I step into the apartment, silence greets me. The kids must be out at their activities, I figure. I glance around, the place still feels strange but also has that odd touch of me, echoes of my past self reflected by the décor and photographs lining the walls.
As I wander further in, I hear the faint scratch of pencil against paper. Following the sound, I find Yuji hunched over the kitchen table, brows knitted in concentration. The sight of her, so engrossed in her task, sparks a little bit of familiarity—something maternal coming alive.
"Hey, Yuji," I say softly, not wanting to startle her.
She looks up, her eyes a mixture of surprise and delight. "Omma!" She jumps up and rushes over to wrap her arms around me. Her embrace is tight and earnest; a little ember of warmth flickers to life inside of me.
"What are you working on?" I ask as she returns to her desk.
"Math homework." She sighs, pointing to a problem that's clearly been giving her trouble.
I pull up a chair beside her. "Let's take a look together."
Numbers and equations spread across the page. Math was never my strongest subject, but in my head, at least, it hasn't been that long since I've been in a math class—I think I recall something like it from exams.
We lean over the sheet, our heads touching as we work through the equations step by step. Yuji's initial frustration eases as we break down each part of the problem, turning it from an insurmountable wall into manageable pieces.
"That makes sense now!" Yuji exclaims with a triumphant smile. Her joy is infectious; I grin back at her.
I watch as she tackles the next problem with renewed confidence. She pauses now and then to check if she's on the right track, but it's clear she's got this. The sight of her determination fills me with pride.
As we sit there together, I'm struck by how natural this feels—helping Yuji with her homework as if it were an everyday occurrence. For a moment, I'm not lost or confused; I'm just Yuji's mom, here to help guide her through the trials of schoolwork and life.
It's a small step—one evening spent puzzling over math problems—but it feels like progress. Maybe through these little moments with my children, I can piece together my life and whatever it looks like with them.
Yuji's pencil dances across the paper now, each number a step closer to victory. Her tongue peeks out the corner of her mouth, a sure sign of her focus. I'm about to suggest we take a break when the front door swings open with a flourish.
Inha strides in, his phone pressed tight against his ear. The usually unflappable confidence in his steps falters; his brows furrow into a deep scowl. Whatever conversation he's tangled in, it's clear he'd rather be anywhere else.
I catch snippets of his tone before the words themselves—a rising tide of irritation and impatience. He doesn't see us at first, pacing back and forth by the entryway, too caught up in his call.
"...understand that, Omma," he says sharply, the Korean word for mother snagging my attention. I sit up, curious—what's got him so upset?
He pauses, listening, then his voice drops lower but slices through the air with frustration. "Yes, Yena is... No, you can't just—"
Yuji glances up at me with questioning eyes. I shake my head slightly, signaling her to keep focused on her homework. This isn't for her young ears.
Inha stops mid-stride as he finally notices us at the table. His expression softens momentarily—a mix of surprise and something else—but then snaps back into the stern mask as he turns away from us to continue his call.
I watch him step onto the balcony for privacy, phone still glued to his ear. My heart hammers against my ribcage with every muffled word that floats back through the sliding door.
The air is thick with unanswered questions. What could his mother possibly want to discuss about me that would leave Inha so visibly upset?
Inha's voice, a low hum through the glass, suddenly cuts off. He slides the door open and steps back inside, his face etched with a fresh coat of calm. I see the effort it takes for him to smooth the creases from his brow.
"Sorry about that," he says, tucking his phone away with a sigh.
"It's fine," I murmur, but my curiosity burns hotter than before. Yuji has returned to her homework, oblivious to the tension that had briefly charged the air.
Inha crosses the room toward me, his stride carrying that same confidence that always seems to surround him. But there's a tightness around his eyes now, a hint of something he's holding back.
As he nears, I notice his gaze linger on me, heavy with emotion. There's an apology there too, for more than just the interruption.
He leans in close—so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me—on the cheek? The lips? I'm not sure where he aimed—but he catches himself at the last second. He hovers there, a hair's breadth away from contact, his eyes searching mine for something.
Then he pulls back, straightening up with a rueful twist of his lips. "Sorry," he repeats, this time it seems more personal—a deeper regret coloring the word.
I nod, trying to swallow down the sudden lump in my throat. Whatever just happened between us is new territory—a map of our relationship with pieces still missing. His restraint leaves a confusing mix of relief and disappointment swirling inside me.
"Was that your mother on the phone?" I venture, unable to keep the question from bubbling up. His expression is too vivid, too etched with concern, for me to ignore.
Inha nods, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of exasperation. "Yes, it was the Ice Queen herself," he admits, lips twisted wryly. "She's... She wants to come see you."
I frown, the idea unsettling me more than I expect. His mother—another question mark in this unknown life—I don't have a clue what my wealthy mother-in-law is like. My mind automatically conjures up the stereotypical K-drama depiction of the stiff-upper-lipped, haughty chaebol mother.
"But I told her no," Inha continues quickly, as if reading the worry etched on my face. "I don't want to overwhelm you with too much at once."
Relief washes over me, followed swiftly by a tinge of guilt for feeling relieved. I should want to meet her, shouldn't I? She's my husband's mother, after all.
"It's alright," I tell Inha, trying to keep my voice steady. The last thing I want is for him to think I can't handle meeting his mother. "I mean, if she wants to see me..."
Inha shakes his head, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that almost takes my breath away. "You don't know what you're getting into," he says, and there's a weariness that tells me there's a lot he doesn't want to get into. "It's best if you get more comfortable with... with everything before diving into that pool."
I lean back against the chair, trying to read between the lines on his face. The relationship between Inha and his mother—what kind of labyrinth is that? The way he talks about her is ominous. It certainly doesn't help my preconceived notion of an overbearing mother-in-law.
"My relationship with my mother is... complicated," he admits, and there's a flicker in his eyes. "She has strong opinions on how things should be done, especially when it comes to family."
I nod, I think I get it. Strong opinions—I feel like we've had this conversation before, maybe many times.
"So, how was work today?" he asks, obviously changing the subject.
I pause, considering it. "It was... surprisingly normal," I begin, shrugging. "I fit right in, almost as if I'd never left. Everyone seemed to know me, and I just... followed their lead."
"That's great to hear," Inha replies, his lips pulling up at the corners. He looks a bit relieved. He leans against the counter, watching me with an attentiveness that makes me a little restless.
My thoughts drift to Yul then—his studio apartment, his quiet demeanor, and especially his car. The incongruity of it niggles at me still.
I get up from the table, gently tugging Inha by the sleeve into the hall and out of earshot of Yuji.
"I saw Yul today," I say quietly. "He drove me here in his car. It's quite nice—unexpectedly so."
Inha's expression flattens at the mention of Yul's name; a shadow passes over his face like a cloud obscuring the sun.
"He mentioned it was a gift from you," I continue, watching Inha's reaction closely.
Inha lets out a slow breath and nods once. He seems to weigh his words before speaking. "Yes, well," he admits with a nod. "It's true that I did buy the car for him."
It's clear there is more to the story—layers and subtext I don't have.
"We used to be... closer," Inha says after a moment. His gaze has shifted away from mine, focusing elsewhere. Or avoiding.
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. Inha's response only makes me more curious, I want to push for more. "Did whatever that happened between you two have to do with jealousy?" I blurt out before I can second-guess myself.
Inha's reaction is immediate—a short burst of laughter, as if the idea is absurd. His eyes meet mine, a sparkle of amusement in them. "Jealousy? Hardly. It was nothing like that."
I frown, he didn't have to make it sound as though it was impossible. Jealousy would have been petty, but it wasn't unlike the men I knew to be petty, especially when they were directly competing with another man for their wife's attention. But…maybe Inha didn't think of Yul as competition.
"How did I end up with two husbands anyway?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
"Ah, that." Inha smiles wryly. "It was actually an accident."
Inha shakes his head, "After we got married, life just... happened. We had children so quickly, and everything was a whirlwind of diapers and late-night feedings. You were so busy that you forgot to take your name out of the lottery."
I blink, processing this. It's almost comical, in a way—something so significant overlooked amidst the chaos of new parenthood.
"And then?" I prompt, eager to understand how Yul came into the picture.
Inha lifts one shoulder, nonchalant, his gaze distant as if he's replaying the events in his head. "You were surprised when you got the notification that you were matched again. But when you read through Yul's profile..." He gives me a chagrined look. "You were curious enough to want to meet him."
I can almost picture it—me sitting there, phone in hand, staring at Yul's profile with a furrowed brow and an intrigued tilt of my head.
"And the rest just happened," Inha concludes with a shrug that seems to hold more meaning than he lets on.
He makes accidentally getting a second husband sound like a simple thing to happen. A part of me wonders what it was about Yul's profile that piqued my interest so much. And another part is still reeling from the fact that such an oversight could have shaped my entire life.
"Did it ever bother you?" I ask, tilting my head to catch his eye. "That I'd be getting another husband?"
Inha's response isn't immediate. He scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "At first, yes," he admits, his eyes meeting mine. "Then I read through his information myself and I thought... well, arrogantly, that Yul wasn't a threat."
That seems more within his character and I toss him a sardonic look that has him smirking back at me.
"After I got to actually know him though," Inha continues, unchastened, "I realized he was just... Yul. Different from me, not someone to worry about."
"And after we were married?" I press on, curious about how their dynamic had evolved.
Inha leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze drifts to a spot over my shoulder as he reflects on the question.
"I got used to having him around," he says after a moment. "It became normal, and I never thought much more about it."
I give Inha a long contemplating look. If they were okay once, I think they can probably be okay again.
"I'd like for it be like that again," I begin, meeting his eyes with a level gaze, "I don't like having the family separated like this. It doesn't feel right. If we're starting over, I want to fix that first."
Inha's expression shifts, his brows knitting together in irritation. "Yena," he says, his voice taut like a wire pulled too tight, "you don't understand. You can't just—"
I hold up a hand to stop him, I don't want to be just shot down and I also don't want him to get ahead of himself. "I respect your feelings, Inha," I say firmly. "But this isn't just about us—it's about our children too. They deserve to have both their fathers here."
He exhales sharply, a mixture of frustration and something else—resignation, perhaps—flashing across his face. "I can't tell you what to do," he says after a moment's silence, his voice low and edged with steel. "But as for me..." He trails off, clenching his jaw before forcing the words out. "I doubt I can ever forgive Yul. That's all I'm going to say about it."
The odd standoff I kind of had with Inha sticks in the back of my head, but by dinner Inha seems his unflappable, swaggering self. He talks animatedly with the kids at dinner about their days and wrestles the boys in the living room after the meal. I don't bring it up again, and Inha doesn't seem bothered by it. Once the kids have all settled down he comes into the bedroom with me and settles on the mattress beside me with an iPad in his lap. It looks to me like he's reading work documents but it also looks impossibly boring so I don't ask. I haven't adjusted to that particularly mundane detail about adult life yet.
As I prepare for bed, lost in thought about the fractured family dynamic, my phone vibrates against the nightstand. The screen lights up with Yeji's name, and I immediately jump for it. Inha raises an eyebrow over the top of his iPad screen.
"I'll take this outside," I murmur, flashing him a small, apologetic smile.
He nods once, his eyes trailing after me as I slip out of the bedroom and into the quiet hallway. Closing the door softly behind me, I bring the phone to my ear.
"Yeji?" My voice is hushed, trying not to wake up any of the kids asleep in the kids nearby.
"Unnie!" Yeji's voice is a warm embrace in the coolness of the night. "God it feels like it's been years. You sound good, though."
I lean against the wall, a sigh escaping me.
"I'm guessing you knew about me getting my head wiped?" I ask, wondering if my whole family knew. I feel certain Yul and Inha would've told them, if I didn't, but no one mentioned it.
"Yeah," Yeji sighs, "I know you were out a few days ago but I thought I'd let you adjust before I called. How did those three days of sleep do you? Do you feel fresh, new? Young?"
I snort and I can hear Yeji laughing at her own joke.
"Yeah, it's strange," I admit, sliding down to sit on the plush carpet, phone cradled between my shoulder and ear. "It's like I'm stuck in this younger version of myself, trying to fit into a life that's way more complicated than anything I could've dreamed up."
Yeji chuckles, and there's that familiar teasing lilt in her voice. "And what's it like being a teenager in your mind again? Are you going to start swooning over boy bands and stressing about prom dates?"
Her teasing is a lifeline. I let out a burst of laughter—a real, genuine sound that surprises even me. "Well, I haven't found any posters of pop stars hidden in my closet yet, but give it time. As for prom dates..." My voice trails off as I glance back at the closed bedroom door.
The laughter that filters through the phone is clear and bright, just like I remember. "Can you imagine bringing Inha to prom? Matter of fact, could you imagine bringing Yul home when we were teenagers? Omma would've had a meltdown over his tattoos."
I scoff at the mental image, "She probably would've accused him of being a gang member or some kind of criminal. I think she would have banned me from seeing him."
Yeji chortles, "Ah, simpler times. Back when we didn't have to pay bills or had jobs or had to file the damn taxes."
I press my free hand to my forehead, feeling the smile that's still lingering on my lips. "Yeah, tell me about it." It's grounding to hear her voice when everything else feels so foreign and out of place. It anchors me to something familiar, something real.
Yeji's next words are soft but no less warm. "I'm just glad you're okay, unnie. We've all been worried."
The concern in her tone feels like a connection to home right now. It reminds me how much has changed and yet how some things—like Yeji's love—remain steadfast.
The tension between Inha and Yul gnaws at me, so I bring it up with Yeji, my voice threading with uncertainty. "Were things bad before? I mean there's this weird intensity when Yul and Inha are both around. I can't explain it, but it feels like I'm caught in the middle of something big."
Yeji hums thoughtfully and clicks her tongue. "Men like to be dramatic. Don't worry about them. It'll all fall into place once you get into your groove and make the situation your own."
I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them as I consider her words. "You think so? Because right now it feels like I'm juggling grenades without ever having learned how."
"Listen," she says, her voice dipping into that sisterly tone of no-nonsense advice, "those two knuckleheads are a pain sometimes, but they're both obsessed with you. Just be yourself, don't be afraid to get comfortable and set your boundaries, even if those are different than the ones they're used to with you. They'll adjust. Eventually."
Her confidence buoys me, maybe it's what I needed to hear. It's strange how someone else's belief in you can kindle your own courage.
"I just wish I knew what happened," I sigh, "There's just a big question mark in the middle of this and I feel like I can't fix it until I know how we got here in the first place."
Yeji's voice wavers just slightly, a subtle shift that pricks at my consciousness. "Unnie, maybe...maybe you shouldn't dig too deep into that."
The words fall like stones in the pit of my stomach, it's a dark turn from her earlier humor. I frown, shifting my position on the floor. "What do you mean?"
There's a pause on the line, and I can almost picture Yeji biting her lip in hesitation. "It's just—sometimes things happen for a reason, and not all of them are good. What if what you find only hurts you more?"
I feel the chill of her words crawl up my spine. "Is there a danger in me knowing?"
"No, no," she rushes to clarify, but her tone isn't convincing. "I'm just saying that some things can't be fixed by knowing more or trying to put them back together."
"But if there's something wrong with my family," I insist, the idea of letting it lie unsettled bothering me, "shouldn't I try to fix it? For the kids' sake, if nothing else?"
Her sigh crackles through the speaker. "I get that. And I'm not saying don't try to make things better. Just...be careful about what you're looking for. Sometimes the past should stay in the past."
I sit there for a moment, letting silence stretch between us as her words sink in. A sense of foreboding wraps around me. Yeji has never been one to hide things or sugarcoat her words. That she would be vague and caution me now only adds weight to the dread settling in my chest.
"Yeji," I say slowly, "what exactly was I trying to erase?"
Another pause greets me, and when she speaks again, her voice is heavy with reluctance.
"I can't—I shouldn't say more," she admits, and I can hear the conflict in her tone. "Just...be careful, okay?"
I nod before remembering she can't see me. "I'll try." But as we say our goodbyes and I end the call, her warning echoes in my mind, leaving me staring into the dark hallway with a sense of ominous trepidation.