"What did you just say?" her father roared, slamming his hand on the table. "Know your place?"
He threw his plate of food to the ground, the sound of shattering porcelain echoing through the room. His eyes burned with rage as he stood, towering over Eun-ha. "How dare you speak to me like that! I raised you! I gave you food to eat!"
Eun-ha looked up at him, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Then don't give it," she said softly, her words sharp as a knife.
That was when he snapped. Grabbing a glass from the table, he hurled it at her. It struck her head with a sickening crack, shattering on impact. Glass shards scattered across the floor as blood began to trickle from a deep cut on her forehead.
Eun-ha didn't flinch. She raised her hand to her forehead, feeling the warm blood running down her face. Her lips twisted into a smirk. "See?" she said coldly, her voice trembling with defiance. "This is all you can do. Throw things. Break things. Hurt people."
Min-joo, who had been silent until now, suddenly burst into tears. "Father, stop!" she screamed, stepping between them. Her voice cracked as she sobbed, turning to him with wide, tearful eyes. "You said you wouldn't hit her again! You promised me! You said if I studied harder, if I made you proud, you'd stop hurting her!"
Her words cut through the room like a blade, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.
Eun-ha stared at her younger sister, her mind reeling. What is she talking about? she thought, her vision beginning to blur. Her knees felt weak, the room spinning as her body swayed.
The last thing she saw was Min-joo's tear-streaked face and trembling hands reaching out for her before darkness swallowed everything.
When Eun-ha woke up, she found herself back in the hospital—the same one from that morning. The sterile, cold room felt suffocating. She turned her head toward the window, and the sight of falling snow made her shiver. It's November 2024, she thought, and it's so cold.
Her head was bandaged, and an IV drip was attached to her arm. Her mother sat by her side, her face pale, eyes filled with worry.
Seeing Eun-ha stir, her mother softly asked, "How are you feeling?"
Eun-ha didn't answer. Without a word, she pushed herself up from the bed. Gripping the IV pole for support, she stumbled toward the door, her heart heavy with unspoken pain.
In the hallway, she saw the doctor who had examined her earlier speaking with her father. She didn't care to listen to their words; all she felt was the weight of her own existence, slipping through her fingers like the snow outside. Without a second thought, she made her way to the rooftop.
The cold air hit her face as she stepped onto the rooftop, and she raised her hand to feel the snowflakes kiss her skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the chill of the world around her, as if it could numb the ache inside her.
But suddenly, a force pulled her back. She stumbled and fell, her body landing softly against another. Looking up, she saw her sister, Min-joo, her face tear-streaked and frantic.
"Are you trying to die?" Min-joo's voice trembled with fear, her grip tight on Eun-ha's arm as if trying to keep her from slipping away entirely.
Eun-ha pulled herself free from Min-joo's grasp and said, "I'm not trying to die. I'm just trying to feel the snow."
Min-joo nodded slowly, her voice soft. "I see. But what are you doing here?"
Eun-ha touched the snow gently, feeling its coldness seep into her skin. "Maybe I like snow."
Min-joo's expression softened, and a small smile appeared on her lips. "Of course you like snow. We used to play in the snow together when we were little."
It was the first time in so long that they had spoken like this, without the weight of silence between them. Eun-ha had forgotten the happy memories with her family—forgotten the warmth of laughter, the comfort of togetherness. The pain she'd carried for so long had pushed everything else away.
She didn't answer, just stood there, her heart heavy with the memories she could no longer reach.
After a moment, Eun-ha turned to her sister, her voice breaking the quiet. "What were you talking about back then?"
Min-joo looked at her in confusion. "What topic are you talking about?"
Eun-ha studied her sister carefully. Min-joo, with her short black hair and dark eyes, looked so much like their father. But now, as a seventeen-year-old, she seemed tired, worn down by the world, dark circles under her eyes, a reflection of the stress she carried silently. Eun-ha's heart tightened, and she realized how much had been left unsaid between them.
Min-joo hadn't answered her before, and Eun-ha's frustration bubbled up. "Let's go inside," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, though the words carried the weight of everything they had left unsaid.
When she stepped inside, her mother rushed to her and wrapped her in a trembling embrace, sobbing uncontrollably. The warmth of her mother's arms should have been comforting, but Eun-ha felt nothing. She didn't hug her back, her arms hanging limply by her sides.
She already knew why her mother was crying.
As her mother's tears soaked into her shoulder, Eun-ha's mind wandered. Does love only awaken when death draws near? Do people only cherish the ones they've hurt when they realize time is slipping away?
Her chest ached, but it wasn't from her mother's embrace—it was from the weight of everything unsaid, the years of pain and neglect that had festered in her heart.
But, Mom... I don't need your love anymore, she thought bitterly, her eyes distant as she stared over her mother's shoulder. It's too late.
Pulling herself free from her mother's hold, she took a step back, her gaze cold yet resigned. I'm no longer the girl who craved your approval, your affection. I've made my choice.
Her thoughts solidified like ice in her heart. If I can't be the hero of this story, then I'll stay as the villain.