Someone's watching a K-Drama. That's my first thought as the world comes back into focus.
Over the loud buzzing in my ears, I can hear some kind of showdown between a harassed, down-on-her-luck main character and her evil mother-in-law playing out. So, I could be at home or in Korea. But if it's the latter, then how did I get here?
Things make even less sense as I open my eyes and get my first sight of the room. It's not my room, that much is apparent. At least … not the one I remember. There's too much marble, the plush duvet covering my lower half has gold silk embroidery. There's some kind of diffuser expelling what I think is lavender in a misty spout over on the nearest nightstand. And … Is that a Hermes bag on the couch?
I think it must be a hospital room, the bed has rails, but it's the most expensive-looking hospital room I've ever seen. Which is saying something because, not to brag, but my family was never exactly paycheck to paycheck.
I start to sit up, and nausea punches me in the gut and my hand automatically flies to my forehead as a piercing pain lances through my skull.
Images come in and out in blurs, making me feel like the room is spinning.
Appa and Omma, laughing at an MBC drama on the couch, Appa rubbing Omma's feet in his lap. Yeji, shooting fruit loops at me across the breakfast table when Omma's back was turned, sticking her tongue out insolently as I cursed quietly and made to lunge for her. We were in high spirits, I remember, Graduation just days away.
I hear Mia and Hyojin's giggles as we talk about the photos Nami accidentally sent to the group chat last night. See myself going quiet when I spot Brian Cho at the end of the hall by his locker. I start to back away, but it's too late. He sees me, we lock eyes. Brian's face goes hard and he slams his locker shut, stomping away.
Beside me, Hyojin grimaces.
"I kind of feel bad for him, you know? He's totally in love with you."
Mia bobs her head in agreement. I sigh, not disagreeing. I know Brian is in love with me, but the feeling isn't reciprocated. I'm still cringing mentally at that scene last week when I broke it to Brian after the football game that I wanted to end things.
"I'm going to college in Korea, there's no point in pretending we'll stay together," I'd said.
"We could still make it work," Brian insisted.
"How? You're going to UCLA. We're going to be on opposite sides of the Pacific," I reminded him.
"I visit my family in Korea every couple of months anyway. I can see you during holidays and school breaks."
But Brian didn't get it. I wanted this move to Korea to be a fresh start. Breaking up with him was the kindest thing I could do, because the truth was Brian was what I settled for when I was living in Los Angeles. He was an athlete, he was from a well-off family that my parents knew, and most importantly, he was Korean too. But Brian was average in looks, better than some of the other boys in school, but compared to the boys I knew I'd be seeing in Seoul? That was a whole new ballgame…
I gasp, the flood of memories make my vision go white for a second. I shake my head and look around.
I'm not in Los Angeles. Not in the United States. The computer monitor set up for what I assume is the nurses across the room has Korean letters across the top. my head swivels to the windows. The curtains are open, and the city outside has a vaguely familiar skyline. Is that … yes, I'm fairly certain that's the Seoul skyline.
So, I'm in a hospital, in Korea. Which means this has to be after graduation. That doesn't feel right though. There's a nagging sensation at the back of my mind. Like I should remember something else. Did I have an accident after I came to Korea? I look down at myself. There are no bandages, no injuries, no IVs, or monitors attached to me. I push the covers down … and am stunned by the sight of the pink silk nightgown that covers my body.
I finger the material, and it slips like liquid between my fingertips. Finely made, expensive, sexy. Way too sexy for anything I own. What the?
Then I notice my actual body. But is that my body? I don't remember my legs ever looking so toned. My hands run down my sides. I suck in a breath. I have curves that I know I didn't have before. Before I think through what I'm doing I pull up the hem of the nightgown and let out an audible sound of shock.
My stomach is no longer soft, flat, and unblemished. Instead, I look down on hard muscle covered in stretched, mishappen skin marked with what look to be … are those stretch marks?
When … how did I get stretch marks on my stomach? How long have I been unconscious? In the midst of my gawking at my body, I hear the door to the room sliding open.
"Oh good, you're awake!"
A cheery nurse in pale blue scrubs strides in, giving me a beaming smile. She absently notes me holding the covers open over my nightgown and scans my face as she makes her way over to the computer screen and scans an ID to unlock the system.
"How are you feeling, Mrs. Jang?" she asks me chirpily.
I blink and drop the duvet over my legs. My Korean had been a little rusty last I remembered, but I'm pretty sure she just distinctly called me "Mrs" instead of the Korean equivalent of "Miss". This is the least important of the questions crowding my mind at the minute though, so I start by asking her the most pressing one.
"What happened to me?"
"Take it slow, Mrs. Jang," the nurse says, her smile never wavering. She turns to face me, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"
I hesitate, my mind racing. The last thing I remember…it's getting fuzzier the more I think about it. Trying to concentrate on one memory makes the pain behind my temples pinch. I try to focus, to pick out the most recent one.
"I…I was in Los Angeles," I say slowly. "I was about to graduate high school. I was going to go to college in Korea. I was with my friends at school, talking about … well something that happened. And then…nothing."
The nurse nods patiently.
"That's good, Mrs. Jang. You're remembering correctly up to a point." She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. "You're not eighteen anymore. You're thirty-two."
I stare at her, my mind blank. Thirty-two? That's not possible. How did I skip fourteen years of my life? How did I get here? I open my mouth to say this, but the nurse holds up a hand to stop me.
"I know this is a lot to take in, Mrs. Jang. But please, try to stay calm. You're not hurt, and you're not sick. You've had what we call a 'hard restart'."
A hard restart? Is she being serious? I shake my head, trying to clear the fog.
"A hard restart is a procedure," the nurse continues, her voice gentle. "It's a way for people to start over, to wipe away the memories of their life up to a specific point and begin again. You chose this, Mrs. Jang. You wanted a fresh start."
I blink at her, my mind whirling. I chose this? But why? What could have been so bad in my life that I would want to forget it all?
The sound buzzes in my ears. I want to run, to wake up from whatever this is, but it feels real. I don't think I'm waking up from this anytime soon. I can only stare at the nurse, my mind a whirl of confusion and fear.
"Why?" I finally manage to croak out. "Why would I want that?"
The nurse gives me a sympathetic look and spreads her hands helplessly.
"I'm not the best person to explain this to you, Mrs. Jang," she says, her voice tight. "We'll send in a counselor to talk to you, to help you understand."
"Please," I plead, a small bit of panic replacing the confusion. "I want to know now. What happened to me? Why would I do this?"
The nurse looks at me, her eyes filled with something that looks like pity.
"Please, Mrs. Jang," she says. "Just wait for the counselor. They'll be able to explain everything."
She turns to leave, but I grab her arm, a small bit of desperation getting the best of me.
"Something," I implore her, "Just tell me something now."
The nurse looks down at my hand on her arm, then back up at me. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly.
"You were unhappy, Mrs. Jang," she says, her voice soft. "You had…complications in your life. You wanted to start over, to forget the pain. So you chose to start over."
Complications? Pain? What kind of complications? What kind of pain? I want to ask, but the nurse is already pulling away from me, moving towards the door.
"The counselor will be here soon, Mrs. Jang," she says, her voice firm. "They'll be able to answer all your questions."
And then she's gone, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft whoosh. I'm left alone in the room, my mind racing. Unhappy? Complications? What does that even mean? I try to think, to remember, but there's nothing. Just a blank space where my memories should be.
I look down at my hands, at the stretch marks on my stomach. What happened to me? What kind of life did I have that I would want to forget it all? I can't even begin to imagine. What happened in my adult life to make me want to erase everything?
* * *
I'm given provisions, something to drink, a small meal, and thank my lucky stars that I chose to start my life over in Korea because the "small meal" is actually a rather large spread of fried fish, a bowl of rice, and fermented soybean stew with a whole army of side dishes.
It's enough to distract me momentarily. My head still feels too foggy to think about much more than hydrating and feeding myself. Halfway through the meal though I start to get drawn into the drama playing on the TV. It doesn't seem much different than my life now, ironically.
The commercials that play in between the drama confuse me even more. They advertise brands I've never heard of, I see the faces of celebrities I don't recognize, and a preview of the news shows me a small snippet of current events that leaves me gaping. The world I see on the screen is unrecognizable. I don't even know what year I woke up in.
I do the mental math. If the last thing I remember was high school graduation in 2013 and I'm now thirty-two, that means it must be … 2027?
I feel nauseous suddenly and end up abandoning my meal. I can't digest all of this and my new reality all in one sitting.
Mercifully, this is when a different nurse comes in to take me to the office of this mysterious counselor. I'm given a robe to cover my nightgown and some slippers and follow the nurse into the hall.
If we're in a hospital we must be in some kind of private wing, all of the halls are quiet, and the decor looks more like some kind of five-star hotel. There are room numbers on the plaques on the walls but nothing looks clinical.
We come to a door marked by a plaque labeled "Dr. Park" and the nurse ushers me in. The counselor who greets me is a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman with glasses, her black hair pulled back into a casual ponytail in a pencil skirt and flowy blouse.
She must be some kind of psychologist, because the office looks like that of a therapist. I'm directed into a plush armchair in front of her desk and she smiles welcomingly at me.
"I'm sure you have many questions," she begins. Which is a bit of an understatement.
I nod, my mind racing. "Where do I even begin?" I murmur, more to myself than to Dr. Park.
She leans back in her chair, her expression sympathetic. "Let's start with the world you woke up in," she suggests. "It's quite different from the one you remember."
I brace myself, not sure if I'm ready for what I'm about to hear. But I need to know. "Go on," I urge her.
"Well," she begins, "in 2013, a feminine radical emerged and launched a vicious campaign for world domination. There were quite a few turbulent years but in the end, the radicals ended up seizing power. They overhauled patriarchal society worldwide. Men all over the world were subjected to a sorting system. They were counted, profiled, and eventually put under strict watch and control while society adjusted to the new system. Women were given all positions of power and all property and assets in their families. Today, men are still closely monitored but for the most part, women run all systems of government."
I blink at her, my mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of this change. "So… men don't have any power?" I ask, trying to clarify.
"They do," Dr. Park replies, "but it's different now. Ultimately, women are the ones in charge. This shift has led to a more balanced and peaceful society."
I can't help but feel a surge of both pride and apprehension at this revelation. The world I knew was far from perfect, with gender inequality still a prevalent issue. But to hear that women now hold the reins of power… it's a lot to take in. And the way Dr. Park is skirting around it, I know I'm missing a large bit of information about how the world came to be whatever it is now. I doubt very much men the way I knew them in 2013 would have let themselves be ruled over without a significant fight. But something that's already happened long in the past is not for me to worry about at the moment.
Dr. Park gives me a moment to process and then prompts, "Would you like to know more about who you are now?"
I start. Of course, this was one of the first things I wanted to ask, but the news that the world had been turned on its head since my last memories took precedence there for a moment. Who am I in this world?
"Yes, please," I say in an almost whisper. Scared to find out but also unable not to ask.
"You already know that you're thirty-two now, as I understand your memories were reset to the age of eighteen. Since then you moved to Seoul, lived in the dorms, and then in an apartment with friends for a few years. You graduated from Seoul University when you were twenty-four, and soon after were hired on at Saebom Naturals, a start-up K-beauty skincare company. Since you were hired the company has become quite popular internationally and has become a multi-million won corporation. You now work in the upper levels of marketing and product development."
I struggle to absorb this, my mind still whirling. "I… I have a job? I graduated?" I manage to ask, attempting to cling onto something familiar amidst this whirlwind.
"Indeed, you do," Dr. Park validates. "And from what I've gathered, you're exceptionally skilled at it."
I attempt to envision myself in a corporate environment, making critical decisions, guiding a team. It's a challenge to align this image with the eighteen-year-old me who was merely trying to decide on a major.
"What about my family?" I inquire, suddenly recalling my parents and sister. "Are they… are they alright?"
"Your parents are both in good health," Dr. Park reassures me. "Your mother and your father both remain in Los Angeles at their respective jobs. I'm told your father retained his position during the entirety of the radical movement and his assets were simply reassigned under your mother's name, so not much about life changed for them. Your younger sister graduated college as well and works as a stylist in Los Angeles and still lives close to your parents."
A sigh of relief escapes me. I did fear for my father for a second when she mentioned what happened to the men. And Yeji … well a job as a stylist seems like it would fit her perfectly honestly.
Dr. Park shifts in her seat, her expression turning thoughtful. "There's one more thing you should know about your life now, Yena. It's about marriage and relationships."
I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Go on," I urge her, bracing myself for another revelation.
"In this new world, marriages are handled through what we call 'The Marriage Lottery'," she explains. "All men and women have their names entered into a drawing, and they're matched with potential partners based on compatibility."
"Compatibility?" I echo, my mind whirling with questions. "How is that determined?"
"It's a complex algorithm that takes into account various factors such as personality traits, interests, values, and even genetic compatibility to ensure the best possible match," Dr. Park elaborates. "The goal is to minimize the risk of divorce and promote harmonious relationships."
I battle a pang of apprehension at the thought of having my life partner chosen for me by some algorithm. But then again, the idea of starting fresh with someone who's supposedly a perfect match for me is also oddly intriguing.
"So, how does it work exactly?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around this new concept.
"Men are automatically entered into the lottery when they turn eighteen, but they're given the option to refuse matches," Dr. Park explains. "Both men and women can view each other's profiles and either choose to accept or reject the match when they're paired up. Men can only be entered once, but women can choose to leave their names in the lottery to be matched up more than once."
I blink at her, my mind racing with the implications of this system. Something that definitely would not have been possible when men were in power.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I ask, "Have I… have I already entered the lottery?"
Dr. Park nods, her expression gentle. "Yes, Yena. You have."
I swallow hard, trying to prepare myself for what comes next. "And… have I been matched?"
"You have," she confirms. "Not just once, but twice."
I stare at her, my mind struggling to comprehend. "Twice?" I echo weakly.
"Yes," she says. "You have two husbands, Yena."
I feel the blood drain from my face, and I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself. "Two… husbands?" I manage to choke out.
Dr. Park nods again, her expression sympathetic. "I know this must be a shock to you, but I assure you, both of your husbands are good men, and they both provide you with a very good life."
I can't even begin to process this. Two husbands? How is that even possible?
As if reading my mind, Dr. Park continues, "In this new world, polyamorous relationships are not only accepted but encouraged. It's been found that having multiple partners can lead to a more fulfilling and balanced life."
I'm not sure what to think about that. The idea of being with more than one person at the same time is so foreign to me, so outside of my experience, that I can't even begin to wrap my head around it.
Dr. Park sees the shock on my face and gives me a moment to process before continuing. "Your first husband is a man named Kang Inha. He's 30, born in Gangnam, Seoul, to the Kang family of Daehan Corp. You were married for several years before your name came up in the lottery again."
I can't help but picture this man in my head, a man of privilege and power. He sounds like the typical Seoul chaebol. A man who must've been used to power and prestige. The thought is both intimidating and intriguing. I'm not sure I would've pictured that type of a man for myself, but then, maybe I'm making snap judgments based on a description alone.
"Your second husband is Joo Hayul, also 30," Dr. Park continues. "He comes from a more humble background. I believe his father owns a mini-mart and his mother is a shaman. He works as a freelance photographer and according to your own accounts before undergoing the procedure, he does pretty well enough."
I try to picture this man as well, a man of art and creativity. A man who's more laid back and quiet, but with a sarcastic wit. For a moment, I feel something tugging at the edge of my mind. A fuzzy image of someone vaguely familiar, a warm tenor voice, the brush of fingertips against my skin. I think … I picture lines of ink, I think what might be tattoos.
Yul. The name echoes in my mind, I can feel it on my lips. Natural, instinctive. Like I've called the name out thousands of times, whispered it in my sleep, cried it in desperation…
"They both live in Seoul," Dr. Park adds. "They each have their respective apartments though technically both belong to you, they were bought with their own money but you're listed as a resident at both."
I nod, trying to take it all in. Two husbands. Two homes. Two completely different lives.
But then Dr. Park drops another bombshell. "You also have five children."
I feel the room spin around me. Children? Five of them? The thought is overwhelming. I've always wanted children, but five? And with two different men?
Dr. Park must see the panic in my eyes because she quickly reassures me. "Don't worry, Yena. Both Inha and Yul are wonderful fathers. They both love their children deeply and have been very involved in their lives. You have a lot of help taking care of them and the children are well provided for."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. This is all so much to take in. A new world. A new life. Two husbands. Five children.
I sit there, stunned, as Dr. Park's words wash over me. How could I have wanted to erase all of this? The thought is incomprehensible.
I try to picture it, try to imagine what my life must have been like. But it's like trying to grasp at smoke. There's nothing there, just an empty void where my memories should be.
"I don't understand," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why would I want to forget all of this?"
Dr. Park gives me a sympathetic look. "I wish I could tell you, Yena. But the specifics of why you chose to undergo a hard restart are confidential. All I can tell you is that it was your decision, and you were fully aware of what it would entail."
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. It's hard to believe that I would willingly choose to forget my own children, my family. But then again, I can't even remember them. They're strangers to me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "What now?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
Dr. Park gives me a reassuring smile. "Now, Yena, you can start fresh. To make a new life for yourself with both of your husbands."
I frown, feeling a pang of confusion. "Both of them?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around the idea.
"Yes," Dr. Park confirms. "You volunteered for the hard restart for a reason. This is your chance to start over, to build a new life with both Inha and Hayul."
The thought is staggering. Two husbands. Two completely different lives. How am I supposed to navigate that?
But then again, the thought of starting fresh, of having a second chance, is oddly appealing. Maybe this is exactly what I needed.
"I know this must be overwhelming for you," Dr. Park says, her voice gentle. "But your husbands are both aware of the situation and have been coached on how to help you through the transition and adjusting to your new life."
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. I can't even remember these men, can't remember the love we shared.
Dr. Park's words linger in the air, and I find myself struggling to grasp the enormity of my situation. I have to trust these two virtual strangers to help me adjust to this new … world?
"Yena," Dr. Park says gently, drawing my attention back to her. "I know this is a lot to process, but I want to give you some advice. It's important that you don't try to recover your memories. Erasing your memories was your decision, you decided it after a lot of thought and careful consideration. You knew what you were doing. I advise you to do what you wanted, and it's best to focus on the present and the future."
I frown, slightly confused. "But why did I choose this? What could have made me want to erase every memory I have of my husbands, even my kids?"
The thought makes me reel. I don't remember the birth of any of my children. Their first days, their first words. I've erased precious memories of their lives that I can never get back. What was so bad about my life before that I would have been willing to give up all of that?
Dr. Park regards me with empathy, "I cannot answer that. You specifically requested that nobody tell you once your memories were gone."
She reaches out and takes my hand in hers, surprising me.
"The person you were the last fourteen years is gone, Yena, she wanted to be gone. You must let her go."
I never knew her, I think. She's right whoever I became, she's gone now.
"There is only you now and the life you make of it. Get to know your family as new people. See them with the new eyes you've given yourself."
Her words make sense, but I'm still unsettled. There was a reason I wanted this life erased. Yet, I think, erasing my memories doesn't mean what happened didn't happen. Whatever that reason is, it's still out there, I just don't remember it.
Dr. Park must see the uncertainty in my eyes, because she gives me a reassuring smile. "It won't be easy, Yena. But I truly believe this will be good for you. It's what you needed to live on. And your loved ones supported this decision. Now, we'll have someone drive you home, you shouldn't be driving yourself for a day or two," Dr. Park says and flips open a file, glancing at it.
"Mm … it looks like you're to be taken to your second husband, Hayul's apartment. He's home most often and should be able to walk you through daily life best."
I nod, feeling jittery. Apprehension and excitement thrum through me at the thought of meeting one of my husbands for the first time. Or rather, for the second time. It's a strange, surreal feeling, knowing that I have a history with this man, a shared life, and that I can't remember any of it.
"Is … Does he know I'm coming?" I ask tentatively.
"Both men were contacted when you woke, yes," Dr. Park confirms with a calm nod.
"Oh," I say, there are odd, misplaced emotions tumbling around inside at the moment. I wonder why either one of these husbands weren't at my bedside when I woke.
Dr. Park seems to read my mind.
"You requested both men not be present in the room while you were undergoing the mind wipe. They were not allowed to be present when you woke. We were worried the sight of either of them the second you woke might trigger strong emotions and undo the wipe."
I glance up at her quickly. There's a chance that my memories could come back?
"It's unlikely," Dr. Park says, again like she seems to understand where my thoughts are going, "But your case is … unusual. So until you're a little more stable and we were sure your memories were fully removed we wanted to be sure nothing could trigger them prematurely."
I want to ask her what's unusual about my case, but I already have a feeling she won't answer. Everyone's been very cagey about my memories so far. It's starting to feel taboo to talk about them.
A new staff member appears in the doorway after knocking and looks at me, telling me they'll take me to get changed and get my belongings. I stand and Dr. Park stands with me. She comes around her desk and puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Don't worry so much about it, Yena. It'll all be fine. Try not to wonder too much about the past, think only of the here and now, and enjoy the moment."
I nod. It's all good and well for her to say, but I wonder if she'd be so calm in my situation. The staff member takes me back to the room I woke up in and I'm given a change of clothes that are apparently mine and my belongings, which are in the Hermes bag I first spotted on the nightstand.
I'm left alone to change and once I have what look to be high-end items of clothing on, I get my first look at myself in the mirror. I nearly fall back in shock.
The woman staring back at me is in fact, a woman, not a girl of eighteen. My face is thinner, my bones more prominent, my hair longer than I ever remember having it, and dyed a lovely shade of chestnut brown. I run my hands down my body as I examine my reflection, noting the hard lines of muscle I see in my arms and legs.
Do I work out now? Oh, I really hope I don't have to keep that up. I lean in and lift a hand to my face. There's a faint scar above my right eye that I know wasn't there before. It's faded and white now but I can tell it was deep. I wonder what happened there. Then I remember that I shouldn't be wondering about it and shake it off.
Another staff member, not a nurse, but another I've never seen before, pokes her head into the room and smiles when she sees me standing dressed before the mirror.
"Hi there, you must be Yena. I'm your driver. You ready to go?"
I blow out a breath and lift my shoulders. I'm not, but standing around here isn't going to make the unknown I'm about to face go away.
"Let's go."
Stepping into the sleek, black car waiting for me, I settle into the plush leather seat. The driver gives me an encouraging nod before starting the engine.
As we pull away from what I can see now is actually a hospital, I feel a clawing anxiety work its way up my throat. But as we hit the main road, I'm sucked into the sight of the city around me. It's like stepping into a dystopian reality.
Women strut down the sidewalks with an air of confidence and authority that I find striking. They're dressed in chic business suits and tailored dresses, their heels clicking against the pavement. Many are engaged in animated conversations on their phones, their expressions fierce and determined.
Men, on the other hand, seem to fade into the background. They're dressed more casually, often carrying bags or pushing strollers. They look up when spoken to, offering polite smiles and nodding in agreement to whatever is being said.
Everywhere I look, there are signs of female dominance. Billboards showcasing women in power suits advertising everything from cars to real estate. Television screens in shop windows play news broadcasts featuring female anchors and reporters.
Even the driver of my car speaks about men with a kind of casual dismissiveness that surprises me.
"The traffic's always worse this time of day," she says with a sigh. "It's all these men doing their afternoon school runs."
I glance at her through the rearview mirror, surprised by her nonchalance.
"School runs?" I ask.
She nods. "Yeah, most men are responsible for picking up the kids from school or daycare. Women usually have more demanding jobs."
I stare out of the window again, my mind whirling. The city looks so different now. The power dynamics have shifted dramatically and it's evident in every corner.
Women are no longer just housewives or secretaries. They are CEOs, doctors, lawyers, engineers. They hold power, they hold sway. And the men…they are supportive, secondary. Not lesser, but different.
As we drive through Seoul, I can't help but feel a sense of awe. This is the world I've woken up in. A world where women rule and men support.
The realization leaves me feeling strangely empowered. Despite the confusion and fear that lingers, I also wonder how my life looks in this modern reality.
I might not remember it, but I once fit into this world, I have a place here.
"It must be so exciting for you!" the driver says over the sound of the radio, "Can't imagine what I'd think if I woke up and found out I had two husbands that I didn't remember."
She laughs. "Think of all they'll provide for you. You'll never have to worry about anything again."
I don't know how to respond. It's not like I can agree with her. I know nothing about these men, not even their faces. I dig in my bag, looking for something to distract myself so I don't have to answer her. I must have a wallet in here or … my fingers find cool metal. I pull out what looks to be a distant descendant of the iPhone my mom bought me in twelfth grade.
I hadn't given it much thought when I picked up my belongings, but now, as I hold it up, I'm struck by how foreign it feels in my hands. It's so slim, so smooth, and its screen stretches edge-to-edge in a way that is completely unfamiliar to me. The technology has clearly advanced since the last time I held a phone.
Feeling somewhat wary, I press what looks like the home button and the screen comes alive. My breath hitches as I see the picture displayed on the lock screen.
There they are. My family.
In the picture, we're all crowded together in what looks like a park. The two men on either side of me must be Inha and Yul. They're both handsome, their smiles wide and genuine as they each hold two children each on their laps, the fifth, the smallest child, is in mine.
The man on my left - Inha, maybe? - has a charismatic grin and an arm casually draped around my shoulders. His other hand is ruffling the hair of a young boy laughing uproariously.
The man on my right - Yul? - has a softer smile and is looking at me with such warmth in his eyes that it makes something ache inside me. He has his arm wrapped around a little girl who is grinning at the camera and a little boy who is shyly ducking his head into the man's side.
They all bear some resemblance to me or one of the men - our children.
The woman in the middle, the woman that is me, looks so happy, so content. Her eyes are shining with love and laughter, her arms wrapped protectively around the youngest child on her lap.
My heart pounds in my chest as I take in the image. This is my family. These are the people who love me, who I love … loved. And I can't remember a single moment with them.
The reality of what I had done - what I had chosen - crashes down on me. I feel like I can't breathe, can't think.
The phone slips from my fingers and lands with a soft thud on the seat beside me. I stare blankly out the window, my mind spinning.
These people are strangers to me. And yet at some point, they were everything.