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# Chapter 142: A Mother’s Hand
Mother’s voice sounded like it was rising from beneath water—the gasp of a diver breaking the surface. Seo-ah stood on a Hongdae street, staring up at the narrow strip of sky between buildings, listening to her mother speak. Do-hyun had informed on her. She was going to Gangnam. To meet someone. The words had reached her mother’s ears, and her mother had recognized what Seo-ah was about to do. All mothers know this. Just before their daughters burn. In the moment of burning. Before they become ash entirely.
“Mom.”
Seo-ah’s voice was already fractured. As if her throat bore physical wounds. “I have to go to Gangnam.”
“Why?”
Her mother asked simply. But decades of silence lived in that single word. Her mother had never used question marks with her since childhood. She spoke them like periods. Why. That was the period. Not a question but a confirmation. And that confirmation was always right.
“I need to… finish something.”
Seo-ah answered, knowing even as she spoke that it was a lie. Not finishing—starting. Lighting another fire. Despite the flames already burning inside her.
“No.”
Her mother said it in two syllables. That was all. No. It rejected everything. Seo-ah’s choices, her decisions, every justification she’d constructed.
“Mom, I—”
“What are you doing right now, Seo-ah?”
This time her mother asked first. Anger threaded through her voice. Seo-ah had never heard her mother angry before. In her memory, her mother was always silent. Above the water. Upon the water. Watching her children. But now, through the phone, her mother’s voice trembled with rage.
“Did I ever ask you to save anyone? Who told you to save someone? Did you hear what Do-hyun said? You’re losing yourself right now. You’re not eating, not sleeping, not doing anything—just clinging to that man. What is that, Seo-ah? Is that love? Is that responsibility?”
Seo-ah couldn’t speak. Her mother’s words tightened around her throat. Like invisible fingers pressing down. And those fingers were her mother’s, and her mother knew exactly what she was doing.
“You’re going to meet Gang Ri-u right now, aren’t you?”
Her mother asked. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at her hands. Her fingers trembled every three seconds. Regular as clockwork. Like her heartbeat traveling to her fingertips. The trembling was a signal that she was lying. Her own body was betraying her.
“Seo-ah, listen. I’m going to tell you something.”
Her mother spoke. The hand holding the phone trembled more. Her mother had never said “I’m going to tell you something” before. She had always been silent. Above the water. Upon the water. Never speaking. But now, in this moment, her mother was about to speak.
“I never told you about your father, did I?”
Seo-ah’s breath stopped. Father. That word had disappeared from her language long ago. Her father had left when she was small. Or rather, died—that’s what it was. But her mother had never used that word. She had only been silent. Silence was her method. Covering wounds by not speaking of them. Denying existence by not naming it.
“Father?”
Seo-ah’s voice was small.
“Yes. Your father.”
Her mother spoke slowly. “I’m going to tell you. Why I’ve always been silent. Why I never spoke to you. Why I always wanted to stay beneath the water.”
Seo-ah began walking. Somewhere—she didn’t know where. Holding the phone. Listening to her mother’s voice. Hongdae’s night was deepening. Bass leaked from clubs. Someone was laughing. Someone was crying. But it all felt distant to Seo-ah, like events from another world.
“Your father told me something. That he would save me. That he would make me happy. That he would make me into someone else. Do you know how beautiful those words sounded? I bet everything on them. My dreams. My future. Myself.”
Her mother’s voice shook.
“But it was all a lie. Every word. He didn’t save me—he trapped me. He didn’t save my dreams—he crushed them. He didn’t change me—he erased me. And by the time I realized it, I’d already given birth to you. Already given birth to Do-hyun. There was no way out.”
Seo-ah’s feet stopped in the corner of an alley. A motorcycle passed. The sound echoed. But her mother’s voice cut through it.
“You’re doing exactly that right now, Seo-ah. You’re trying to lock yourself up. Under the guise of saving someone. But that’s a lie. You’re trying to save yourself. Trying to rescue your own worthlessness. Pretending to love someone while trying to prove your own worthlessness. Can you see it?”
“No.”
Seo-ah whispered. Her voice was barely audible.
“I can see it. Because I did it too. I tried to save someone just like you. I lost myself just like you. And by the time I realized it, it was already too late. That’s why I was silent. Because I was afraid my words would hurt you. Because I was afraid my failure would transfer to you. Because I was afraid you’d walk the same path.”
Her mother spoke. Her voice was like the breath of a diver surfacing from the depths. There was gravity in it. The pressure of the deep ocean.
“But because I stayed silent, you sank deeper. Because I didn’t speak, you became more alone. So now I have to speak. And you have to listen. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how much you don’t want to hear it.”
Tears ran down Seo-ah’s cheeks. But no sound came from her throat. As if her body was protecting itself by keeping her from crying out.
“I’m going to ask you something. And you have to answer honestly. Do you love Gang Ri-u?”
Her mother asked.
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
“Answer me.”
Her mother commanded.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah said. It was the most honest answer she could give.
“Then why are you going to meet him?”
“Because… if I let him go, I feel like I’ll disappear.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was surprised by her own honesty. But once they were out, she couldn’t take them back. Like a dam breaking. Once there’s a crack, the water keeps flowing.
“Yes. That’s right. That’s exactly right. You want to lose yourself. Completely. Totally. Because then you’d feel like you did something. Like you lived a meaningful life. But that’s a lie. You’re not meaningless. You’re not worthless. You’re just… waiting for someone to tell you otherwise.”
Her mother spoke. Her voice was breaking. Like a rock eroded by waves.
“You need to hear those words from someone. And that someone isn’t Gang Ri-u. Never. He can’t tell you that. Because he hasn’t found himself either. He’s someone who doesn’t even know who he is. How could someone like that tell you anything?”
Seo-ah’s feet began moving again. But this time not toward Gangnam. Toward Hongdae Station. The subway. Jeju. No—she didn’t know. She was just moving. Holding the phone. Listening to her mother.
“So what do you think you should do now?”
Her mother asked.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. But her feet were answering. Her body was answering. Her heart was answering. And the answer was one thing. Go back. Home. To her own home. Not to Gang Ri-u’s side but to her own.
“Mom.”
Seo-ah said. “I’m… I’m coming back.”
“Yes.”
Her mother said. That single syllable was everything. Yes. It was all permission. All forgiveness. All love.
After hanging up, Seo-ah stood still on the Hongdae night street. Club bass still echoed. Someone was still laughing. Someone was still crying. But Seo-ah heard something else. The sound of the ocean. The sound of waves. The sound of a diver breaking the surface.
Messages from Gang Ri-u kept coming. She didn’t look at the screen. She only felt the vibrations. Once. Twice. Three times. Then silence. Then ringing again. But Seo-ah wouldn’t answer anymore. Not this time. For herself.
She descended the stairs toward the subway station. Fluorescent lights blazed brightly, like an interrogation room. Like someone was watching her constantly. But that watcher was herself. And now she was ready to let herself go.
Instead of heading to Gangnam to catch the bus to Jeju, Seo-ah took the Line 2 from Hongdae Station. Toward Gangnam Station. Not to meet Gang Ri-u. The bus terminal for Jeju was near Gangnam Station. That was all. That was the only reason.
She repeated this like a mantra as she climbed the escalator. I’m going to Gangnam Station. But not to meet him. It felt like an incantation, a spell to convince herself.
The platform announcement flickered. Gangnam Station direction. Arriving soon. Seo-ah stepped back. Standing right at the edge felt too close. Anxiety gripped her throat—what if someone pushed her?
The train entered. Red lights pierced the tunnel, and the massive metal body stopped on the platform. The doors opened. People rushed out. People rushed in. Seo-ah surrendered to the wave.
The car was packed. Saturday evening compressed into human form. Seo-ah gripped a handle in the middle of the car. So her hands wouldn’t shake. Though they already were. She squeezed the plastic bar harder. It felt cold in her palm.
The man next to her held his phone. A game, it seemed. The bright screen lit his expressionless face. On the other side, a woman stared out the window. But her eyes had lost focus. Probably her mind was somewhere else too.
We’re all somewhere else, Seo-ah thought. Physically in the same space, but mentally each of us lives in a different world. That realization was oddly comforting.
The train stopped at station after station. People got off. People got on. Seo-ah stayed in the same spot. Never letting go of the handle. Anchoring herself. As if she had to root herself in this trembling world.
Someone bumped into her. Unintentional contact. But in that moment, Seo-ah felt how transparent her body was. Like a ghost. Like someone who was already gone. People didn’t see her. They passed through her. Like moving through air.
I’m already leaving.
The thought tickled her chest.
The train arrived at Gangnam Station. The automated announcement filled the station. “This is Gangnam Station. You can transfer to Line 2, the Shinbundang Line, and the Airport Railroad.” The mechanical voice echoed through the station.
People exited. Seo-ah exited too. Climbing the stairs above the platform, she felt the urge to check her phone. Had Gang Ri-u sent another message? Called? But she didn’t turn it on.
I’ve already decided.
When she emerged above ground, Gangnam’s night sprawled before her. Neon signs lit up the sky. Restaurants, clubs, clothing stores, cosmetics shops. Everything desperately shining to reveal itself. This was Gangnam. The city of desire. Where someone’s dreams and someone else’s despair mixed together.
Seo-ah opened her map app and searched for the bus terminal. Near Gangnam Station. A 10-minute walk. She decided to walk slowly. There was no reason to rush. She still had time.
As she walked, Seo-ah’s mind was complicated. Was this a wise decision or an escape? The boundary was blurred. But at this moment, that distinction didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was moving forward.
The bus terminal was smaller than she expected. A gray building. Many people came and went. People leaving on trips, people returning home, people starting new lives. All of them going somewhere.
Seo-ah walked to the ticket counter. A young employee stared at a computer with an expressionless face.
“A ticket to Jeju, please. Tonight.”
Her voice was small. But certain.
The employee clicked the screen. “How many people?”
“Just one.”
“How about the 10:40 PM bus? Or the midnight bus?”
Seo-ah thought for a moment. 10:40 PM. That would give her about an hour and a half.
“The 10:40, please.”
She received the ticket. One small slip of paper. Her escape ticket.
She headed toward the café area in the terminal. Several small cafés with soft lighting. What caught Seo-ah’s eye was a sign that read “Hanako Coffee.” A Japanese name. She went inside.
The café was quiet. It was nighttime, so there weren’t many customers. A window seat was empty. Seo-ah sat there.
Outside, Gangnam’s night view spread before her. Cars moved endlessly. The sidewalk was full of people. Everyone going somewhere. Everyone searching for something.
Gang Ri-u is probably looking for me right now.
When this thought came, Seo-ah’s heart sank. Where was he? What expression did he have while looking for her? Thinking of him hurt. Because she knew she loved him, and because she knew that love wasn’t enough.
Gang Ri-u was a lost man. A wandering man who didn’t know where he’d lost his identity. And in that wandering, he found Seo-ah. As if she were his identity. As if she were his everything. But Seo-ah couldn’t be that. She too had to find herself. She too had to construct her own identity.
“One iced Americano, please.”
Seo-ah approached the counter and ordered.
The coffee came soon. Black liquid. Ice floating on top. Seo-ah returned to her seat and picked it up. The cold cup stole the warmth from her hand. She took a sip.
Bitterness spread across her tongue. Traveled down her throat. That taste that awakened the whole body. Seo-ah closed her eyes.
This is mine alone.
The realization warmed her chest. This coffee’s taste wasn’t for someone else. Not to save someone. Not to love someone. Just for herself. Coffee she chose. A taste she selected.
This is what her life should be, she thought.
Time passed. Gangnam outside the window grew darker. Or brighter—as the lights became sharper. People’s footsteps seemed to quicken. Saturday night. Someone was wandering these streets to meet someone.
Her phone rang.
Seo-ah’s heart dropped. She checked the screen. Not Gang Ri-u. Her mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her voice trembled.
“Did you buy the bus ticket?”
Her mother’s voice was gentle. But it was full of worry.
“Yes. The 10:40 bus.”
“Good. You did well.”
Silence fell. Not simple silence, but silence carrying something. Her mother spoke again.
“Seo-ah, I’m going to tell you one more thing.”
Her voice shook. Seo-ah could feel it. Her mother was about to say something important.
“There’s something I didn’t give you. Something I couldn’t tell you. It’s…”
Her mother breathed.
“That you’re enough. Seo-ah, you’re enough without saving anyone. You’re enough without loving anyone. You’re enough without doing anything for anyone. You’re just… enough as you are. Really.”
Seo-ah’s eyes blurred. Tears pooled in them.
“I should have told you that long ago. Then you wouldn’t have suffered like this. But I’ll tell you now. You’re enough. Really. Seo-ah.”
Her voice shook. And that trembling shook Seo-ah’s heart.
Seo-ah couldn’t answer. Her throat was tight. Tears fell.
“Yes… Mom.”
Only these words came out.
“Travel safely. And Seo-ah, I love you. Really.”
Her mother’s voice disappeared. The call ended.
Seo-ah held the phone for a long time. As if her mother was still there. In a corner of the café, alone, Seo-ah cried. Quietly. But deeply.
A customer at the next table looked at her. But Seo-ah didn’t care. This crying wasn’t shameful. It was necessary. Crying that burned away everything accumulated inside her.
As she cried, Seo-ah felt it. The fire inside her body going out. That fire had been for Gang Ri-u. That fire had been to save someone. That fire had been to become someone other than herself.
But now it was going out. With water. With tears. Her own tears.
She cried for a long time. The coffee had long since gone cold. Gangnam’s night deepened further.
Seo-ah wiped her eyes with a tissue. She held up a mirror to check her face. Puffy. But strangely peaceful. Like the face of someone returning from a long journey.
She checked the time. 10:05 PM. Thirty-five minutes left.
Seo-ah got up from her seat. She paid for the coffee. And headed toward the bus terminal.
The terminal was now full of more people. The time for the night buses was approaching. Seo-ah found her gate. Gate 7. Jeju bound.
People began gathering. Travelers. Returning families. People seeking new lives. All with different stories, but in this moment they all shared the same destination.
Seo-ah picked up her phone again. She decided to send a message to Gang Ri-u. She wouldn’t explain or apologize. Just the facts.
Gang Ri-u. I’m leaving.
She sent it. And turned off her phone. That was all. No explanations. No promises. No apologies. Just facts. I’m leaving.
The bus arrived. A red bus. Heading to Jeju. People showed their tickets and began boarding.
Seo-ah showed hers. The driver confirmed it and nodded. She boarded the bus.
The interior was quieter than expected. Many people were already seated, absorbed in their travels. Seo-ah found a window seat. She sat down.
The bus slowly began to move. Leaving the terminal. Into Gangnam’s streets. And gradually, leaving Seoul.
Seo-ah watched out the window. The neon signs disappeared. As the highway approached, the city lights grew distant. And soon, only the night highway remained.
Black sky. Road stretching on both sides. A bus rushing forward. And in that bus, a girl watching out the window.
Seo-ah closed her eyes. And she thought.
Gang Ri-u must have received my message by now. He was probably shocked. Angry. Sad. But those are his feelings—not mine to carry. What I have to do is save myself. Find myself.
The bus raced down the night highway. Time passed. Distance shortened. Past Busan. Past Namhae. Eventually toward Jeju.
Seo-ah felt drowsy. But she didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t want to miss this moment. Didn’t want to miss the beginning of this journey.
Mom is right. I am enough. I don’t exist for someone else. I exist for myself. And that’s all.
The night deepened. Toward midnight.
And as midnight approached, Seo-ah’s bus entered the Jeju coastal highway.