PART 1 — WHEN HOME STILL MEANT PEACE
Before the world broke apart, before flames painted the shadows of my memories, life inside the Kyo household was strangely warm. Not perfect… but warm in the kind of way that makes a child believe the world is safe.
I still remember the days before Sin Kyo was even born. Mom spent most of her time in the hospital then, and it was just Dad and me in the house—two amateurs trying to act like adults.
We couldn't cook, not properly. But we tried. Dad would call Grandma; I would call Nani. Both of them would give instructions at the same time, and we ruined the kitchen in the process.
Flour everywhere. Burnt rice. A pot that almost melted.
But when Mom came home and tasted our cooking, she smiled.
Not because it was good—God knows it was terrible—but because we tried for her.
Those were the days when Sin Kyo was just a tiny heartbeat in Mom's belly, and Dad would place his ear against it, pretending he could already hear laughter inside.
Later, when Sin Kyo was born, the house changed.
Became noisier. Warmer. A little chaotic, but in a way that made you feel alive.
Dad loved him the most.
He would hold him gently, tapping his tiny nose, humming quietly while pacing around the living room. I used to stand nearby, smiling without even realizing it. Watching them felt like watching the world's smallest miracle.
But not all memories stay warm forever.
There was one night—one I can never forget—when everything shifted.
I must have been small, maybe six.
Sin Kyo was only one or two years old, crying so loudly the walls felt thinner than they really were. Mom was on the phone with Nani in the living room, and I was watching TV quietly, trying not to disturb anyone.
The clock read 9:23 PM.
Dad came home late that night… and he wasn't sober.
He called Mom's name, but she didn't hear him over the phone.
He walked toward her, took the phone from her hand, and threw it aside.
The sound echoed in the hall.
Mom snapped at him; he snapped back louder.
And then—
he slapped her.
I froze.
Mom touched her cheek, shocked… and Dad turned toward me.
Our eyes met.
Then he struck me too.
Not out of hatred—no, his eyes looked lost, confused, drowning somewhere far away.
He stormed into the kitchen after that, muttering things none of us could understand. I held my cheek, Mom held hers, and we stood there… silently wondering what we had done wrong.
Then Dad did something strange—something only a drunk father would do.
Instead of feeding Sin Kyo his baby food, he mixed milk with sugar and went into the room.
He slammed the door—hard.
The sound cut through the walls.
Inside, I could see a little through the small gap in the door frame. Our house wasn't some fancy modern place; you could see shapes if you tried.
Dad was feeding Sin Kyo gently, talking softly to him… the complete opposite of how he'd spoken to us moments ago.
It almost hurt more to witness his tenderness.
And then… the very next day, he was gone.
Not by choice.
Dad left on a trip with his friends, and during that trip an accident happened—one so sudden that nobody had time to say goodbye.
We didn't get the news first.
His friends told the entire family before they told us.
There was no hospital nearby… no one who could help him.
Mom's sister came early in the morning, telling Mom someone had an accident. She didn't know it was Dad at first. None of us did.
Mom stepped into the house hours later… and she was crying—
no—
broken.
Behind her, a group of women from our neighborhood followed, crying as they whispered,
"He… he didn't make it."
I didn't understand it at first.
Maybe because I had just woken up.
Maybe because I thought it was a nightmare.
Maybe because a child's mind refuses to accept that the person who tucked you into bed last night is gone forever.
I fainted.
Mom needed me.
Sin Kyo needed me.
But I collapsed like the weak child I was.
I should have cried.
I should have screamed.
I should have done something—
But nothing came out.
Maybe this is why, even now, whenever I smile or feel even a little happy, something deep inside me whispers:
"Don't be too happy.
Happiness never lasts for you."
Those memories… the warm ones and the cruel ones… they all exist together.
And maybe that's what hurts the most.
PART 1 — WHEN HOME STILL MEANT PEACE
What to expect in the next chapter:
The fragile warmth of family life faces its first crack.
Memories of Lin and Sin's early bond will deepen your connection to them.
Hints of trauma and loss start to quietly seep into Lin's world.