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# Chapter 200: When Mother’s Eyes Open
Time flows differently in a hospital room. The clock’s second hand moves at the same pace, yet what it measures isn’t time—it’s a heartbeat. The waveform on the cardiac monitor. The depth of each breath. The subtle flutter of an eyelid. When Seo-ah pushed through the hospital room door, she already knew Kang Ri-woo had been gone for some time. She could tell by the angle of the window light, the brightness of the fluorescent lamp, the lingering warmth in the chair beside her mother’s bed. She could read exactly how long he’d sat there.
Do-hyun stood beside the bed, motionless as stone. Something was clasped in his hand. As Seo-ah drew closer, he opened it. Their mother’s hand. Thin and pale. Veins showing transparent beneath the skin. He held it as if releasing it meant she would disappear too.
“Has she woken up?” Seo-ah asked.
Do-hyun shook his head. But there had been movement, he said. The nurse came. They called the doctor. Something is changing. Seo-ah listened to these words while studying their mother’s face. Eyes still closed. Lips still motionless. Breath still dependent on machines.
“Where’s Ri-woo?” Seo-ah asked. Saying that name aloud felt strange. Oppa. Her older brother. A brother she never knew existed. Yet somehow the word already felt natural on her tongue, as if she’d been calling his name forever.
“He went to Gangnam. To Father’s house. Looking for documents.” Do-hyun’s voice grew quiet. “Unni, our father is Kang Min-jun. The Kang Min-jun from JYA. That’s…”
Do-hyun trailed off. The weight of that sentence was too much to carry.
Seo-ah sat down on the opposite side of the bed. Slowly. As if her body were made of glass, capable of shattering. She looked down at their mother’s face from above. This face. The one she’d seen by the Jeju sea. A diver’s face. A face of silence. Could it really belong to Kang Min-jun? Could a man named Kang Min-jun—a man from that world—be hers?
“Did Mom tell you?” Seo-ah asked.
Do-hyun shook his head again. Mom still hadn’t woken up, he said. But there had been movement. Responses. Something will change soon, he said. The doctor said so.
The hospital room clock crept toward midnight. 11:47 PM. Seo-ah wanted to remember this time. Later. When Mom woke up. Or if she didn’t. She wanted to remember this moment. This silence. This waiting. These mechanical sounds.
“What did Ri-woo say? Why is he just coming now? Why did he hide Father’s name? What did he say?” Questions poured out of her like something long accumulated.
Do-hyun’s eyes moved toward their mother, then back to Seo-ah. His gaze oscillated between them.
“According to Ri-woo… Father told him when he was nineteen. That he had a child with another woman. In Jeju. That Mom couldn’t know. And later, Ri-woo found Mom through Father’s documents. But he didn’t look for us. Because…”
Do-hyun stopped.
“Because what?” Seo-ah pressed.
“Because it would mean acknowledging Mom’s pain. Acknowledging Father. So he couldn’t do it.”
Do-hyun’s voice broke.
As Seo-ah listened, she felt her body growing heavier. Not heavier—denser. Becoming more compact. So dense that air couldn’t penetrate. Transparency fading, solidity emerging. But solidity can shatter. Seo-ah understood she was in danger of breaking.
“Then why now? Why is he coming now?” Seo-ah asked.
Do-hyun didn’t answer. Instead, he checked his phone. As if he didn’t know either.
When Ri-woo said he was going to Gangnam, Seo-ah thought it was running away. Or avoidance. But thinking about it now, it was something else. A search for something. Or an ending of something. Father’s documents. What could be in them? Her name? Her age? Her birth date? Or something deeper. A choice. Father’s choice. The choice to abandon Mom. The choice to abandon Seo-ah. The choice that made Ri-woo an accomplice to all of it.
“Has Ri-woo contacted you?” Seo-ah asked.
Do-hyun picked up his phone. Turned on the screen. Nothing. No one had contacted him. Gangnam was far away. Or Ri-woo was forgetting himself there. Or he was rebuilding who he was.
Seo-ah stood. Slowly. As if her body were made of glass. She circled the bed. Over their mother’s face. Under their mother’s hand. Back to where Do-hyun stood. She looked at him. Her younger brother. Now knowing who their father was. The brother who had to bear that weight alone.
“I’m going to find Ri-woo,” Seo-ah said.
“What?” Do-hyun asked.
“Gangnam. I’m going to find him. And…” Seo-ah stopped.
“And what?” Do-hyun asked.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. She didn’t know herself. Didn’t know what she’d do when she found Ri-woo. Didn’t know what came after. Seo-ah only knew she had to move. If she stayed still, she’d harden completely.
“I think you should stay with Mom,” Do-hyun said. It wasn’t a rebuke. Simply a fact.
Seo-ah froze. Do-hyun was right. Mom could wake up. Tonight. The next hour. The next minute. And if Seo-ah went to Gangnam, who would be here when Mom opened her eyes? Only Do-hyun. Alone to face their mother’s gaze.
“Wait for Ri-woo,” Do-hyun said.
Seo-ah sat back down in the chair. Beside the bed. Within reach of their mother’s hand. And she waited. Watching the monitor’s waveform. The heart’s rhythm. Regular. Continuing. A sign of life. Seo-ah tried to find something in that waveform. A message. A signal. Something from their mother. But it was just a waveform. Meaning was something Seo-ah imposed on it.
Time passed. Midnight approached. Seo-ah turned on her phone. Messages from Haneul. The ramen got cold. Where are you? Are we doing this again? The last message read: “I get it. You want to be alone. That’s okay. I’m here. Whenever you need me.”
Seo-ah didn’t reply. Instead, she called Ri-woo. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Then cut off.
“Ri-woo?” Seo-ah asked. But Ri-woo wasn’t there.
“He didn’t pick up,” Do-hyun said.
Seo-ah put the phone down. She looked at their mother again. Her eyes. Still closed. But Seo-ah felt it. Something was changing. The air was different. The room’s atmosphere was different. As if some boundary were fading. She didn’t know what that boundary was.
A nurse entered. 12:15 AM. She checked the monitor. Recorded the numbers. Her finger on their mother’s pulse was thin. Like Seo-ah’s own.
“Is there any change?” Seo-ah asked.
The nurse nodded.
“Consciousness appears to be returning. Slowly. But definitely. I’d expect some response by morning.”
Response. That word struck Seo-ah’s chest. That her mother would respond. That her eyes would open. That her voice would return. Or that something—anything—would come back.
The nurse left. Seo-ah and Do-hyun returned to silence. But this silence felt different. A waiting silence. Like the silence before a curtain rises on stage.
Seo-ah’s phone rang. It was Ri-woo.
“Where are you?” Ri-woo asked. His voice sounded strange. He’d been running. He was breathing hard.
“I’m at the hospital. I think Mom’s waking up,” Seo-ah said.
Silence. A long silence. Then Ri-woo’s voice returned.
“I found Father.”
Seo-ah’s heart stopped.
“Where?”
“At home. The penthouse. Alone. He was drinking. And…”
Ri-woo stopped.
“And?”
“And Father was looking for us. For a long time. For Mom and me and Do-hyun. But he didn’t know how. So…”
Ri-woo stopped again.
“So what?”
“So he asked me. If we were ready to meet him. If Mom was ready to forgive Father. If you were ready.”
Ri-woo’s voice was breaking.
As Seo-ah listened, she felt her hands trembling. Like Ri-woo’s hands. Like Kang Min-jun’s hands. A family’s tremor. Or the tremor of fear. Or the tremor of something approaching.
“Ri-woo, come back,” Seo-ah said.
“Mom is waking up. We need you. You need this. Father needs this.”
Seo-ah continued.
Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, the call ended.
Do-hyun watched Seo-ah silently. She felt she should read something in his eyes. But they were empty. Or too full.
“When Mom wakes up, Ri-woo needs to be here,” Do-hyun said.
“I know,” Seo-ah answered.
“And Father too,” Do-hyun continued.
Seo-ah didn’t respond. That wasn’t something she could promise. Bringing Kang Min-jun to the hospital. That was something Ri-woo could do. Or something Kang Min-jun had to choose for himself.
The hospital room clock showed 12:47 AM. Seo-ah wanted to remember this time. This moment when Mom should wake up. This moment when Ri-woo was running somewhere. This moment when Kang Min-jun was deciding something in the penthouse.
Seo-ah took their mother’s hand. Carefully. As if holding it would wake her too. And she waited.
For their mother’s eyes to open.
For Ri-woo to return.
For Kang Min-jun to choose.
For everything to begin.
Outside, Seoul’s night continued to flow. Lights. Someone’s lives. Someone’s families. And here, in this hospital room, Seo-ah’s family was beginning again. Through waking. Through return. Through choice.
Seo-ah felt her hands still trembling. But it wasn’t the tremor of fear. It was the tremor before a flame ignites. The moment a match tip touches fire.
And slowly, very slowly, their mother’s eyes began to open.
END OF CHAPTER 200