이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
# Chapter 246: A Mother’s Choice
Her mother’s hand slipped from Seo-ah’s grasp. Slowly. Like something sinking through water. Seo-ah tried to hold on, but her mother’s resolve was unmistakable. She had to let go. The hand returned to the bed, settling over her mother’s chest as if shielding her own heart.
“You need to leave him.”
Her mother’s voice was weak but unwavering. It seemed impossible that someone who had woken just thirty minutes ago could speak with such certainty. As if she had rehearsed these words a thousand times, or repeated them endlessly in the depths of sleep.
Seo-ah stood at the foot of the bed, frozen. Her mother didn’t look at her directly—only at the ceiling. What was reflected there? Seo-ah looked up too. Nothing. Only white. And the shadow of fluorescent lights passing across it. Unstable light. Was that all her mother could see?
“Mom, I—”
Seo-ah started to speak but stopped. What was she trying to say? To convince herself? To defend herself? Did any of it matter now? She chose silence. And in that silence, her mother continued.
“I’m most at peace in the water. Aren’t I?”
Her mother spoke slowly, as if this were a continuation of her previous sentence. Or another fragment of the same story.
“Deep in the water, I hear nothing. No one exists there. Just me and the water. That’s all. There, I can neither be abandoned nor be found. I simply… exist. That’s enough.”
As Seo-ah listened, she realized her mother must have repeated these words countless times over the past days. In deep sleep. Or somewhere in that liminal space between consciousness and unconsciousness. In the water between awareness and oblivion.
“But then Ryu came. When he arrived, I had to leave the water. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”
Her mother slowly turned her eyes. Now she looked at Seo-ah. Eyes half-open. But there was depth in them. Profound depth.
“He tried to save me. From the water. But I’m not someone who needs saving. I died in that water long ago. And that death was peaceful. That state of nothingness.”
Seo-ah’s lips parted. But words wouldn’t come. Her mother pressed on.
“Ryu woke me up. Pulled me from the water. And I woke. That’s my illness, Seo-ah. Waking is my disease.”
Silence flooded the room. Not the silence of finished words, but something deeper. The silence that follows when the unspeakable has been spoken. The silence where only silence remains.
Seo-ah looked at her mother. Truly looked at her. For the first time since this awakening. Her mother’s face was pallid, as if all her blood had drained away. As if something had been pulled out along with her words.
“Did he do something to you?” Seo-ah asked. It wasn’t really a question. It was the surrender of questioning. Yet her mother understood.
“He held me. When we first met. Like he knew me. Like he was searching for his own guilt in my body.”
Her mother’s hand moved again, across her own chest. Touching her heart as if to verify its beating.
“He’s not a good person. I know that. But when he held me, for the first time I felt someone willing to share their death with me. As if he too had been in the water. In the depths. Like me.”
Seo-ah’s eyes widened. Her mother knew about Ryu. But that wasn’t what mattered. Something else did.
“What did I tell you before he came, Seo-ah?”
Her mother asked again.
“Not to see him.”
Seo-ah answered.
“That’s right. But you did anyway. Why?”
There was no reproach in the question. Only genuine curiosity. As if her mother truly wanted to understand why her daughter had done this.
Seo-ah couldn’t answer. Why she had met Kang Ryu. Why she had taken that warm hand. Why she had abandoned her family. She couldn’t say. Because she didn’t know herself.
“What am I supposed to tell you?” her mother said slowly. It was a rhetorical question. Not seeking an answer. Only expressing the weight of the situation.
“You know I want to die in the water, don’t you?”
Seo-ah’s body went rigid.
“You know, don’t you? That I want to go into the deep water. And I will do it. My mother did. And her mother before her. Into the water. Deeper and deeper. Never to return.”
Her mother’s voice began to tremble. For the first time. Until now it had been calm, but now waves rippled through it.
“When I gave birth to you, I decided to come up from the water. Once. Because of you. Because of your brother. That was everything for me. Fighting the desire not to come back up. Every day. Every morning when I woke.”
Seo-ah felt tears running down her face. Whether they were her own or her mother’s falling onto her cheeks, she couldn’t tell. How was that possible? Her mother was lying in bed.
“But then Ryu came. And I grew weak. As if someone was pulling me back into the water. And I… didn’t want to resist.”
Her mother grasped Seo-ah’s hand again. Tightly. As if she were trying not to sink. By holding onto Seo-ah.
“That’s why I told you to leave him. Because… he’s pulling me deeper. And you’ll follow. You always follow me. Even to places I don’t want to go.”
Seo-ah felt her chest might burst. What had she misunderstood all this time? Had her mother been trying to protect her? Or abandon her? Was there a difference?
“Seo-ah, don’t try to save me. Understand? I don’t want to be saved. I just want to… be. That’s all.”
Her mother’s voice was barely a whisper now. But Seo-ah heard every word clearly. As if her mother’s voice were being carved directly into her heart.
“And you… leave Ryu. Please. Please, Seo-ah. When he tries to pull me into the water, don’t follow him. Get away. Please.”
Seo-ah tried to grasp her mother’s hand again. But her mother released it first. This time intentionally. Definitively.
“Now bring Do-hyun to me. I want to talk to my son.”
Her mother’s words were a command. And Seo-ah obeyed. She left the bed. Moved toward the hospital room door. Into the corridor. Beneath the fluorescent lights.
Do-hyun was sitting on a bench in the hallway, holding a paper cup. But it seemed he hadn’t drunk from it. He was just holding it. As if trying to hold onto something.
“Do-hyun.”
Seo-ah said.
Do-hyun lifted his head. His eyes were gray. As if all color had drained from them.
“Mom’s calling for you.”
Do-hyun stood up. He dropped the paper cup. Water spilled across the hallway floor. It glimmered beneath the fluorescent lights. Like a small mirror. What could be reflected in that mirror? Seo-ah looked at the puddle. But she wasn’t reflected there.
Do-hyun entered the hospital room. Seo-ah didn’t follow. She remained in the corridor. Alone. Beneath the fluorescent lights. And in that light, she saw her shadow on the wall. A shadow that didn’t move. As if she were pinned there.
Her mother’s words continued to ring in her ears. “Leave him. Please, Seo-ah. When he tries to pull me into the water, don’t follow him.”
Seo-ah pulled out her phone. The screen was dark. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing from Kang Ryu. That was more terrifying. Silence screamed louder than words.
She walked along the corridor. Toward the hospital room door. But she didn’t enter. She stood before it, looking inside. Her mother and Do-hyun were holding hands. Her mother had placed Do-hyun’s hand over her heart. As if trying to let him feel her heartbeat. Do-hyun’s eyes were closed. As if he were trying to feel it.
Looking at that scene, Seo-ah understood what she had to do. What her mother wanted.
It wasn’t leaving her mother.
It was leaving Kang Ryu.
And to do that, Seo-ah had to leave herself. Leave everything she had built these past days. That warm hand. That trembling voice. Those deep eyes. Everything.
Seo-ah pulled out her phone again. Her fingers moved. Trying to type a message.
But what could she write?
“I’m sorry”?
“I’m leaving”?
“Take care”?
Every word was too small. Too inadequate. To explain what she was about to do. To express what she was about to sever.
So Seo-ah wrote nothing. She deleted the message. Put her phone in her pocket.
And closed the hospital room door. Slowly. As if closing the door on her previous life. Behind that door remained only her mother and Do-hyun. And Seo-ah was outside.
The fluorescent lights in the corridor continued to flicker. In that unstable light, Seo-ah walked toward the elevator. Without words. Without thought. Just walking.
And when the elevator doors opened, Seo-ah realized what she had to do.
She had to find Kang Ryu.
One last time.
And end it.
All of it.
End of Chapter: Seo-ah prepares to leave the hospital. Beneath the weight of her mother’s warning, the distance from Do-hyun, and the burden of her own choice. The next chapter anticipates her final meeting with Kang Ryu.
# Shadows That Cast No Reflection
## Part 1: Things Without Mirrors
The basement corridor of the hospital was strangely quiet. As Seo-ah descended from the elevator and made her way toward her grandfather’s room, she heard water. Not quite the sound of flowing water, but rather the sound of stagnant water slowly being drawn down a drain. Perhaps it was only the white noise of the ventilation system. But to Seo-ah, it sounded like someone calling her name.
When she stopped before her grandfather’s hospital room door, Seo-ah realized there was a puddle beneath her feet. The residual mark left by a mop after someone had finished cleaning the room, now drying. A small but distinct circular stain. Seo-ah looked down at it, ready to see her own reflection.
But she wasn’t reflected there.
Perhaps the puddle was too shallow, the reflected light too weak. But Seo-ah thought differently. That she didn’t exist in that place. That perhaps she had already left somewhere, and this body was merely an empty shell moving by inertia.
Then Do-hyun opened the hospital room door. Exhaustion was written across his face. Their mother must still be inside. Do-hyun’s eyes turned toward Seo-ah, but she didn’t meet them. Instead, she looked at the puddle.
“Go in. Mom was calling for you.”
There was something strange in Do-hyun’s voice. Anxiety? Despair? Seo-ah had no energy to analyze it. She simply nodded and watched Do-hyun enter the room.
Seo-ah didn’t follow.
She remained in the corridor. Alone.
## Part 2: Shadows Beneath Fluorescent Light
The hospital’s fluorescent lights, as always, emitted a terrible glow. Cold, sterile, and bleaching to the skin. In medical facilities, such light is necessary for clear vision. But looking at it, Seo-ah thought it was gradually rendering humans transparent.
In that light, she saw her shadow.
On the wall. Specifically, her shadow falling on the white tile wall beside the hospital room door. But it didn’t move. When Seo-ah moved her arm, turned her head, that shadow remained in place. As if she were pinned there.
Seo-ah stepped back. The shadow should move with her. But it didn’t.
Ah, of course. The angle of the light has changed. I’m still here. In this nowhere of a hospital corridor, alone, beneath fluorescent lights.
Seo-ah raised her hand, lowered it. Spread her fingers, closed them. The shadow followed these movements. So it really was her shadow. Then why did it seem pinned in place?
She realized it wasn’t that the shadow wasn’t moving, but that Seo-ah herself wasn’t moving. Her body was here, but her mind had already left somewhere else. Perhaps to where Kang Ryu was. Perhaps to that “other world” her mother desired.
Her mother’s voice suddenly echoed in her ears. The vivid conversation from earlier that morning.
“Leave him. Please, Seo-ah. Listen to me. When he tries to pull me into the water, don’t follow him.”
Seo-ah pulled out her phone. The screen was dark. It took one second to brighten. In that one second, Seo-ah thought she saw her own face. Or not her face, but someone’s. Her mother’s?
When the screen brightened, the lock screen was empty. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing from Kang Ryu.
That was more terrifying.
His silence spoke louder than words ever could. Kang Ryu’s silence said far more than his voice. He wasn’t waiting for her. Or he had already given up. Or he knew she would come, and he had accepted it.
Seo-ah’s fingers hovered over the screen. She tried to open Kakao Talk. But she stopped. What should she say now? “I have to leave you”? “I’m sorry”? Or should she just disappear without a word?
## Part 3: Beyond the Hospital Room Door
She walked along the corridor toward the hospital room door. Her footsteps made a sharp sound against the tile floor. The soles of her shoes were slightly worn, creaking with each step. How long had they been like this? Days? No, longer? Seo-ah couldn’t even remember when she’d bought them.
She stopped before the door. She didn’t enter. She only looked inside through the gap.
Her mother and Do-hyun were holding hands.
That was the sight that stopped her. Her mother’s pale hand and Do-hyun’s young hand touching. Her mother had placed Do-hyun’s hand over her heart. As if trying to let him feel her heartbeat. That hand slowly felt the subtle pulsing above her mother’s heart.
And Do-hyun’s eyes were closed. As if trying to feel it. As if terrified this moment would vanish, so he closed his eyes and felt only that sensation.
Looking at that scene, Seo-ah understood what she had to do.
No, she had already known. Since this morning. Since her mother’s voice first rang out. But now that knowing was becoming reality. Like a final surfacing gasp before drowning.
She understood what her mother wanted.
It wasn’t to leave her mother.
When Seo-ah realized this, she felt as if her heart had stopped. As if her chest, like her mother’s, had ceased to beat.
It was to leave Kang Ryu.
## Part 4: The Weight of Words
Seo-ah stepped into the corridor. She closed the hospital room door. Slowly. As if closing the door on her previous life. Behind that door remained only her mother and Do-hyun. Her mother’s trembling fingers and Do-hyun’s closed eyes, and that precious contact they shared.
And Seo-ah was outside.
She pulled out her phone again. She opened Kakao Talk. When the conversation window with Kang Ryu appeared, she saw his last message.
“When are you coming? I’m waiting.”
It was sent two days ago. After that, Kang Ryu had said nothing. He hadn’t pressed her. As if silence itself were an answer.
Seo-ah’s fingers hovered over the screen. She tried to type a message. But what could she write?
“I’m sorry”?
It was too small. Too inadequate to explain what she was about to do. In truth, she wasn’t sorry. Not compared to her betrayal.
“I’m leaving”?
That too was insufficient. Leaving wasn’t all of it. She had to leave him while simultaneously leaving herself. Leaving everything she had built while with him. That warm touch. That trembling voice. Those deep eyes. The memory of her body and heart responding when he called her name.
“Take care”?
That was a lie. Kang Ryu would not be fine. Neither would she.
Every word was too small. Too inadequate. To express what she was about to sever. To speak of what she was about to kill.
Because this wasn’t simply the end of a relationship. It was cutting out a piece of herself.
Seo-ah set her phone down. She deleted all the text from the message box. The screen was empty again. Looking at that emptiness, she thought of how this journey had begun.
Who was she when she first met Kang Ryu?
The daughter her mother wanted. The sister her brother needed. A person fading away within those roles. And Kang Ryu called to her. Seo-ah, who are you? What do you want? What does your voice sound like?
When she answered that call, for the first time Seo-ah felt that she existed.
But that existence had led her mother to the water’s edge of death.
Then who was Seo-ah? Who should she be?
## Part 5: The Elevator Doors
The fluorescent lights in the corridor continued to flicker. Like her own heartbeat. In that unstable light, Seo-ah walked toward the elevator. Without words. Without thought. She simply walked.
The hospital corridor seemed endless. No matter how many times she turned, another corridor appeared. And at the end of each path was always a white wall. White walls and green emergency exit signs, and someone’s groaning.
Seo-ah passed through all of it. Trying not to notice.
She pressed the elevator button. The button was small and shiny with wear. Touched by thousands of fingers. Seo-ah thought that the body heat of all those hands remained on her fingertip.
She heard the elevator ascending. That metallic sound was like someone slowly, painfully rising from deep water.
When the elevator doors opened, Seo-ah saw the mirror inside. Elevators always have mirrors. For ventilation and a sense of space. She saw her reflection in that mirror.
She was there. That self that hadn’t been reflected in the puddle. With a pale face. With clouded eyes.
And that face didn’t seem like her own.
No, it was hers. Her eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. But that face formed by their combination was unfamiliar. Like the face of a stranger seeing for the first time.
“When are you coming?”
Kang Ryu’s voice echoed in her ear. Still vivid. That trembling in his voice when she heard it through the phone. Seo-ah hadn’t answered then. And she hadn’t answered since.
The elevator doors closed and opened again. First floor. Seo-ah didn’t get out.
Second floor. She didn’t get out.
Third floor. She didn’t get out.
The elevator continued rising.
## Part 6: Realization
When it reached the fifth floor, Seo-ah realized she knew where Kang Ryu was.
Kang Ryu was always in the same place. Where she had first met him. That café. Or deeper than that. The riverside. The water’s edge.
Where her mother had been dragged into the water.
Seo-ah stepped out of the elevator. She entered the fifth-floor lobby. She left the hospital.
Outside, it was already evening. The sun was setting, the sky a mixture of pale orange and blue. The setting sun cast long shadows across the water. Seo-ah followed those shadows.
Toward the river.
And when she arrived there, Seo-ah realized what she had to do.
## Part 7: The Final Choice
She had to find Kang Ryu.
One last time.
And end it.
All of it.
The riverside path was already dim. Street lamps were flickering on one by one. Seo-ah walked beneath them. As if someone were illuminating her path.
The river water was black. During the day it had been gray, but night had turned it black. As if it were hiding its depth. As if it were cradling all its secrets.
Seo-ah looked at that black water.
And she tried to find her shadow on its surface.
But there was nothing there.
As if she had never existed at all.
—
Curtain: Seo-ah stands by the riverside. Between her mother’s warning and her own desire. As Do-hyun’s hand rested on her mother’s chest, now Seo-ah’s hand reaches to her own throat. To meet Kang Ryu. And to end everything. The water remains black, the night remains deep, and the choice remains unmade.