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# Chapter 109: The Truth Beneath the Water
The night that carried Sae-ah back from the Han River was scraping away at her bones.
What Do-hyun asked was not a simple question. It was a question directed at her entire existence. Sae-ah had to assemble her answer while gazing at the stars. Gathering words one by one, she had to explain what she had done on the black bridge above the Han River. Kang Ri-u’s hands. That sensation of his warm hands pressing against her neck. And the way she had stopped him. She had to say it.
“Ri-u took me there.”
Sae-ah spoke. Starlight illuminated her face. The Jeju night sky was merciless. It revealed everything. There was nowhere to hide a lie.
“To the bridge.”
“What?”
Do-hyun asked. His voice was small. As if he feared she might disappear if he spoke any louder.
“He said we should jump together. That’s what he said. That we should die together. That it was love. That it was real love.”
Sae-ah continued. Her voice was flat. As if she were recounting someone else’s story. But that made it more terrible. Do-hyun instinctively understood that an emotionless narration could be more frightening than an explosion of feeling.
“And I… I took his hand. As I climbed onto the railing. I told him I should go first. That I should jump first. That way, he would follow.”
Do-hyun shifted. He turned his body toward Sae-ah. But Sae-ah still kept her gaze on the sky.
“But when I climbed onto the railing, Ri-u’s hand started shaking. Really shaking. Like shaking from the cold. No—worse than that. It was the trembling of someone whose thoughts had stopped. Like the moment he realized what he was doing.”
Sae-ah spoke.
“And I… I broke his arms.”
Silence descended. The Jeju night was deep and heavy, and within it, only Do-hyun’s breathing could be heard. Fast. Shallow.
“You… broke his arms?”
Do-hyun repeated, as if confirming he’d heard correctly.
“Yes. Both of them. By pressing my body weight down on his arms. At the same time. He screamed. Really loudly. And everything on the bridge shook. The air around us vibrated. Like music ringing out.”
Sae-ah was counting the stars. Or trying to. But there were too many. Countless. Just like her sins.
“The police came. Someone reported it. Because of the screams they heard from below the bridge. And Ri-u went to the hospital. With broken hands. And I… I told the police everything.”
Do-hyun remained motionless. Completely frozen. As if this moment shouldn’t pass. As if he were trying to hold onto the words Sae-ah had spoken, suspended in the air.
“So now…”
Sae-ah began to speak. But couldn’t finish.
“So now what?”
Do-hyun asked instead.
“Now… I don’t know. A judge will decide. The police and lawyers and… things. But Ri-u can’t do anything to me anymore. That’s certain. The law stopped him. The law separated us.”
Sae-ah spoke.
“But your arms? Ri-u hit you. Are you hurt?”
Do-hyun asked. His voice carried anger. Ah, so this is what it means to be a sibling, Sae-ah thought. To fear what happened to your sister more than what happened to yourself. That was what was terrifying about blood relations. That was the purest form of love.
“My arms are… fine. Ri-u tried to grab my neck, but I moved first. So I won. Physically. And after that… everything happened so fast. The police came, the ambulance came, I went to the police station, and…”
Sae-ah paused.
“And I came to Jeju.”
Do-hyun covered his face with one hand. As if he wanted to cry but couldn’t. As if all of this transcended his emotions.
“Noona…”
Do-hyun spoke. His voice barely came out.
“What am I?”
It was the weakest question Do-hyun had ever asked. No longer in casual speech, but in formal language. As if he didn’t deserve to speak to Sae-ah.
Sae-ah looked at Do-hyun. For the first time. She lowered her gaze from the sky and looked directly at her brother’s face. Tears were gathered in his eyes. Not falling—just pooled there. As if Do-hyun were trying to completely control his emotions.
“You’re my little brother. Really. And you’re enough. You always have been. Even now. Through all of this.”
Sae-ah spoke. This time, she looked directly into Do-hyun’s eyes. She met his gaze. No longer running away.
“You were hurt because of the choices I made. And that’s my fault. Forever. But you carried those wounds and took care of Mom. You went to your academy classes. You waited for me. That alone was enough. You were already enough. Brave enough.”
Sae-ah continued. And Do-hyun began to cry. Silently. Like the ocean rolling in. Slowly. But never stopping.
Sae-ah embraced Do-hyun. On the rooftop. Beneath the Jeju night sky. Before the watching stars. And Do-hyun buried his face against her chest. Crying without sound.
“I… me too…”
Do-hyun tried to speak. But couldn’t finish his words. He couldn’t translate what he was feeling into language. Anger and relief and fear and love were all resonating in his chest simultaneously. Like music. Like harmony.
Sae-ah stroked Do-hyun’s hair. The way a mother would. As if that alone could heal all wounds. It was a lie. But lies were sometimes necessary. Sometimes they were as precious as warmth between fingers.
Mom’s voice came from inside the house. She might have woken up. Or perhaps she’d never been asleep. Mothers were like that. They sensed when their children needed them. Like ultrasound. Like the smallest of signals.
“Sae-ah? Do-hyun?”
Mom’s voice. It carried fear, relief, and something deeper. Like the voices of all mothers.
Sae-ah took Do-hyun’s hand and stood up. They prepared to go down from the roof. But Do-hyun gripped Sae-ah’s hand tighter. As if he feared losing her again if he let go.
“Noona.”
Do-hyun spoke. His voice was small but clear.
“Yeah?”
“You know my band… right?”
Sae-ah looked at Do-hyun again. Directly.
“Mom told me. She said you’re in a band.”
“Yeah. We wrote this song. I wasn’t trying to plagiarize your work or anything… we just made it in a style we like. But…”
Do-hyun trailed off.
“But?”
“I want to play that song for you. Tell me if there’s anything you’d change. If you like it… we’re going to put your name in the credits. As someone who participated in the composition. No, wait, that’s not what I mean…”
Do-hyun stammered.
“I just… I want to say it’s a song we made together. Really.”
Something moved in Sae-ah’s chest. This time, not from pain, but from something else. Like something frozen thawing.
“Okay. Play it for me.”
Sae-ah said.
And Do-hyun began to hum the lyrics. The melody. Beneath the Jeju night sky. While starlight descended upon them. Do-hyun’s voice rang out. It was a weak voice, but it was real. Truly. More authentic than any song Sae-ah had ever written.
Mom was waiting on the veranda. Holding blankets in her hands. Another blanket too. Until Sae-ah and Do-hyun came down.
“What are you doing out this late at night? You’ll catch a cold.”
Mom said. But her voice wasn’t reproachful. It was love. Mom’s love transformed into the sound of Mom’s voice.
Sae-ah and Do-hyun were wrapped in blankets. By Mom’s hands. By Mom’s warmth. And the three of them went into the house together.
The living room lights were off. But Sae-ah was no longer afraid of the darkness. The darkness was another form of light. Moonlight. Starlight. And something more. The presence of people here together. That was enough.
The night would continue to deepen. But this night was different. Not a night of solitude, but a night of togetherness. A wounded night, but simultaneously a healing night. And Sae-ah knew this. That after this night, morning would come. That the Jeju morning would be yellow. And that something new would begin in that yellow light.
But for now, it was night. And Sae-ah accepted the night. No longer running.
Do-hyun took Sae-ah’s hand again. In the darkness of the living room. As if he feared everything would disappear again if he let go. And Sae-ah didn’t let go. As much as Do-hyun wanted. As much as he needed. No longer living centered only on her own needs, but learning to consider the needs of another person as well.
“Did you really break his arms?”
Do-hyun asked again. As if he still couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Did it feel good?”
Do-hyun asked. And it wasn’t an accusation. It was genuine curiosity. Or something more. It was support for his sister.
“No. It was horrible. Really. When I heard his screams, my hands shook too. But… at the same time… I felt free. Really.”
Sae-ah spoke. And those words were the truth. A dark truth, but the truth.
They stood together in silence. Mom too. In the darkness of the living room. And the darkness embraced them. A warm darkness. The kind where there’s no need to run anymore.
The Jeju night continued. The stars still sparkled, the sea remained black, and Sae-ah was finally ready to accept all of it.
There’s a way that fire burns, and a way that fire goes out. But what Sae-ah was learning was a third way. The way fire transforms into warmth. The way fire warms other people. A way of burning oneself while simultaneously saving someone else.
And that, perhaps, was what love truly meant.