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# Chapter 151: Time Beyond the Hospital Room
When Mom opened her eyes, Sae-ah was in the bathroom.
Do-hyun came and tapped Sae-ah’s shoulder. “Noona. Mom’s awake.” There was joy in his voice, but also exhaustion—the kind that comes after enduring something difficult. Sae-ah faced herself in the cold mirror of the bathroom. White tiles, fluorescent lights, the sound of water dripping from the faucet. Everything was too loud. As if her ears, after being silent for so long, now heard every sound like a scream.
She washed her hands. As she lathered the soap and rinsed with water, she looked at herself in the mirror again. Was that face really hers? Was that really Sae-ah’s face? Or had someone turned someone else’s skin inside out and placed it on her? These thoughts kept coming. Lately. That feeling of her body and soul being completely detached. Like her soul was floating somewhere near the ceiling while her body moved like a machine.
She returned to the hospital room. Do-hyun was already sitting beside Mom, holding her hand. Mom’s eyes didn’t seem to have complete focus yet—as if the effects of the narcotic sedatives still lingered. But the moment she saw her son and daughter, Mom’s eyes slowly began to focus.
“Sae-ah.”
Mom’s voice was very weak. Like a voice coming from far away. Sae-ah sat down on the other side of the bed. At a distance where Mom’s hand couldn’t reach her. It was the best she could do. She couldn’t get closer. She couldn’t get any closer.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
Sae-ah’s voice was also weak. The two voices met and scattered into the air without forming anything. Like smoke. Like the smoke that rises when a fire goes out.
Mom didn’t ask anything. Why she came, where she’d been, what she was doing. Instead, she just looked at Sae-ah’s face. For a long time. As if she was trying to remember something she’d forgotten.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah spoke first.
Mom blinked. And looked at Sae-ah again. There was something in her eyes. Anger? No. Disappointment? That wasn’t it either. Just deep sadness. A deep sadness felt while looking at her daughter. And that sadness wasn’t new. It was old. Very old.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Mom said it. The sentence caught Sae-ah off guard.
“What?”
“I should have known why you became like this… But I just kept pretending not to know. That you were burning. That you were burning for someone else.”
Mom’s fingers moved. They couldn’t be completely free because of the IV tube, but they moved. Toward Sae-ah. As if Mom had just realized the distance between them was too great to reach her daughter.
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
Sae-ah asked. Her voice was cracking.
“About… seeing you.”
Mom paused to breathe. The heart monitor made a steady sound. Beep, beep, beep. Evidence that Mom’s heart was beating. Evidence that she was alive. And Sae-ah wasn’t even sure if her own heart was beating. Was she alive? Really.
“I…”
Mom spoke again.
“I should have seen what you needed. What you wanted. But I didn’t see you. You were just… a daughter who cared for someone, a tool to make money, just things like that. I never saw you as a person.”
The words struck Sae-ah’s chest like an arrow. No, not an arrow—something heavier. Like a stone. Like broken glass. The kind of pain felt when someone says something you already knew. The kind of ache felt when someone points to a wound you’d already received.
Do-hyun gripped Mom’s hand tighter. As if to keep her from drifting away somewhere.
“Mom, calm down. The doctor said not to get excited.”
“Even in Jeju… I knew. I couldn’t tell you then. But I knew. That man. Kang Ri-u… wasn’t good for you.”
Tears formed in Mom’s eyes. They fell. Without knowing it, Sae-ah stood up. She knelt at the edge of the bed. Close to Mom’s face. And wiped Mom’s cheek with her own hand.
“Mom, don’t talk about that anymore. It’s all over.”
“It’s not over.”
Mom said.
“What isn’t?”
“Your… fire.”
Sae-ah didn’t move. She heard Mom’s words, but didn’t yet understand what they meant. Or maybe she already knew but didn’t want to admit it. Her fire. The thing she kept burning for. The thing slowly consuming her.
“Remember when I was in Jeju? I told you to put out your fire, didn’t you?”
“I remember.”
Sae-ah answered.
“That was wrong. I said it wrong.”
Mom’s hand moved again. This time it found Sae-ah’s hand and held it. The IV tube tried to interfere with their hands, but they held on. Two thin, weak hands meeting.
“Don’t put out the fire… Light it for somewhere else. Not for someone else… but for yourself. For your own warmth.”
Sae-ah’s throat tightened at those words. The words she’d longed for so desperately. The words she’d waited for her mother to say. But now that she heard them, it felt like there was something that couldn’t be undone anymore. That she’d already burned too much. That she’d already given too much. That maybe her fire didn’t have enough fuel left to keep herself alive.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do.”
For the first time, Sae-ah spoke the truth.
“For now… stay here. By my side. And think slowly. About what you want. About what you can do for yourself.”
Do-hyun took Sae-ah’s other hand from across the bed. So Sae-ah was held on both sides of her mother. By Do-hyun’s hand and Mom’s hand. By living hands. By warm hands.
Beyond the hospital room window, Seoul’s afternoon flowed by. November sunlight was weak but continued to pour down. That light fell on the hospital room’s white walls. The fallen light created gray shadows. A space where brightness and darkness coexisted. Sae-ah sat in that space. Holding her mother’s hand.
“Kang Ha-neul came by several times.”
Mom said.
“Huh?”
“Because of you. Asking what you were doing… Yeah. That older sister really… saw you.”
Ha-neul. Sae-ah thought of Ha-neul. How long had it been since they properly talked? Right—they hadn’t talked properly. Sae-ah had cut off contact. She’d avoided her. She’d run away.
“Mom, I think I know what I’m going to say to Ha-neul.”
“What?”
“That I’m sorry.”
Mom smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was a smile. A smile from seeing her daughter finally beginning to break free from her own chains.
The doctor came back in. He examined Mom. He said her condition was stable. She needed to be observed for one more night, and by tomorrow she could be moved to a regular ward. Sae-ah heard his words, but her attention was on Mom’s hand. It was still holding hers. Gradually applying more strength.
When evening came, Do-hyun did his schoolwork. Sitting in a corner of the hospital room. Sae-ah sat beside Mom and looked out the window. The Han River. It looked very far away. But she knew it was the Han River. She knew how it had tempted her. She knew how much it had called to her.
But now she was here. In the hospital room. Beside her mother. Holding someone’s hand with her own.
At 10 p.m., a nurse came in and gave Mom a sedative. Mom slowly closed her eyes. But her hand still held Sae-ah’s. Even while sleeping.
“Noona, are you sleeping here?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Yeah. I’m staying here.”
Sae-ah answered.
“By Mom’s side?”
“Yeah.”
Do-hyun didn’t ask anything else. Instead, he reached into his bag. He pulled out a blanket. His own blanket. He tossed it to Sae-ah.
“It’s going to get cold.”
Sae-ah took the blanket. Do-hyun’s blanket. Her younger brother’s warmth. She wrapped it around herself. And rested her head beside Mom’s bed. And so she fell asleep holding her mother’s hand.
The night deepened. The heart monitor in the hospital room continued its sound. Beep, beep, beep. Evidence that her mother’s heart was beating. Evidence that she was alive. And Sae-ah began to breathe in time with that sound. As if she too became part of that monitor. As if her body synchronized with her mother’s vital signs.
An hour passed. Two hours passed. The night continued to flow. And Sae-ah remained awake. Holding her mother’s hand. Inside Do-hyun’s blanket. Slowly realizing that her body was still warm.
Around 3 a.m., Mom moved. As if having a nightmare. Sae-ah woke up immediately.
“Mom?”
Mom didn’t open her eyes, but her fingers moved. She gripped Sae-ah’s hand tighter.
“I’m here. Mom.”
Sae-ah said.
“Yeah…”
Mom murmured. And fell back into deep sleep.
Sae-ah returned to her position. And remained awake. Holding her mother’s hand. Until the night ended. And until a new morning came.
When the night was deepest, Sae-ah picked up her phone. It was still off. Or the battery was dead. How long had it been since she’d checked her phone? There would be messages from Ha-neul. Several messages. But from someone else? From Kang Ri-u?
She didn’t want to check. She had already thought about him enough. She had already burned enough for him. She needed to burn for herself now. For her own warmth.
But she still didn’t know how that was possible.
Throughout the night, Sae-ah held her mother’s hand and slowly began to relearn who she was. Sae-ah. The daughter of someone. The sister of someone. But most importantly, herself. How much longer would she need to accept that fact?
Beyond the hospital room window, a new day was slowly dawning.