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# Chapter 166: The End of All Lies
Seo-ah’s hand lay on her mother’s bed. Her fingers traced across the white sheet as if reading braille. As if somewhere in that fabric lay her mother’s final words. The fluorescent light in the hospital room remained on. 1:47 AM. Some would call this “late night,” others “early morning.” For Seo-ah, it was simply “continuing time.” Time that didn’t stop. Time that flowed without flowing.
Her mother slept deeply. The bilevel positive airway pressure machine hummed in steady rhythm. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. As if someone were breathing for her mother’s lungs. As if her mother had already surrendered her own breath. A nurse had told Seo-ah yesterday that her mother’s condition was stabilizing. No longer in danger. But stabilization wasn’t recovery. Stabilization was merely “no longer worsening.” It wasn’t hope. It was stasis.
Seo-ah recalled the conversation in Kang Ri-u’s car. What her mother had said to him. “You kill me like my father did.” Had that been real? Or had her mother also been lying? Now Seo-ah couldn’t be certain. Whose words were truth and whose were lies. Kang Ri-u’s soft voice was a lie. Her own silence was a lie. Her mother’s tears were a lie. Everything was a lie. And people continued living on top of those lies.
“Seo-ah.”
Her mother’s voice came. Seo-ah immediately withdrew her hand. As if touching her mother was a sin. Her mother’s eyes opened slowly. Unfocused. As if nothing in this world came into clear view. As if her mother had already placed one foot in another dimension.
“Did you wake up?”
Seo-ah asked. It wasn’t really a question. It was something to steady herself. Confirmation that her own voice still functioned.
“Is Ri-u here?”
Her mother asked. And Seo-ah could tell. That her mother wasn’t fully awake. That she was under the influence of medication. In this state, her mother’s defense mechanisms weren’t working. In this state, she could speak truth or lie with equal ease.
“No. He’s not here.”
Seo-ah answered.
Her mother closed her eyes again. And said nothing for a long time. Seo-ah thought she’d fallen back asleep. But her mother’s lips were moving. As if murmuring something. As if speaking words she herself didn’t understand.
“Mom, what are you saying?”
Seo-ah leaned closer. Her face drew near her mother’s mouth. In that moment, her mother’s hand gripped Seo-ah’s arm. Weakly. With the desperate urgency of a drowning person grasping someone’s hand one last time. But the grip loosened just as quickly. Her mother’s hand fell back to the bed.
“I ruined you.”
Her mother spoke. It wasn’t a murmur. It was clear speech. As if her mother had awakened for this very moment. As if she had endured everything just to say this.
Seo-ah didn’t move. She looked at her mother’s face. It wasn’t the face of the mother she knew. A face where everything had collapsed. A face of complete surrender. And reflected in that face was Seo-ah’s own future.
“What did you ruin, Mom?”
Seo-ah asked. But she already knew. What her mother had ruined. What she had chosen. What she had failed to give.
“I loved you. Too much. In all the wrong ways.”
Her mother said.
When those words reached Seo-ah, something shattered in her chest. No—not shattered. The last thing that had been holding her up simply collapsed. Like a building crumbling from its foundation. Like everything she’d been standing on gave way all at once.
“Everything I did to you. Everything I said I was protecting you. Everything I said I was keeping you safe.”
Her mother continued. As if she’d been carrying these words for a long time. As if these words had been slowly poisoning her from within.
“It was all lies.”
Her mother finally spoke.
Seo-ah received those words. Like receiving a blade. No—a blade is a single point, but these words pierced her entire body. From eyes to toes. From skin to bone. Through everything.
“What was a lie, Mom?”
Seo-ah asked. And this was the last question she could ask. After this came only silence.
Her mother’s eyes opened again. This time, slightly clearer. As if her mother was pushing through all the medication for this moment. Her mother’s eyes found Seo-ah. And in those eyes was something Seo-ah had never seen before. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even remorse. It was pure despair. Undiluted despair.
“Keeping you safe was a lie.”
Her mother spoke.
“It was myself I protected. Every choice I made toward you was to protect myself. Not to protect you.”
Seo-ah understood the meaning in those words. No—she’d already known it. Before anyone gave it a name. That her mother had abandoned her. That her mother had made her a sacrifice. That her mother had used her life as her own mirror. And that this was the only way her mother could function. That her mother too had been a victim. That her mother too had been controlled by someone.
Seo-ah gripped her mother’s hand again. This time firmly. As if she had to save her mother. With the desperate urgency that came from fear that letting go would make her mother disappear completely.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
Seo-ah said. It was a lie. But it was the lie most needed.
“It’s not okay.”
Her mother said.
“No. It’s not.”
Seo-ah acknowledged. And in that acknowledgment, something shifted. As if the lies disappeared and something closer to truth filled that space. As if her mother and Seo-ah stood together on the same truth.
“Ri-u?”
Her mother asked again.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered. And it was true. Seo-ah truly didn’t know Ri-u. Who he was. What he was. Why he wanted her.
“That man can’t save you. No one can save you.”
Her mother spoke.
“I know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“That’s a lie too. No one can save anyone. We’re all alone. And accepting that is the only truth there is.”
Her mother’s voice grew increasingly faint. As if she was disappearing with her own words. The BIPAP machine’s sound still continued. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Seo-ah didn’t let go of her mother’s hand. For a long time, they sat like that. Without words. Without movement. The fluorescent light in the hospital room remained on, and the night continued.
Seo-ah’s phone rang. 2:15 AM. It was Do-hyeon. Seo-ah saw the screen and didn’t answer. Do-hyeon called three more times. She didn’t answer any of them. Then a text came.
“Noona, what are you doing? I ran out of meter. Can you lend me some?”
Seo-ah read that message. Like a mother who’d lost her son. No—like a mother who’d lost her son to a mother. That’s how it read. That’s how every word read. That’s how every message appeared. As if it were a signal that she had already lost someone.
Her mother fell asleep again. Deeply. As if for the last time. Seo-ah looked at her mother’s face. It was the same as the face of the mother she’d first known. And at the same time, completely different. That’s how time works. Same and different exist simultaneously.
Seo-ah released her mother’s hand. Slowly. As if conducting a ceremony. Then she stood. She left the hospital room. The corridor was still quiet. Someone was sleeping, someone was awake, and someone was somewhere in between.
Seo-ah descended the hospital stairs. She didn’t take the elevator. As she went down, she heard her own footsteps. One step after another. As if following someone. As if fleeing from someone following her down.
When she reached the hospital lobby, Seo-ah thought she saw Kang Ri-u. Or thought she did. 2:30 AM in a hospital lobby. There was no Kang Ri-u there. But something existed in that space. It was his absence. The absence of Kang Ri-u felt like a presence itself, a strong one.
Seo-ah went outside. The early morning air was cold. As if this air meant to kill someone, it would do it this way—slowly. Without pain. Just cold.
Do-hyeon hadn’t called. But Seo-ah could sense it. That Do-hyeon was awake. That he was waiting. That he needed her. And Seo-ah couldn’t fulfill that need. Because she too needed someone. And that someone, her mother had said, couldn’t save her. No one could save anyone.
Seo-ah sat on a bench in front of the hospital. She sent Do-hyeon a text.
“I’ll lend it to you tomorrow. Sorry.”
And after sending that message, Seo-ah looked at her hands. They were trembling. Like Kang Ri-u’s hands. Like her mother’s hands. Like her father’s hands. Like all of these hands. Like the hands of all lies. Like the hands of all truths.
Seo-ah took out a lighter. And clicked it. Once, twice, three times. A flame rose. A small flame. But that flame lit up Seo-ah’s face. And in that moment, she understood what she was. She was fire. Burning fire. Fire that disappeared as it burned. And that was exactly how she lived.
The lighter went out. Darkness again. But Seo-ah’s hands continued to tremble. And in that trembling, something was beginning. Something without a name yet. But something certain. Change. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple change.
2:47 AM. A girl on a bench in front of a hospital. And that girl’s hands. Those hands no longer held anyone. That was the beginning. The beginning of everything.