Fuc, Fuc! I never should've chosen the clarinet!"
"Fuc" was her personal curse word — mild enough to be allowed by her conservative parents.
"Why?"
"It ruined my voice! Fuc, why did Mom buy me that stupid clarinet?"
"Then what would you have played instead?"
"The harp?"
"The harp… really?"
Yoojin laughed softly.
The image of Se-ryun — fiery, impatient, with short arms — delicately plucking harp strings was absurd.
No, Se-ryun,the harp definitely isn't for you.
The words rose to her lips, but she couldn't bring herself to let them out — they just lingered, circling inside her.