It's been three days, and I don't know what's happening to my younger sister. She failed her exam, and now she's completely shut herself off from the world. She doesn't leave her room. She doesn't eat. I watch her fade away before my very eyes, and it breaks something deep inside me. She reminds me so much of myself, three years ago, when everything fell apart.
That was when I started to drown—when my world collapsed under the weight of family problems, and I couldn't breathe anymore. I failed my exams. I shut everyone out. I stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped even trying to face the world. I locked myself in my room, hoping that if I just stayed still long enough, the pain would somehow stop. But it didn't. It never did.
Now, watching Minjoo go through the same pain I did, I feel helpless. It's like watching her walk down a path I can't save her from, a path that destroyed me. The guilt in my chest is unbearable. I want to reach out, to pull her back from the edge, but all I can do is watch as she slips deeper into the darkness I know too well.
Eunha knocked softly on Minjoo's door, her heart heavy with worry, but there was no answer. She stood there, her hand resting against the door, feeling the oppressive silence between them. It felt like the walls of the house were closing in on her, pressing her closer to the realization that her sister was slipping further away from her.
With every moment that passed, fear gripped her tighter. Minjoo hadn't been herself since she failed her exam, and Eunha had seen the signs—the isolation, the silence, the avoidance. She could feel the weight of her sister's pain, but no matter how much she tried to reach her, it felt like Minjoo was slipping into a place Eunha couldn't follow.
Eunha turned away from the door for a brief moment, her hands trembling. She knew she had to do something, anything, to break through the wall Minjoo had built around herself. Desperation clawed at her, and she found herself heading to the basement, grabbing the axe. Her hands shook as she held it, the cold steel in her grip grounding her in the reality that something had to change.
With each strike, the door splintered, and each crack in the wood felt like another piece of her heart breaking. The sound echoed through the house, but nothing hurt as much as the thought of her sister trapped inside, sinking deeper into her sorrow. The door finally gave way, and Minjoo stood there, wide-eyed, fear written across her face. Eunha couldn't bear to see it—her sister so distant, so lost, so afraid.
Eunha's voice cracked as she took a step forward. "What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" The words hung heavy in the air, thick with concern, but also the helplessness that Eunha could no longer hide.
Minjoo stood there, her eyes hollow, as if the light inside her had been snuffed out. She didn't speak, just stared at Eunha with an emptiness that made Eunha's heart ache. The silence between them stretched on, thick and painful, as if the weight of unspoken words hung in the air. Minjoo's lips trembled, but she still didn't respond. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, the exhaustion of the world pressing down on her.
Minjoo remained silent, her eyes cast downward, as if the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders. She didn't speak, didn't move, just stood there, her presence more like a shadow than the vibrant sister Eunha once knew. Eunha could feel the walls Minjoo had built around herself, and each moment of silence seemed to push them further apart.
Eunha's heart pounded in her chest, desperate for her sister to speak, to let her in. "Please, Minjoo... What's going on?" she asked, her voice cracking with a mix of fear and concern. "Why are you doing this?"
It was then that Minjoo finally looked up, her face pale and drawn, and Eunha saw it—the tears beginning to gather in her sister's eyes. They welled up slowly at first, like a quiet storm building inside her. Her lips trembled, and Eunha's breath caught in her throat as she watched Minjoo struggle with the overwhelming emotions that seemed to be choking her.
And then, as if the dam had finally broken, the tears spilled over, falling freely down Minjoo's cheeks. Her face crumpled with the weight of her pain,Minjoo's voice was thick with anguish as she spoke, the words tumbling out in broken sobs. "Sister, beat me... beat me for hurting you so much." Her body trembled with the weight of her guilt, each word cutting through Eunha like a knife. It was as if Minjoo believed that she had failed her in some unforgivable way, that somehow her pain could be washed away with punishment.
Eunha's heart shattered at the sight of her sister's self-loathing, and she immediately reached out to her, holding Minjoo's trembling hands in her own. "No, Minjoo, don't say that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You've done nothing wrong."
But Minjoo didn't listen. Her tears fell freely now, as if they had been waiting to escape for too long. She dropped to her knees before Eunha, her sobs louder, more desperate. "Sister, please don't die... I can't live without you," she cried, her voice breaking with every word. "My whole life... all my achievements... they were because of you. You're my role model."
Her words pierced through Eunha, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Minjoo's pain, her devotion, her love—Eunha could feel it all in that one heart-wrenching confession.
Eunha knelt beside Minjoo, pulling her sister into her arms as the weight of Minjoo's words settled in her chest. Minjoo's sobs echoed through the room, the sound of her grief raw and heartbreaking. Eunha held her tightly, not knowing what to say, but needing to be there, to offer whatever comfort she could.
"Minjoo," Eunha whispered, her voice trembling. "It's not your fault. You've always done your best. You've always been there for me, even when I couldn't ask for help." She pressed her forehead against Minjoo's, feeling the warmth of her sister's tears against her skin. "You are my strength, too."
But then Eunha pulled back just slightly, looking deep into her sister's eyes. Her heart ached with the truth she was about to ask, but she couldn't hold it in any longer. "Did you study so hard... because of me? To protect me from Father?" The question hung between them, raw and vulnerable. Eunha could feel the weight of the years behind it—the silent sacrifices, the unspoken fears.
Minjoo's sobs quieted for a moment as she looked up at her sister, her tear-streaked face filled with regret. "Yes," she whispered. "I did it to protect you, Eunha. To shield you from him, to make sure you didn't suffer."
Eunha's chest tightened at the answer, the realization hitting her hard. The love Minjoo had carried all these years, the way she had tried to bear the weight of their father's cruelty alone, it was more than Eunha could fully understand.
And as they knelt there, wrapped in each other's arms, neither of them noticed the figure in the living room. Their mother stood in the doorway, her hand pressed against the frame, her face wet with silent tears. She watched the scene unfold, the weight of her own guilt heavy in the air. She longed to step forward, to hold both of them, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She had failed them, failed to protect them from the pain that had festered for so long.
The silence in the room was deafening, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for years, and yet, no one could find the words to heal the wounds that ran so deep.