In the quiet living room of Mrs. Young-ja's home, steam rose from the two teacups like restless spirits hovering over the table. Himi, whose patience had finally worn thin, watched the lady with a desperate gaze that reflected a bitter internal struggle.
Mrs. Young-ja let out a sigh so deep it seemed to suck the very air from the room. She closed her eyes slowly and began to speak in a low voice, suggesting that the words to follow would exhume graves of old sorrows—sorrows she thought she had buried just to survive.
"I once had a small family... a husband, a daughter, and a life that strangers envied. My daughter was in the springtime of her youth, in middle school, and my husband was striving in his private real estate firm. At that time, I didn't realize I was breathing the most precious moments of my life; I thought happiness was a permanent, acquired right."
She paused for a moment, then continued with a trembling voice: "I didn't work. My days passed between shopping and lingering with friends, but I was never a neglectful mother. I turned my home into a warm sanctuary, welcoming them every day with the finest dishes I had mastered, just to see the spark of satisfaction in their eyes."
A pale, bitter smile formed on the lady's face before a hot tear betrayed her, carving a path down her cheek. Himi approached cautiously and took Mrs. Young-ja's hand in a silent gesture, trying to offer her some strength.
The lady wiped her tears with wounded pride, but the tremor in her voice exposed the wreckage of her soul: "That perfection I thought was eternal was crushed by a car accident in a single moment. My husband and daughter left together... in the same minute. I couldn't comprehend it. I entered a long nightmare, waiting to wake up, but reality was too cruel to bear. I found no escape from the blade tearing through my chest except by drowning myself in alcohol."
Mrs. Young-ja stopped, staring into the distance as if recalling the scent of that day: "On the night of January 15th, 2005, six months had passed since the tragedy. I dressed in my finest clothes, applied heavy makeup to hide my pallor, and perfumed myself frantically, hoping the scent would drive the smell of death from my memory. I went out to drink with friends, fleeing my reality, fully convinced that I was the most miserable creature on earth... but I was wrong."
"I couldn't find a place to park, so I headed to the alleyway behind the restaurant. There, under the merciless pouring rain, I saw a scene that completely redefined my understanding of life. The streetlights could barely pierce the heavy downpour. The car window was blurred and foggy; I peered through it and saw a small body clinging to the restaurant's dumpster."
"I got out quickly, carrying my umbrella, and called out to him: 'Child, what are you doing here?' He turned toward me—oh God—his eyes were cold, hollow of any meaning for life. Then he ran to hide behind the bin like a wounded animal."
Mrs. Young-ja sighed, and the sound of the rain outside seemed like an echo of that night: "Can you believe it, Himi? The child was clutching a dirty rice ball, with grains of rice scattered around his pale mouth. His lips had turned purple from the extreme cold, and he wore a tattered rag that offered no protection against the winter frost. Pain throbbed from every part of his small body."
Silence fell. The lady seemed hesitant—should she finish or turn the page? But Himi, tears streaming down her face, whispered: "Please... go on, Ma'am."
The lady continued in a broken voice: "His body was covered in bruises and cuts, and blood stained his clothes in a terrifying way. I realized immediately it wasn't just his blood; it was more than a child's body could bleed and still remain standing. And on the ground beside him, I saw a knife stained with blood that was still fresh."
"I don't know what drove me, but I didn't think. I took off my coat and wrapped him in it, put the knife in a bag, and took him home immediately. In the bathroom, I washed his body as the water turned red, his wounds becoming clearer under the light. I washed the knife thoroughly and then disposed of it as if I were hiding a crime I didn't know the perpetrator of. I dressed him in my late daughter's clothes... I didn't ask him anything. I held him in my lap, and he slept beside me, screaming in his nightmares: 'Eomma.....Eomma!'"
"In the morning, I asked him his name, his age... he remembered nothing. He just trembled and cried. He stayed with me for days, and in a brief moment of clarity, he said a sentence I will never forget: 'My doll has come to life.' I was afraid, Himi... afraid to get attached to him, for my heart could not endure a third loss."
"I handed him over to an acquaintance of mine who ran a good orphanage and supported him financially for years without revealing my identity. I refused to know his new name, see his picture, or know what became of him. I only asked: 'Has he regained his memory?' I withdrew from his life because I feared I might hurt him by my presence, or that he might be accused of something terrible because of me. Had I spoken, I wouldn't have known the source of the blood—was it from an animal or a human? Was he a victim or...?"
"Even now, I do not know his identity, and I do not want to know."
The lady placed a small piece of paper in front of Himi: "I returned to cooking again. I opened a small restaurant to cook what my husband and daughter loved, but it was that child who taught me how to endure. He taught me to despise my own tragedy; for what I could not bear at forty, he bore at ten. Here is the address where I found him twenty years ago. Go and search there, but please... do not mention my name, and do not tell anyone what I have told you."
"I don't know why I trusted you, but I believed the sincerity in your eyes. Do not make me regret telling you."
Mrs. Young-ja had been protecting Min Soo for years without knowing the truth of what happened for one reason: because she followed her intuition and decided to believe the pain in the eyes of a child who had forgotten his reality