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# Chapter 105: The Warmth in Her Hand
Her mother’s tears didn’t last long. Less than five minutes, it seemed. But to Seo-ah, those five minutes felt like years. Her mother’s hand slowly descended from her face. Without wiping away the tears. It simply came down. As if those tears had become part of her. As if wiping them away would be denying something.
“Was I too harsh?”
Her mother spoke in a voice barely there. Almost soundless. Like the tone of wind murmuring to itself.
“No.”
Seo-ah said.
“I should have looked after Do-hyun. I should have. I was so worried about you that I couldn’t see him. How is that possible? A mother not seeing one of her children. But I didn’t see him.”
Her mother continued speaking. Without looking at Seo-ah. Looking out at the sea instead. As if all the time that had passed was flowing away into that water.
Seo-ah watched her mother’s profile. Her mother’s jawline. Her mother’s neck. Everything was solid. A hardness that seemed impossible to break. But beneath that hardness, Seo-ah knew something was fracturing. Invisible cracks. Things that had been pressed down for so long were now rising to the surface.
“I should have… contacted you.”
Seo-ah said.
“That’s not it…”
Her mother opened her mouth to speak again. Then stopped. As if the words were caught in her throat. As if the distance between what needed to be said and what could be said was simply too far.
The silence in the car began again. But it was different from before. The earlier silence had been one of disconnection. Now, the silence was one of something reconnecting. As if Seo-ah and her mother had begun resonating on the same frequency.
“What did you tell the police?”
Her mother asked slowly.
“Everything. I told them everything. How Kang Ri-u manipulated me. How he controlled me. And…”
Seo-ah stopped.
“And?”
Her mother asked.
“What happened on the Hangang Bridge. I told them all of it.”
Seo-ah said.
Her mother’s hands gripped the steering wheel again. This time, harder. Her fingers turned white. As if the blood had been cut off.
“That man… did he…”
Her mother began. But couldn’t finish.
“Yes. That’s right.”
Seo-ah spoke like giving testimony. As if she were testifying in court about her own experience. As if she needed to strip away emotion and leave only the facts.
Her mother started the car again. Slowly. As if it weren’t the car moving, but the world itself. The road was still a coastal drive. The black horizon was still on the right. But the colors were beginning to change. From blue to purple. From purple to orange. The sun was setting.
“Does Do-hyun know about this?”
Her mother asked.
“No. Not yet.”
Seo-ah said.
“I think you should tell him.”
Her mother said. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement of fact. The line of right and wrong as her mother judged it.
“I understand.”
Seo-ah answered.
The car passed deeper stretches of coastline. Now small villages began to appear. Tiny harbors. Old buildings. Air that seemed to carry the breathing sounds of grandmother divers. This was her mother’s world. The place where her mother came up from the water and breathed. The place where her mother was most herself.
“When I gave birth to you…”
Her mother began speaking. Suddenly.
“Yes?”
Seo-ah responded.
“I was shaking so much when I held you. My hands kept trembling. How could something so small come into the world. How could something so fragile survive. I had those thoughts. But you cried. So loudly. As if you were defying the world itself.”
Her mother spoke.
“Mom…”
Seo-ah tried to say.
“I never forgot that cry. I kept remembering it. Even if you’re weak, you can fight. That’s what I thought. So I always told you to be strong. That because I could come up from the water, you could come up from even deeper places. That’s what I believed.”
Her mother’s voice wavered.
“But did I expect too much from you? Did I leave you alone too much?”
Her mother asked.
“No.”
Seo-ah said. And it wasn’t a lie. Her mother leaving her alone wasn’t her mother’s fault. That was what survival demanded. Her mother had to go into the water. To feed the family. Her mother had to throw her body into the sea. It was the only thing she could do.
“It’s my fault. I became weak. I trusted the wrong person.”
Seo-ah said.
“That’s not weakness.”
Her mother said.
The car arrived at a small harbor. Near her mother’s house. The home from when Seo-ah was small. A white concrete building. A water tank with rust on the roof. The windows were all closed. As if the house were sleeping.
Her mother got out of the car. Seo-ah did too. The smell of the sea grew stronger. Salt. Seaweed. And the smell of something old and worn. The smell Seo-ah remembered from childhood. The smell where she felt safest.
“Let’s go in.”
Her mother said.
When she opened the door, old wood creaked. The inside of the house was dark. The windows were closed. Her mother turned on the light. A yellowish fluorescent lamp lit up. Beneath that glow, the house appeared. A small living room. An old sofa. Photos on the walls.
Seo-ah saw herself. In the photos. When she was small. With her mother. With Do-hyun. With grandfather. They were all people who weren’t here now. Grandfather had passed away. Her mother was here, but had become such a distant person. Do-hyun was in Seoul. And herself…
“Did I not know you well enough?”
Her mother asked. Standing in the center of the living room.
“Mom…”
Seo-ah responded.
“Did Kang Ri-u promise you something?”
Her mother asked.
“He said he’d save me.”
Seo-ah said. Feeling how foolish those words were.
“And you believed him?”
Her mother asked.
“Yes.”
Seo-ah answered.
Her mother walked to the window. She opened it. The sea air came in. Fresh. Cold.
“Every time I went into the water, you waited on the surface. Do you remember?”
Her mother asked.
“Yes. I remember.”
Seo-ah answered.
“You held your breath waiting for me to come back up. The way you did for me. I should have done the same when I tried to save you. But…”
Her mother said.
“What could you have done, Mom? You could only go into the water.”
Seo-ah said.
“That’s true. But I could breathe underwater. You were on the surface, just holding your breath. That was the difference.”
Her mother said.
Seo-ah slowly began to understand the meaning of those words. What her mother was saying wasn’t a simple metaphor. Her mother had done what she could do underwater. But Seo-ah hadn’t breathed on the surface. She’d just held her breath. Kept holding it. Until someone came to save her.
“You said you got away from Kang Ri-u…”
Her mother spoke again.
“Yes. I reported him to the police. And…”
Seo-ah said.
“And?”
Her mother asked.
“And I realized that from now on, I have to breathe for myself.”
Seo-ah said.
Her mother looked at Seo-ah. For the first time, directly. Eye to eye. Without avoiding anything.
“Yes. That’s what you need to do.”
Her mother said.
Her mother walked toward Seo-ah. Slowly. As if Seo-ah were a young bird. As if sudden movement might blow her away.
Her mother’s hands touched Seo-ah’s face. Both hands. Dark, wrinkled hands. A diver’s hands. Hands full of time spent in water.
“I’m sorry. Was I too weak for you?”
Her mother asked.
“No. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Seo-ah said.
“That’s a lie. I was strong underwater, but weak above it. When I held you. When I spoke to you. Then I was weak.”
Her mother said.
Tears flowed from Seo-ah’s eyes. Even as she realized she was crying. Her mother’s thumb wiped away those tears. Slowly. As if they were precious.
“You owe an apology to Do-hyun too.”
Her mother said.
“I know.”
Seo-ah said.
“And you need to apologize to yourself. You need to learn how to apologize to yourself.”
Her mother said.
“What do you mean?”
Seo-ah asked.
“What Kang Ri-u did to you. Don’t think of it as something you did to yourself. Instead, think of it this way: what he did was something done to you. Then you can be angry at yourself. Then you can hate yourself. And that hatred can become the strength to live.”
Her mother said.
Seo-ah listened to those words. And as she listened, she felt something move inside her. She didn’t yet know what it was. But it was definitely moving. Like a small flame. Or a match just beginning to burn.
“Do you know what I hate most?”
Seo-ah asked.
“What?”
Her mother asked.
“When I only apologize to you. You said that makes you more alone.”
Seo-ah said.
“That’s right.”
Her mother answered.
“Then I shouldn’t keep apologizing only to myself either. Because that makes me more alone too.”
Seo-ah said.
A small smile appeared at the corner of her mother’s mouth. Almost imperceptible. But it was definitely a smile.
“Yes. You’re a smart girl.”
Her mother said.
Her mother embraced Seo-ah. With her arms. Dark, strong arms. She held her for a long time. As if pulling Seo-ah up from the water. As if bringing her back to life.
Seo-ah buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. She breathed in the smell coming from her mother’s body. Salt. Sunlight. And the smell of something deep and ancient. It was her mother. Her mother’s scent.
“When will Do-hyun come home?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Late tonight. Academy classes run long.”
Her mother said.
“Then I have some time to prepare.”
Seo-ah said.
“For what?”
Her mother asked.
“For what I’m going to say to Do-hyun.”
Seo-ah said.
Her mother released Seo-ah from her arms. But her hand remained on Seo-ah’s arm. It was warm. Radiating heat.
“Be honest. That’s all. Where you’ve been. What you’ve done. What state you’re in now. Tell him those things.”
Her mother said.
“Will Do-hyun be angry?”
Seo-ah asked.
“He might be. But that anger won’t be directed at you. He’ll be hurt. That anger will be about that hurt.”
Her mother said.
“Then what should I do?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Accept his anger. And be angry yourself. At yourself. At the choices you made. Then you can all stand in the same place. Then you can be together.”
Her mother said.
Seo-ah looked at her mother’s hands. She could see how long they’d been in the water. The wrinkles on the fingers. The dark color beneath the nails. The condition of the skin. Everything told a story. A story of how much these hands had endured.
“Can I look at your hands, Mom?”
Seo-ah asked.
Her mother opened her hands. In front of Seo-ah. As if showing her something. As if everything about these hands needed to be conveyed to her daughter.
Seo-ah took her mother’s hands. With both of hers. She placed her mother’s hands in her own.
“They’re warm.”
Seo-ah said.
“Of course. I’m alive. My body has warmth.”
Her mother said.
“Can I become warm too?”
Seo-ah asked.
“You already are. You’ve just forgotten.”
Her mother said.
The sun was nearly touching the sea now. The sky visible through the window was turning orange and red. Beautiful colors. Sad colors. Beneath those colors, the sea was darkening.
Seo-ah’s hands rested on her mother’s hands. They were warm. The heat from her mother’s hands was transferring to Seo-ah’s hands. It wasn’t simple physical warmth. It was something deeper. The warmth of being alive. The warmth of having endured. And the warmth of being able to begin again.
Seo-ah closed her eyes. Feeling her mother’s hands. Feeling the sunset beyond the window. Hoping this moment would last forever. But knowing. That this moment would pass. And that after it passed, this warmth would remain.
“Thank you, Mom.”
Seo-ah said in the smallest voice.
“For what?”
Her mother asked.
“For being here. For waiting for me to come back.”
Seo-ah said.
Her mother said nothing. She only gripped Seo-ah’s hand more tightly. That was enough. That said everything.
The sky beyond the window grew darker. The orange faded. The red faded. Purple took its place. And that purple too was turning to black. Night was coming. A new night. Not the first night. This night would be the second.
Seo-ah and her mother stood that way. Holding hands. Speaking no words. Simply together. Watching the sea beyond the window darken. Knowing that even in that darkness, something was alive.