I stared at the letter, the words blurring through fresh tears I hadn't realized were falling.
|I'm sorry, Shiwon-ah. I'm so sorry Unnie had to leave you this early. I'm so, so sorry…|
The handwriting was neat at first, but it grew shakier toward the end, the ink smudged in places where tears had clearly fallen while she wrote.
|I just can't handle it anymore. I'm so tired of working all the time. I'm tired from the pressure society has given us. The expectations, the bills, the constant fear that one wrong step would make everything collapse… I'm just so, so tired…|
My chest tightened painfully.
|I promised I wouldn't leave you like mom and dad, but here I am, writing this. Shiwon-ah, please don't think it's your fault, okay? I know you—with your kind heart—you'll blame yourself anyway. But this has nothing to do with you. This is all because Unnie is exhausted. This is Unnie's choice. So don't EVER think it's your fault. Promise me that.|
The paper trembled in my delicate hands.
|The bankbook and wallet I left are all for you. This is the money I saved from 8 long years of working overtime, skipping meals, and smiling through everything. Oh right—you once said you wanted a better computer. Use this. Don't be cheap, okay? Don't hold back. It's Unnie's money, meant for you.|
Tears dripped onto the page, mixing with the old stains already there.
|…Shiwon-ah, Unnie loves you. Unnie loves you so, so much. Don't ever forget that, okay? Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.|
The last line was almost illegible, the ink running wildly from what must have been heavy sobbing.
I looked at those final words, at the obvious tear stains that had bled through the paper, and my heart wrenched so violently I had to press a hand to my chest. I didn't know this Unnie.
I had zero memories of her life, her struggles, or the little sister she left behind. But the love poured into every shaky sentence was undeniable. She had carried the weight of the world alone so her sister could have even a small chance at something better.
And then she had chosen to end it.
A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "What a strange coincidence… that we both had sisters who killed themselves."
The sound echoed hollowly in the quiet apartment. My stomach churned. In my past life, I had failed my own Noona—averted my eyes while she suffered, then exposed the truth too late. Now here I was, inhabiting the body of another girl whose older sister had also chosen to leave this world, leaving behind savings, apologies, and unbearable guilt.
I pursed my lips and stared blankly at the floor, the letter still clutched in my soft, trembling hands. Another suicidal sister. Another young woman broken by exhaustion, pressure, and silent suffering. The parallel hit like a truck all over again.
"Am I destined to have dead siblings?" I whispered out loud, voice cracking despite its natural serenity.
The question hung in the air, heavy and cruel. My eyes burned. In my old life, the guilt over Noona had driven me to insanity. Now this new body came with its own layer of inherited pain—another Unnie who had begged her little sister not to blame herself, just like mine might have if she'd had the chance to write a letter.
I sighed deeply, feeling more dejected than I had since waking up in this gentle, busty form. Part of me wished the original owner had been a thief. At least then the hidden stash would have been dirty money, something I could justify using or discarding without this emotional knife twist. Instead, it was pure love wrapped in tragedy.
I set the letter down carefully, as if it might break, and rubbed my face with both hands. "I would've liked it if she was a thief," I muttered bitterly. "Not… this."
But wishing wouldn't change anything. This was my reality now—two lives, two older sisters lost to despair, and me somehow surviving both times in a body that still carried the weight of failure.
I forced the spiral down. "Although this is important… I need to focus on the present instead of dwelling in the past."
'Wow. Big words for me,' I thought, and laughed out loud despite the ache in my chest. How ironic. The person who had spent years drowning in guilt was now lecturing herself about moving forward.
Still, I grabbed the bankbook and wallet. I opened the wallet first. A fat stack of neatly folded bills sat inside—carefully saved, probably won through countless overtime shifts and skipped comforts. A small, sad smile touched my lips. She really must have loved her little sister with everything she had.
I wouldn't touch a single won of it. This wasn't my money. It belonged to the girl whose body I now wore, a final gift from an Unnie who had sacrificed too much.
I checked the bankbook next. Small, consistent deposits over the years, almost none withdrawn. After counting, it came to roughly 16 million won. A modest but meaningful sum—enough for a decent computer, maybe some breathing room.
I put everything back exactly as I found it, sliding the plank into place and concealing the compartment once more. Then I stood up, patted imaginary dust from my pants, and lightly slapped both cheeks with my soft palms.
"Huff. You need to work hard, Shiwon," I told myself firmly.
I tried to smile, imagining a brighter future, but just then my stomach rumbled—loud and insistent.
Only now did I realize I hadn't eaten anything since waking up in this world. I sighed and walked to the refrigerator. Not much inside: a few eggs, half a carrot, and a single tomato.
"Not many ingredients," I muttered. Still, it would have to do. An omelet with tomatoes and some simple fried rice should be enough.
I cracked the eggs carefully against the edge of a bowl, watching the bright yolks sink into the clear whites. Two should be plenty. I took the half carrot and sliced it into thin strips, then into small cubes. The vibrant orange pieces looked almost too cheerful for such a plain meal.
I heated the pan, added a little oil, and waited until it shimmered before tossing in the diced carrots. They sizzled softly, releasing a gentle sweetness as I stirred. I poured half the beaten eggs over them, letting the edges set before gently folding and flipping to make a simple carrot omelette.
Using the same pan, I added a bit more oil, the remaining carrot bits, and some cold leftover rice. I broke up the clumps with a spatula, poured the rest of the egg over everything, and mixed quickly so the egg coated each grain. I kept stirring until the rice turned slightly golden and the egg was fully cooked, then seasoned lightly with salt.
Finally, I plated the fried rice with the omelette on the side. It wasn't fancy, but the colors were comforting—bright orange from the carrots, sunny yellow from the eggs, and warm white rice.
I sat down and ate the simple meal in silence. Each bite soothed my empty stomach and, little by little, eased some of the fresh emptiness that had opened in my heart.