It started too quietly.
That alone was suspicious.
Ha-rin was seated at the dining table, slowly stirring a bowl of soup my mother had insisted on making. She hadn't complained. That was the second warning sign.
My mother watched her.
Not openly.
From the corner of her eye.Like a general observing terrain.
"…You should drink it while it's warm," my mother said casually.
"…I am," Ha-rin replied.
She took another small sip to prove it.
My mother nodded, satisfied.
For exactly two seconds.
"…You're tired more often these days," she continued.
"Yes," Ha-rin said carefully.
"…And you walk slower."
"Yes."
"…And you sit differently."
Ha-rin froze.
I looked up.
"…That is enough," I said.
My mother smiled.
"…I didn't say anything," she replied.
"That was three things," I said.
"…Observation is not accusation."
Ha-rin glanced between us, unsure whether to laugh or panic.
"…I'm fine," she said quickly. "Really."
"I know," my mother replied. "That's why I'm worried."
That made no sense.
"…From today on," my mother continued, clapping her hands once, "…we're setting some rules."
Silence.
"…Rules," Ha-rin repeated.
"Yes."
"…For what."
"…For living," my mother said brightly.
"That is vague," I said.
"…Exactly."
She leaned forward slightly.
"…Rule one: no going out alone."
Ha-rin blinked.
"…I wasn't planning to."
"…Good," my mother said. "Then it won't be hard."
"…Rule two," she continued, "…proper meals. No skipping. No 'I'm not hungry.'"
Ha-rin opened her mouth.
I shook my head slightly.
She closed it.
"…Rule three: no stress."
"That is impossible," I said.
"…Then minimize it," my mother replied smoothly. "Which means—"
She looked directly at me.
"…You handle things."
"Yes."
"…Including people."
"Yes."
"…And surprises."
"Yes."
My father, who had been silent until now, raised a hand.
"…Do I get rules."
"…Yes," my mother said without hesitation. "…Don't talk too much."
"…That's cruel."
"…You'll survive."
Ha-rin sat there, soup forgotten, staring at the table.
"…Is this… normal," she asked quietly.
"Yes," my mother replied. "For someone I care about."
Ha-rin looked up.
My mother's tone had shifted.
Still firm.
But sincere.
"…I don't want to cause trouble," Ha-rin said.
My mother smiled.
"…Then you picked the wrong family."
That earned a quiet laugh from my father.
Ha-rin hesitated.
Then nodded.
"…Okay."
My mother clapped again.
"…Good. Then we're agreed."
I stood.
"…One more rule," I said.
My mother turned.
"…Yes?"
"…No telling anyone," I added. "No calls. No messages. No hints."
My mother stared at me.
Then laughed.
"…You think I don't know that already."
"…I am clarifying."
"…Fine," she said. "Temporary silence."
"…Temporary," my father echoed doubtfully.
"…Until it's safe," my mother corrected.
Ha-rin exhaled slowly.
"…This feels serious," she said.
"Yes," I replied.
"…But not scary," she added.
"That is the goal," my mother said.
She stood and picked up the empty bowl.
"…Finish resting. I'll handle dinner."
"…Thank you," Ha-rin said softly.
My mother paused.
Then gently patted Ha-rin's shoulder.
"…You're doing well," she said.
Ha-rin blinked.
"…I am?"
"Yes."
My mother walked away.
Ha-rin stared after her for a moment.
Then looked at me.
"…Your mother is terrifying."
"Yes."
"…But kind."
"Yes."
She leaned back slightly, one hand resting unconsciously against her stomach.
This time, no one told her to move it.