Later, she stopped putting the awards up, stuffing them all into her school bag instead. When she moved into her college dorm, she took them all with her.
Jin Heon sat down on the edge of the bed, and the springs let out a faint creak.
The bed was too small for her now, so small she couldn't fully stretch out on it anymore.
She placed the barley tea on the nightstand and sat quietly for a moment.
The air in this room always seemed to have the same smell—damp walls and old wooden floorboards.
She had spent her childhood and teenage years in this room until the summer she turned eighteen, when she couldn't wait to move out.
On this bed, she had heard it countless times: the sounds of smashing from the living room, the arguments, the angry shouts, and the crying. She would pull the blanket over her head and press a pillow to her ears.
She once trembled while doing her math homework, terrified that her door would be kicked open at any moment.
She stood up and went to the window.
