"Cahh, let's eat now that everyone's here!" Grandpa's voice rang out, commanding attention in the cozy dining room. His grin was wide, his energy infectious as he reached for a bottle of wine from the sideboard.
"For today's special guest," he added with a wink at Nadine, "I've even taken out my favorite wine, just for you."
Nadine couldn't help but smile at his gesture. "Thank you, Grandpa," she said softly, the familiar warmth of his presence tugging at her heart.
"Glad you're home forever now," Grandma chimed in, her voice filled with genuine happiness as she took a sip of her wine.
"We missed you so much," she added, her eyes lighting up as she looked at Nadine.
"You guys just saw me last week, remember?" Nadine teased lightly, raising a brow at her grandparents.
Grandpa and Grandma burst into hearty laughter. "Hahaha! It's not the same," Grandpa said, waving a hand dismissively. "Seeing you through a screen is nothing like seeing you directly in front of our eyes."
"Exactly!" Liam chimed in, his tone playful yet sincere. "It's just better having you here in person, Sis."
Nadine felt a flicker of warmth at their words, though a faint pang of guilt accompanied it. Her return hadn't been as joyful for her as it clearly was for them. But she pushed the thought aside, wanting to stay in this moment for a little longer.
"Oh!" Grandma exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together. "I made your favorite—spicy fish soup. Leane, please help me serve it to Nadine," she said, addressing Nadine's mother. "You should've seen how she devoured the dish as a child. She always said mine was the best!"
Nadine froze as her grandmother's cheerful words landed like a weight on her chest.
Her mother, Leane, rose gracefully from her chair, an elegant smile pasted across her face as she reached for the dish. "Of course, Mother," she replied smoothly. As she set the steaming bowl in front of Nadine, she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a low whisper.
"I can see now why you've gained some weight," Leane said, her tone laced with quiet venom. "I've told you before, this kind of food will only make you look bloated."
The words struck Nadine like a slap, their sting immediate and sharp. She kept her gaze firmly on her plate, willing herself not to react, not to show the anger and hurt bubbling beneath the surface. She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat.
The spicy fish soup sat before her, its once-beloved aroma now triggering a wave of nausea. Her stomach churned as her chest grew tight, and her breaths came shorter and faster.
"Excuse me," Nadine said abruptly, her voice barely above a whisper. She pushed back her chair and hurried out of the dining room, ignoring the concerned glances from her grandparents and brother.
Once she reached the bathroom, she closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, her hands trembling. The pressure she had been holding back surged forward like a tidal wave.
She knelt by the toilet, gripping the edge as her body convulsed, expelling everything she had eaten earlier. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for breath, her mind spiraling into that familiar, dark place of shame and self-blame.
When it was over, she sat on the cold tile floor, her body shaking and her chest heaving as she fought to regain control of her breathing. The fish soup… the whisper… the memories—all of it had come rushing back, dragging her to a place she thought she'd escaped.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door. "It's okay," she whispered to herself, though the words felt hollow. "It's okay. Just breathe."
But even as she repeated the words, she wasn't sure she believed them.
"You're so quiet tonight, my dear. Is there anything wrong?"
My father's gentle voice broke through the hum of laughter and chatter echoing from the greenhouse. His eyes, warm and piercing, locked onto mine. The way he looked at me made it impossible to hide. He had a way of reading me, like an open book, in a way no one else could.
I shifted under his gaze, hugging the soft throw tighter around my shoulders. "I'm fine," I replied, my voice softer than I intended. "Just having a hard time adjusting to the weather. It's so chilly here compared to New York."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The winter breeze that seeped into every corner of the mansion did feel unfamiliar after so many years away. But the real chill—the one that made me hug myself tighter—came from a place no blanket could touch.
My father's brows furrowed slightly, as if he could sense the half-truth behind my words. Growing up, I always thought I'd bond more with my mother. She was the one who had been with me the most, even following me to New Zealand for a few years before deciding to return to Korea. But as I grew older, I realized it was my father who truly saw me.
In my darkest moments, he was my superhero. My shining knight who could pull me out of the depths of despair with just a few kind words. He had this way of reminding me that it was okay to stumble, okay to be less than perfect.
Sometimes, though, his ability to see through me terrified me. It felt like he could uncover the parts of me I wanted to keep hidden—the parts that were fragile, broken. The truth I wasn't ready to admit, even to myself.
"Well, the cold can be unforgiving," he said, his tone gentle but probing. "Just remember, you don't have to adjust to everything all at once. Take your time, Nadine." He reached out, patting my hand in a way that was both comforting and grounding.
Before I could respond, a burst of laughter echoed from the greenhouse, breaking the intimate moment between us. My brother's voice carried through the crisp air, teasing Grandma about her newfound passion for gardening.
"I think Grandma might just move in here permanently," Liam joked, his voice loud enough for all of us to hear. "Grandpa's going to have to fight for her attention!"
"Stop teasing me, you rascal!" Grandma's voice rang out, full of mock indignation but layered with joy. "If you keep that up, I'll ban you from my greenhouse altogether."
My father chuckled, the sound low and familiar. "Your grandmother hasn't been this excited in years," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "That greenhouse was the best gift your grandfather could have given her."
I followed his gaze toward the glass structure that now stood proudly in the corner of the garden. Strings of warm fairy lights lined its roof, casting a soft glow against the dark evening sky. Inside, I could see Grandpa adjusting a row of potted plants while Grandma fussed over a blooming orchid.
"I should join them," I said, standing up and wrapping the throw around me like a cocoon.
"Don't let Liam rope you into watering duty," my father teased with a wink. "He's already convinced your grandmother he's an expert gardener."
I smiled, the warmth in his voice easing the weight I'd been carrying all day. As I walked toward the greenhouse, I could hear Liam's laughter again, joined by the soft murmur of my grandparents' voices.
It was a scene of happiness, of family. Yet as I stepped through the glass doors, the familiar scent of soil and fresh blooms surrounding me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing on the outside looking in.