Eunha coughed violently, her entire body shaking with the effort. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and soon crimson drops stained her trembling hands. Her vision blurred, but she reached for a tissue to wipe away the blood. Some of it had already fallen on her laptop, where she had been writing moments ago. She hesitated before carefully cleaning the screen, her fingers weak and trembling. It felt like every part of her was breaking, crumbling under the weight of her own body.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror on her desk. The reflection staring back at her was almost unrecognizable. Her once soft, brown hair was now thinning, lifeless strands littering the floor and pillow. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes were dull and sunken, framed by the heavy shadows of sleepless nights and unrelenting pain. She touched her face gently, as though searching for the person she used to be.
Her body ached, the pain gnawing at her constantly. For a fleeting moment, a dark thought crossed her mind: Would it be better to die now? To end this suffering? The idea felt like a brief release, a cruel comfort.
But then her eyes landed on the open page of her writing, the words blurred by her tears. No, she thought fiercely. I can't. Not yet. I still have to write. It's the only thing I've ever truly wanted, my only wish since I was young.
She leaned back in her chair, exhausted, and glanced out the window. It was night, and the world outside was blanketed in a peaceful, pristine layer of snow. The street was quiet, but in the distance, she saw children playing. Their laughter floated faintly through the cold air as they built snowmen and threw snowballs at each other. For a moment, the sight eased something in her chest, like a faint memory of happiness.
Eunha gathered her strength and stood, her legs trembling under her weight. She called out, "Minjoo?"
"Yes?" her sister replied, her voice hesitant.
"Do you want to go outside and play in the snow?" Eunha asked softly.
There was a pause, then Minjoo said, "Yeah, let's go."
The two sisters stepped outside, the freezing air biting at their skin. But for the first time in what felt like forever, they felt free. The snow crunched beneath their feet, and they began to play like children again, throwing snowballs and laughing.
As Eunha watched her sister smile, her thoughts darkened. We lost our childhood because of the mistakes of adults, she thought bitterly. What do we even have left? Do we have any memories worth cherishing? What was life to us? A gift, or just a cruel game played with fragile dolls like us?
Eunha turned to Minjoo, her voice soft yet tinged with curiosity. "You once said we used to play in the snow. How did we play?"
Minjoo smiled faintly, brushing snow off her gloves. "We used to make snowmen," she said, rolling the snow into a ball. Then, scooping up a handful, she tossed it lightly at Eunha. "And we used to throw snowballs at each other."
Eunha laughed—a sound so rare it almost startled her. She picked up a handful of snow and threw it back at Minjoo, catching her off guard. For a while, they forgot everything—the pain, the fear, the past. They threw snow, laughing like they hadn't in years, their joy lighting up the cold night.
But then, suddenly, Eunha's vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness overcame her. She stumbled and collapsed into the snow, her body giving out.
"Eunha!" Minjoo screamed, her voice panicked. She rushed to her sister's side, kneeling beside her. "Are you okay? Please, talk to me!" But Eunha didn't respond, her face pale against the snow.
After a moment, Minjoo, overwhelmed by fear, lay down next to her. She held her sister's hand tightly, as though anchoring her to the world.
Inside the house, their father watched through the window. For the first time, he saw them for who they truly were—two fragile girls, broken yet holding each other up. His heart twisted as he saw Eunha collapse, and without thinking, he rushed outside.
Eunha noticed him and forced herself to her feet, brushing off the snow as though nothing had happened. Her body screamed in protest, but she didn't want him to see her weakness.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" he asked, his voice hesitant, almost pleading.
Eunha didn't answer. She walked past him, her frail figure moving slowly toward the house. Minjoo followed close behind, her eyes filled with silent tears.
Their father stood there in the cold, watching them disappear inside. For a moment, he was left alone with the falling snow, realizing just how deeply he had failed them. Inside, the world returned to its heavy silence, but outside, the snow continued to fall, pure and undisturbed, as if trying to blanket their pain.
Eun-ha sat silently, her thoughts swirling, rage burning fiercely in her eyes.Do you feel guilty, Father? Do you even know what guilt feels like? Or is your heart too hardened, too blind to see the devastation you've caused? I'll tell you this: I will make you feel it. I will make you drown in it, so deep that you lose yourself completely—just like you made me lose myself. You will know what it feels like to be hollow, to be haunted by the weight of what you've done, and to realize it's too late to make amends.
Do you know what the greatest revenge is, Father? Why do people seek it? Most seek it to balance the scales of injustice, to avenge the pain inflicted upon them. But my revenge is not like theirs. My revenge is far more cruel, far more poetic.
The greatest revenge isn't anger or retribution. It's guilt—pure, unrelenting guilt. It's making someone see the mirror of their soul and forcing them to confront the monster they've become. It's taking everything they thought they were and shattering it before their eyes. I will destroy you, Father, but not in the way you destroyed me. I won't raise my voice. I won't strike you. I won't even argue.
No, I will destroy you with the weight of your own sins. I will make you remember every word that cut me, every blow that broke me, every moment you turned away when I cried out for help. I will make you see the countless times I looked at you and begged, silently, for love, only to be met with your anger, your indifference.
You will feel what I felt—this unbearable weight, this emptiness that eats away at you until you can barely breathe. I will make you feel the regret of what you did to me, your own child, until it becomes too much for you to bear. I will make you crumble under the realization that the life you broke was the very life you were supposed to protect.
And do you know what will hurt you the most? It won't be my words or my pain—it will be the silence of those who once loved you. You will see their hearts grow distant, their eyes filled with disappointment, their backs turned to you. The people who once called you family, who once looked up to you, will no longer see you as a protector but as the reason for their pain.
You will lose the will to live, not because of me, but because of yourself. The guilt will follow you like a shadow, creeping into your thoughts, your dreams, your every waking moment. It will consume you, just as your cruelty consumed me.
You will come to understand that my greatest revenge is not my hatred but the truth. The truth of what you did. The truth of what you made me. And when you finally feel it, Father—when you feel the guilt, the regret, the loss—I hope it breaks you as much as you broke me. Only then will you understand the depth of your failure, not as a father, but as a human being.
And Father, even if I were to die a thousand times and be reborn a thousand more, I would never forgive you. You are a wound that bleeds across lifetimes, a shadow that no light can ever chase away. Forgiveness? It is a grace you do not deserve, a mercy I cannot offer, not in this life nor the next.
You were meant to be my shield, my safe haven, my strength. Instead, you became the storm that tore me apart, the fire that burned everything I could have been. Your cruelty wasn't a moment—it was a lifetime, a relentless tide that drowned every ounce of hope I ever dared to hold.
No matter how many lives I might live, no matter how many chances the universe might grant, your betrayal would remain. It is a scar on my soul, a mark that time and rebirth cannot erase. Your love should have been my foundation, but instead, it was the hammer that shattered me.
Forgiveness is not for you. You've never sought it, never earned it, never even understood the depth of the pain you caused. You are a thief of joy, a destroyer of dreams, and for that, you are eternally unforgivable.
Even if I were to cross the threshold of death and return, your name would still taste of bitterness on my tongue. Your memory would still weigh heavy in my heart. And even if the world were to forget, Father, I never will. You are the storm I survived, but you will never have my forgiveness. Never.