Chapter — A Fading Hope
Right in another part of the city, Bitna returned home after her usual activities on Fridays. She almost smiled at the thought of usual. There was something bitter about the word. A usual Friday to her was her frequnt visit to where all she'll hear for ten minutes tops is the sound of groaning as the deed is being done. Someone else might think of it as perhaps a warm meal waiting at home and the comfort of knowing that tomorrow would be another ordinary day. For Bitna, it also meant walking through the front door and wondering what version of her father she would find waiting for her.
Tonight, she already had her answer.
The room was dimly lit, the weak yellow bulb barely managing to push back the darkness. Her father was sprawled on the floor beside the old table, surrounded by empty bottles. The sharp smell of alcohol filled the room before she had even taken two steps inside. He was drunk. Again.
Bitna stood there for a moment, staring at him.
She didn't feel surprise.
She didn't feel anger either.
Perhaps that was the worst part.
Once upon a time, seeing her father like this would have frightened her. She used to hope that one day he would look at her and see his daughter instead of a source of money. She used to believe that if she behaved well enough, worked hard enough, stayed quiet enough, perhaps he would eventually become the father she needed.
That girl had disappeared a long time ago.
Without saying anything, Bitna reached into her bag and pulled out the money she had made that evening. She threw the notes onto the floor beside him.
"There."
She turned toward her room.
"Wait."
Her father's voice stopped her.
Bitna closed her eyes briefly before turning around.
He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly as he looked at the money. His eyes narrowed.
"Is this all President Choi gave you?" he asked. "Or did you steal some of it?"
Bitna stared at him, her face empty.
Steal?
The word almost made her laugh.
If only he knew.
Even thinking about where the money came from made her stomach twist. There were things she wished she could forget, moments she wished she could tear out of her memory and burn. But her father never wanted to know what it cost her to bring that money home. He brought her into it anyways.
He only counted it.
One note.
Then another.
Then another.
"Well," he muttered, licking his lips as he gathered the money. "Seems like we'll have to get you a new patronizer."
Something inside Bitna snapped.
For one brief second, anger flashed through her.
"Don't—"
She stopped herself.
Her father's eyes lifted.
Bitna swallowed the rest of the sentence.
She knew better.
She had learned that lesson years ago.
Complaining only made things worse. Defending herself only made him angrier. Crying only entertained him. So she lowered her eyes, swallowed whatever words had risen to her lips and turned toward her room.
"You won't just walk out on me like that."
The sound of glass scraping against the floor made her stop.
She barely had time to turn.
The bottle struck her head.
Pain exploded through her skull.
Bitna staggered sideways, one hand instinctively gripping the wall as dizziness washed over her. Her ears rang loudly, drowning out the words her father was throwing at her. For a few seconds, the room seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
She breathed slowly.
Once.
Twice.
She had felt pain before.
Too many times.
That was the frightening thing about pain now.
It wasn't unfamiliar anymore.
She knew the throbbing that came after a blow. She knew the dizziness. She knew the strange heaviness that settled over her body afterward. She knew how to remain still until the worst of it passed. She knew how to hide her trembling hands.
Pain had become another ordinary part of her life.
Like hunger.
Like fear.
Like waking up every morning and wondering what she would have to endure before nightfall.
Bitna slowly straightened.
Her father was still standing there.
She lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes.
There was no pleading in her expression.
No tears.
No fear that he could see.
Only exhaustion.
For the briefest moment, something flickered across his face.
Fear.
Or perhaps guilt.
Bitna couldn't tell.
It disappeared almost immediately.
She turned away from him.
She didn't bother saying anything.
What could she possibly say?
Why do you hate me?
Why aren't you my father anymore?
Why was I never enough?
She had asked herself those questions so many times that they no longer sounded like questions. They had become part of the background noise in her mind.
She entered her room and quietly shut the door behind her.
Only then did her body begin to betray her.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the small first-aid box. She cleaned the wound as best as she could, wincing whenever the antiseptic touched the tender area. She pressed a cloth against it and sat on the edge of her bed.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
She stared at the wall for a long time.
There had been a period in her life when she had believed things would eventually get better. When she had still been young enough to believe that suffering had an ending. She had once imagined a future where she could wake up without being afraid, where home actually meant safety, where she could choose her own life.
Then life kept proving her wrong.
There had even been a time when the hopelessness had become so overwhelming that she had wondered whether there was any reason to keep going at all. She had frightened herself with those thoughts and pushed them away, but they had left something behind.
A quiet emptiness.
A terrible question she never allowed herself to finish asking.
Tonight, that emptiness felt close again.
Bitna lay down slowly, careful of her aching head. She pulled the blanket over herself and stared into the darkness.
Tomorrow would come.
She knew it would.
And somehow, that didn't comfort her.
Tomorrow meant waking up and doing everything all over again.
Getting dressed.
Going out.
Working.
Smiling when she had to.
Coming home.
Handing over whatever money she had managed to earn.
Surviving whatever waited for her.
She closed her eyes.
She wanted to believe there was something waiting for her beyond all of this. Something better. A life where she could finally breathe without feeling like the world was pressing its weight against her chest.
But hope had become a distant thing.
Something she could remember having once, but could no longer reach.
Her head throbbed beneath the bandage, and a quiet hiss escaped her lips as she shifted on the bed.
For the first time that night, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
She didn't wipe it away.
She simply stared into the darkness until her eyes grew too heavy to remain open.
And just before sleep finally claimed her, one thought settled quietly inside her mind.
Hope feels so far away.
Farther than it had ever been before.