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# Chapter 164: The Weight of What Remains
The car moved. Kang Riou’s black sedan was leaving Hangang Park behind. Sae-ah sat in the back seat, watching Seoul’s nightscape flow past the window. The city lights fell like tears. She looked at her own hands. They were trembling. Like Kang Riou’s hands. Like Father’s hands. Like all the hands in this family.
Kang Riou kept his eyes fixed on the road. His face was intermittently lit by the reflected glow of streetlights through the windshield. Pale. As if he were already dead. As if only his body remained while his soul had fled somewhere else.
“Where are we going?”
Sae-ah didn’t ask this aloud. But the question hung in the air between them. All the unspoken questions filled the space between their bodies.
Kang Riou’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. As if it were the only thing keeping her anchored. That desperate clutching—as though releasing her fingers would cause her to shatter completely.
“Did you really tell Mom what you said?”
Kang Riou asked. Her voice seemed impossibly loud in the car’s silence.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She looked out the window. They were near Gangnam Station. Luxury buildings pierced the sky. Their windows were all dark. Past eleven at night. People were either in bed, or lying in bed but awake, or awake but thinking about death.
“Sae-ah.”
Kang Riou called her name. It wasn’t a question—it was a summons. As if she needed to retrieve Sae-ah from somewhere. As if Sae-ah had already drifted far away.
Sae-ah looked at Kang Riou through the rearview mirror. There, his eyes searched for her. And in those eyes, Sae-ah saw herself—not her image, but her death. The death they created together.
“It’s real.”
Sae-ah said.
Kang Riou’s eyes returned to the road. His face darkened again as the light passed. As if time itself were passing him by. As if the world were abandoning him.
The car kept moving. Without knowing where. Kang Riou probably didn’t know either. The vehicle seemed to move of its own accord. As if it were following a predetermined path, independent of either of their wills.
“Did Mom say that I’m killing you? Did she say that?”
Kang Riou asked again. This time her voice was very small. As if the question were directed at herself.
“And that you’re killing me like Father did.”
Sae-ah added.
Kang Riou’s fingers convulsed on the wheel. Then, suddenly, the car swerved sharply across lanes. As if Kang Riou had lost control of herself. As if her body had suddenly stopped being her own.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Riou whispered. And again: “I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah felt the weight of that apology. It wasn’t just words. It was a confession. An admission. And within that admission lay everything—that she was destroying Sae-ah, that she was acting like Sae-ah’s father, that she had already crossed a point of no return.
The car was circling back toward Hangang Park. Drawing circles. Repeating the same location. And that was their relationship. Repetition. Endless repetition. The same situation, the same words, the same despair.
“Stop the car.”
Sae-ah said.
Kang Riou didn’t stop. She kept driving. As if she couldn’t stop. As if stopping would cause her to completely collapse.
“Kang Riou. Stop the car.”
Sae-ah spoke louder.
Kang Riou’s foot pressed the brake. The car slowed gradually. And came to rest on the side of the road near Hangang Park. 12:23 AM. The surroundings were completely silent. As if the world were sleeping. As if only these two were awake.
Kang Riou released the steering wheel. Her hands fell to her lap. Still trembling. As if that were now a permanent state. As if her hands were destined to shake forever.
“I have to leave you.”
Sae-ah said. The words weren’t a decision—they were a confirmation. The confirmation of something she already knew.
Kang Riou didn’t answer. Instead, she laughed. Or rather, it was too desperate a sound to be called laughter. Like the sound that comes when someone is strangling you. Like the sound of your soul leaving your body.
“I know. I know too.”
Kang Riou said. And in that moment, her hand reached toward Sae-ah. But this time there was no contact. Just a hand suspended in air, trembling, attempting to grasp something but unable to hold it. A gesture of utter desperation.
“But I can’t leave you. I know I should, but I can’t.”
Kang Riou continued.
Sae-ah understood the paradox. How love and destruction could be the same act. How protection and imprisonment were indistinguishable. And the most terrifying thing was that Kang Riou knew her actions were destructive yet couldn’t stop. That was the sickness. That was Father’s sickness.
“Then we’re both dying.”
Sae-ah murmured. It wasn’t a question—it was an observation. An observed fact. A confirmed ending.
Kang Riou’s hands dropped. Back to her lap. And tears fell onto them. Like raindrops falling from the sky. As if her body were crying. As if her soul were screaming through her flesh.
“If I leave you, you’ll survive.”
Kang Riou said. Her voice was barely audible now.
“No. I’ll still die.”
Sae-ah answered. It was true. Whether with Kang Riou or without her, Sae-ah would continue dying. Because that was her fate. Moving slowly toward death. That was her life.
Kang Riou got out of the car. Suddenly. As if she could no longer stay inside. With a desperation like suffocation. Sae-ah watched her back. She was walking toward the Han River. As if intending to step into the water.
Sae-ah got out of the car. She followed Kang Riou. As if it were necessary. As if it were her role.
Kang Riou was staring at the Han River. The Han River at night. Light reflected like a mirror. As if stars had fallen into the water. As if the sky existed beneath the earth.
“Do you remember everything I’ve done to you?”
Kang Riou asked. She still wasn’t looking at Sae-ah. Her eyes remained fixed on the water.
“I remember everything.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Was there… was there love among it?”
Kang Riou asked a question she shouldn’t have asked.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Because she couldn’t. Standing at the boundary between love and destruction. Had it been love, or simply addiction? Had it been salvation, or imprisonment? Had it been the love of two people, or one person’s madness and another’s suicide?
Kang Riou’s hand reached for Sae-ah’s hand. One last time. With a desperation as if releasing it would mean losing it forever. And Sae-ah didn’t pull away. She thought she should, but her fingers wouldn’t move.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Riou said again. And this time it wasn’t an apology—it was a farewell.
“Me too.”
Sae-ah answered. And it was both an apology and a goodbye.
Kang Riou’s hand slipped from Sae-ah’s. Slowly. As if it were the most difficult action in the world. And it was. For Kang Riou, releasing Sae-ah’s hand meant releasing her own soul.
Kang Riou walked. Toward the Han River. Sae-ah didn’t follow. Couldn’t follow. As if a boundary line had been drawn between them. As if crossing it meant never returning.
Kang Riou reached the railing along the riverbank. She raised her hand. As if waving goodbye. As if announcing her departure.
“Kang Riou!”
Sae-ah cried out. But it was already too late.
Kang Riou turned. She looked at Sae-ah. One last time. In her eyes there was no more despair. Instead, there was peace. As if she were already dead. As if her soul had already left her body.
“Goodbye, Sae-ah.”
Kang Riou said. Her voice was fading into the wind.
“Not goodbye!”
Sae-ah cried out. But Kang Riou was already moving.
It happened in an instant. As if time had stopped. As if the world held its breath. And within that moment, Sae-ah’s entire life was compressed. All the despair. All the love. All the destruction. All the hopelessness.
Kang Riou’s body fell into the Han River. Like a bird taking flight. Like leaping toward freedom. As if it were the only beautiful act she could perform.
Sae-ah screamed. But she didn’t know if the scream was her own or if it belonged to the world. As if all living things were screaming simultaneously. As if the universe itself were crying.
And the Han River received Kang Riou. Like a mother embracing her child. Like the earth calling her children home. Like death welcoming life’s return.
Sae-ah collapsed against the railing. Her knees met concrete. The impact traveled through her bones. Like an electric shock. Like she was dying alongside her.
“No… no…”
Sae-ah murmured. But it wasn’t denial. It was acknowledgment. Acknowledgment that this had happened. Acknowledgment that it was over. And most terribly, acknowledgment that she had wanted this.
Her phone rang. In her pocket. Sae-ah reached in and answered. It was Do-hyun. 12:35 AM. His voice was crying.
“Noona… Mom… Mom again…”
Do-hyun’s voice cut out.
Sae-ah couldn’t move. As if her body had turned to stone. As if she couldn’t move anymore. Like Kang Riou’s body. Sinking into the water with a weight that would never surface again.
“Noona!”
Do-hyun screamed.
“Yes… yes…”
Sae-ah barely made a sound.
“Mom’s heart… Mom’s…”
Do-hyun couldn’t finish.
Sae-ah looked at the Han River. The night water was black. As if it were swallowing everything. As if it were the final destination of all death.
And in that moment, Sae-ah understood who she was. She wasn’t Kang Riou. She was her own mother. She was her own father. And she was slowly, certainly, killing her little Do-hyun in the name of love.
“I’m… I’m coming now.”
Sae-ah said.
But she didn’t move. She remained on her knees by the Han River. Her hands were trembling. Like Kang Riou’s hands. Like Father’s hands. Like all the hands in this family.
The lights were going out. One by one. And Sae-ah felt as if she would be the last light remaining. Burning alone, carrying the weight of everything that was left behind.