Yena
Present
I know there's more to the story than what Inha and Yul have told me. I can feel it in my gut, a nagging sense that there are still pieces missing. As more of my memories slowly trickle back, hazy flashes of emotions and disjointed scenes, I realize that whatever caused the rift between my two husbands must have been deeper and more complex than just the accident.
I catch glimpses of heated arguments, hushed conversations laced with tension, and an underlying current of hurt and betrayal that seems to extend beyond the loss of our unborn child. There's a weight to the silences between Inha and Yul, a heaviness.
But I can't confront them about it, not yet. Not when I'm still piecing together the fragments of my past, trying to make sense of the emotions and memories that resurface without warning. If I let on that I'm remembering, they might clam up or try to protect me from whatever painful truth lies beneath the surface.
No, I need to play it carefully, to let them believe that I'm still the blank slate they think I am. Only then can I find a way to heal the wounds that have festered for too long.
Days pass after I finally learned the truth about the accident and the miscarriage, and Yul seems to have retreated back into his shell. I try calling him, texting him, but he doesn't respond. The silence from his end is deafening, and I can feel him slipping away again, retreating behind the walls he's so carefully constructed.
I can't let that happen, not now that I've glimpsed the depth of his pain, the guilt that still consumes him. He needs me, whether he realizes it or not, and I need him—a part of me that I can't fully explain or understand, but that tugs at my heart nonetheless.
Drastic measures are called for, I decide.
That afternoon, with Inha at work and the kids at school, I find myself alone in the penthouse apartment. A rare moment of solitude that I decide to seize. Firing up the computer, I dive headfirst into research, determined to unravel the mysteries surrounding the WAF and this so-called "hard restart" I've undergone.
Hours slip by as I pore over article after article, my eyes straining against the screen's glare. The history of the WAF is a tangled web, a history of feminism, radicalism, and global upheaval. But it's the information on memory restarts that truly captivates me.
According to the sources I find, in most cases, those who undergo a hard restart are advised to cut ties with their past lives completely—no contact with friends or family, no returning to old haunts or homes. A clean slate, a fresh start untainted by the ghosts of memories past.
Yet here I am, living in the same luxurious penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of a life I can't recall. A life with two husbands and five children, a life that seems to defy the conventional wisdom surrounding memory restarts.
As I delve deeper, I stumble upon accounts of those who, like me, chose to remain enmeshed in their previous existences after a restart. The reports are few and far between, but they paint a stark picture—a high likelihood of memories resurfacing, unbidden and uncontrolled.
My heart pounds in my chest as I read the words, validation washing over me. The flashbacks, the disjointed scenes and emotions that have been plaguing me, they're not anomalies. They're a natural byproduct of my decision to remain entangled in the life I tried to leave behind.
I sit back from the computer screen, my mind whirling with the newfound knowledge. It all makes sense now—the fragmented memories, the flashes of emotion that seem to come from nowhere. My past self must have known there was a high chance my memories would resurface, which is why she chose to remain entangled in this life, with these people.
Maybe I had a plan, though I'm not sure why I went to the effort of erasing everything if I knew I would eventually remember.
As I continue my frenzied research, I stumble upon something that piques my curiosity—a device called a memographer. According to the articles, it's a cutting-edge technology that allows users to record their memories as they replay them in their minds, capturing them as viewable videos and pictures.
A thrill runs through me at the prospect. It gives me an idea.
I make a mental note to look into acquiring a memographer, tucking the thought away for later. I need to think this through, though it takes minimal effort. The whole thing seems to be forming into a map before my eyes. Till all I have left to do is wait for Inha to come home.
***
The sound of the front door opening signals Inha's return, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. With the kids safely ensconced with their nanny, now is the perfect time to broach the subject that's been weighing heavily on my mind.
"Inha," I call out, beckoning him to join me in the living room. He appears, looking slightly disheveled from a long day at work, but his eyes light up when he sees me.
"Everything okay?" he asks, immediately sensing the seriousness in my tone.
"We need to talk," I say, patting the space beside me on the plush couch. He obliges, settling in next to me, his brow furrowed with concern.
"What's on your mind?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "I want to have Yul move back in."
The reaction is instantaneous. Inha's entire body goes rigid, his jaw clenching as he processes my words. Without a word, he rises from the couch and begins pacing the length of the living room, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor.
"Inha," I try again, my voice gentle but firm. "I know you're upset, and you have every right to be. This is your home too, and what happened... it's not something that can be easily forgiven or forgotten."
He pauses mid-stride, his gaze meeting mine, a storm of emotions swirling in his dark eyes.
"But," I continue, "we're a family. All of us. And I can't help but feel that we're incomplete with Yul living apart. I want to try to fix this, to bring us all back together under one roof."
I stare at Inha, his distress palpable in the tense lines of his body. "You don't understand," he says, his voice strained. "You don't know the whole story."
A flicker of frustration ignites within me. "Then tell me," I counter. "Help me understand."
He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. "It's not that simple."
I pause, studying him carefully. Something about his reaction doesn't quite add up. A nagging thought tugs at the edges of my mind, and I give voice to it before I can second-guess myself. "Besides, you never actually told Yul to leave, did you?"
The effect is instantaneous. Inha freezes, his eyes widening as they lock with mine. A heavy silence descends upon the room, thick and suffocating.
I watch as realization dawns on his face, the muscles in his jaw twitching ever so slightly. In that moment, I know I've stumbled upon a truth that neither he nor Yul intended for me to discover.
The silence stretches, seconds ticking by like hours. Finally, Inha breaks it, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "How did you..."
He trails off, his gaze searching mine, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features—surprise, confusion, a hint of something that looks almost like fear.
I hold his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. "You never told me he left on his own," I say, keeping my tone even. "Both of you let me believe you had banned him from this place."
I level my gaze at Inha, watching the thoughts play across his features. "The accident wasn't Yul's fault," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within me. "I don't blame him for what happened."
Inha's eyes widen, his mouth opening as if to protest, but I press on before he can interject. "The thing that hurt the most was that Yul felt he couldn't come to us for help." I swallow hard, the memories of that agonizing time flooding back. "It was a tragedy for him too, Inha. He lost a child."
Inha shakes his head, his expression hardening. "It's not that simple, Yena," he says, his tone clipped. "You don't understand."
I tilt my head, studying him intently. "Then help me understand," I counter. "What is it that you can't forgive Yul for, if not the accident itself?"
Inha's jaw tightens, his gaze averting from mine. A heavy silence hangs between us, thick and charged with unspoken tensions.
"Is it because of what happened after?" I venture, my voice little more than a whisper.
Inha's head snaps up, his eyes widening in shock. For a long moment, he simply stares at me, his expression one of utter disbelief.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the revelation that's been building within me. "My memories have come back, Inha," I say, the words hanging in the air between us. "I remember everything."