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# Chapter 194: Broken Signal
Kang Riou’s breathing stopped.
Seia heard it. Through the phone line — the exact moment air ceased entering her lungs. As if someone had drowned, unable to breathe anymore. And that silence filled Seia. Not just with anxiety, but something deeper. Guilt. Or awareness. The realization that she had just spoken something irreversible.
“Kang Riou?”
Seia spoke again.
“I’m here.”
Kang Riou’s voice returned. But it was different now. Something had broken. Through the taxi noise on the other end, Seia could sense something else. The sound of fingers pressing against something. Or a fist clenching. The body’s involuntary response.
“What exactly did you tell Father? Precisely.”
Kang Riou asked. His voice was now completely recalibrated, as if he had just reassembled himself. Like a machine. As if he’d stripped away all emotion.
“I can’t tell you everything Mother said to me. Just… my voice meant something to him. It frightened him, or…”
Seia trailed off. She didn’t know exactly what to say. Her mother’s fragmented words. Kang Minjun. Voice. Fire. None of it formed a clear picture in her mind. Like puzzle pieces scattered and mixed.
“Ah. I see.”
Kang Riou said.
“See what?”
Seia asked.
Down the hallway, Haneul approached closer. She lifted Seia’s arm gently. But unmistakably. A signal to end the call. Seia turned away from her, turning her head.
“Before I go see Mother, there’s something I need to check first.”
Kang Riou said. His voice carried determination, as if a decision had already been made. As if he was now about to execute it.
“What?”
Seia asked.
“Documents at the house. Father’s documents. I need to find something.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“You still need to go to the hospital…”
“Later.”
Kang Riou ended it. As if it were final. And Seia heard something in that voice. Fear. Or something beyond it. Despair. No, something deeper still. Acceptance. Acceptance that she already knew something but had kept turning away from it. And now she couldn’t turn away anymore.
“Kang Riou. What are you doing?”
Seia asked. The question was superficial. But beneath it lay a deeper one. Who are you? Who are you really? And what were we to each other?
“I’m looking for what I need to know. Even though it’s already late.”
Kang Riou said.
Seia said nothing. There was nothing to say. And Kang Riou didn’t speak either. Only the taxi’s noise filled the phone line. Seoul at night. Lights. Traffic signals. And two people’s breathing. Separate breaths. On the same line but in different worlds.
“I’ll contact you if I find anything.”
Kang Riou said.
“Kang Riou…”
Seia said.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t frighten Mother. Please.”
Seia’s voice was low. Almost a whisper. Beneath the fluorescent lights of the hallway, deep in a hospital where hundreds of patients slept.
Kang Riou didn’t answer. Several seconds passed. And that silence filled Seia. Was it acceptance? Refusal? Or silence about something already decided?
“I wouldn’t do that.”
Kang Riou said finally.
And the call ended.
Seia lowered her phone. Her hands were trembling. Strangely, not from cold. The hospital room was warm. The hallway was warm too. This was a tremor of nerves. A tremor in the bones. Or something coming from somewhere deeper.
Haneul placed a hand on Seia’s shoulder.
“What did you do?”
Haneul asked. It wasn’t a question—it was a diagnosis.
“What do you mean?”
Seia asked.
“Kang Riou was supposed to come to the hospital, wasn’t he?”
Haneul said.
“Yeah.”
Seia admitted. She didn’t have the energy to lie.
“And?”
“I told him about Mother…”
Seia said.
“So?”
Haneul pressed.
“He’s not coming now. He says he has to go somewhere else first.”
Seia said.
Haneul didn’t speak. But Seia understood what her silence meant. It was the silence of a sigh. The silence of resignation. Perhaps the silence of having known from the beginning.
“I need to go back to the room.”
Seia said.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Haneul said.
They walked down the hallway. The fluorescent lights continued to illuminate them. In that brightness, Seia could see her shadow stretching longer. Near the end of night, the fluorescent lights stretched all shadows long. As if someone were following her. Or as if she were following herself.
When they entered the room, Dohyeon was dozing in the chair beside the bed. His head kept nearly falling, jolting awake, then dozing again. Seeing it, Seia felt something fill her chest. Was it sadness? Guilt? Or something more?
Mother was still sleeping. Or unconscious. It was hard to distinguish. But her face was peaceful. As if this moment were the only one without pain.
Seia sat in a chair. Next to Dohyeon. Haneul sat in another. The room held three people and one patient, and only the monitor’s regular beeping.
Time passed. Impossible to tell if it was minutes or hours.
Seia’s phone buzzed.
A message from Kang Riou.
Found Father’s documents. And Mother’s name is there. In the papers.
The next message.
Mother did something to Father. I’ve known for years… but now I think I understand why we became like this.
And a third message.
I think I need to ask Mother something. But I’m afraid it will hurt her more.
Seia stared at the screen. She read those messages. And the more she read, the more she understood something had gone terribly wrong.
Everything was connected.
Mother. Kang Minjun. Kang Riou. And her own voice.
Seia set down her phone. Her hands were shaking. Haneul looked at her. That gaze was sharp. The look of someone who knew something. Or who didn’t want to know.
“What is it?”
Haneul asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seia answered. It was true. There was so much she didn’t know. Her past. Her parents. What her voice meant. And most importantly—who she really was.
Mother’s monitor continued beeping. Regularly. As if trying to prove she was still alive. But Seia could sense it. The secrets Mother carried were killing her.
Kang Riou sat in his car. The car wasn’t moving. Parked in some alley. Seoul’s night continued on, but Kang Riou remained still.
His fingers were trembling.
Always like this. In crucial moments. When he couldn’t control his own nerves. As if his body were betraying him.
He looked at the documents again. Father’s documents. Old contracts. One of them bore Mother’s name. Seia’s mother’s name. And beside it, Kang Minjun’s signature.
Kang Minjun. His father.
And the document was dated twenty-three years ago.
Kang Riou stared at that date. Twenty-three years ago. That was exactly the year Seia was born.
His fingers trembled more violently.
What is this? Kang Riou asked himself. What is this?
But he couldn’t ask himself a question he didn’t know the answer to. Only his fingers continued trembling. As if his body already knew the truth he needed to find.
In the hospital room, Dohyeon woke up.
The child looked at Seia. She kept picking up her phone and putting it down. As if she wanted to call someone but couldn’t.
Dohyeon said nothing. But the child understood that something needed to be known. And the only way it could reach Seia was through silence.
Haneul remained seated. In the chair. She had long accepted that watching others’ pain was her role. That this was all she could do.
Mother continued sleeping.
Or fleeing.
The hospital’s night continued. Beneath fluorescent lights. Where everything is revealed. And where everything is hidden.
Seia looked at her hands. Still trembling.
And now she understood what that trembling meant.
The trembling of not knowing who you are.
The trembling of not knowing who you were supposed to be.
And the trembling that you must know.
To be continued…
# The Weight of Truth
## Part One: Eyes
The light in the hospital room was too bright. Seia hated that brightness. The cold white fluorescent glow exposed everything. Mother’s pale face. The arm connected to machines. The breathing moving her chest up and down. It felt as if the entire room were a vast interrogation chamber, a place where nothing could hide.
Haneul’s eyes found Seia.
Sharp. As if trying to see through something. No, it felt different. The gaze of someone who knew something. Or someone who didn’t want to know. Those two emotions were strangely tangled together. Under that gaze, Seia felt herself shrink.
“What?”
Seia asked first. Her voice wavered. A question that escaped without her permission. In that moment, Seia understood. The way Haneul was looking at her had changed. As if she had become someone different.
“What do you think?”
Haneul countered. It was less a question than a test. A testing voice. A voice that weighed.
“I don’t know.”
Seia answered. That was true. There was so much she didn’t know.
Her past.
Her parents.
What her voice meant.
And most importantly—who she really was.
Seia’s fingers rubbed against each other. A small friction sound. It was her only way of expressing her anxiety. She could have bitten her lip, but that would make her seem weaker. Rubbing her fingers was at least a signal only she knew about.
“What will you tell Mother when she wakes up?”
Haneul’s voice dropped into the room. Like throwing a stone. And the ripples it made as it sank into water spread to Seia’s chest.
“Why are you asking?”
Seia countered.
“You’re hiding something.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A voice full of certainty.
Seia’s hand stopped. The rubbing motion ceased. And in that stillness, Seia realized. Haneul knew something. Or had noticed.
“What am I hiding?”
Seia’s voice weakened. An involuntary question.
Haneul didn’t answer. Instead, she looked directly at Seia. That gaze sharpened even more. Like a blade. And Seia felt that blade cutting through her. Deeply.
The monitor beeped.
Regularly. Beep beep beep. The sound of Mother’s heartbeat. As if trying to prove she was still alive.
But Seia could sense it. The secrets Mother carried were killing her. Slowly. Very slowly. Like drinking poison.
And Seia was drinking that same poison.
## Part Two: The Alley at Night
Seoul’s night was deep.
Kang Riou sat in his car. The car wasn’t moving. Parked in some narrow alley. A narrow passageway behind Gangnam Station. It was the loneliest place in the world. 11:45 PM. All the surrounding buildings were dark. Only one convenience store glowed, and in front of it, a homeless man drank canned beer. He too seemed to be waiting for something, like Kang Riou.
Seoul’s night continued on, but Kang Riou remained still.
His fingers were trembling.
On the steering wheel. A quiet tremor. Like a small earthquake. It was always like this. In crucial moments. When he couldn’t control his own nerves. As if his body were betraying him.
Between Kang Riou’s thumb and forefinger was a cigarette. Unlit. He kept putting it in his mouth and taking it out. A repetitive motion. A meaningless action to calm his nerves.
On the passenger seat lay documents.
Father’s documents. Kang Minjun’s. Papers left by his dead father. Old contracts. Paper printed in the 1990s. Pages yellowed with age.
One of them bore Mother’s name.
Seia’s mother’s exact name.
And beside it was Kang Minjun’s signature.
Kang Minjun. His father.
His father’s signature. It was a signature Kang Riou recognized. From many contracts, many documents. But the context next to this signature was different. A signature from a different time, a different relationship.
And the document was dated twenty-three years ago.
Kang Riou stared at that date. May 15, 1999. The exact date was recorded. Twenty-three years ago. That was exactly the year Seia was born. As far as Kang Riou knew, Seia was born in July 1999. If that was true, this contract had been written two months before Seia was born.
Kang Riou read the contract’s contents again. It was full of legal terminology. It was thanks to Father that he could understand legal language at this age. Father always said, “To understand the world, you must understand the law.”
The document’s contents were clear. Financial support. Medical expenses. And a ‘confidentiality agreement.’
Kang Riou’s mouth went dry.
Confidentiality agreement.
That phrase kept catching his eye. As if that phrase were glowing. As if it were calling his name.
His fingers trembled more violently.
As if a chill were passing through him. As if something were awakening.
What is this? Kang Riou asked himself. What is this?
But he couldn’t ask himself a question he didn’t know the answer to. Instead, his fingers only continued trembling. As if his body already knew the truth he needed to understand.
Kang Riou started the car. Then turned it off. He repeated this. The engine started and stopped. Stopped and started.
As if he knew that making a decision could destroy him.
## Part Three: The Language of Silence
In the hospital room, Dohyeon woke.
The child’s eyes opened first. Slowly. As if lifting something heavy. And vision came into focus. The ceiling. The window. The monitor. And Seia.
Seia was picking up her phone and putting it down repeatedly. Picking it up. Turning on the screen. About to dial. Stopping. Putting it down. Picking it up again. Repeating endlessly. As if she wanted to call someone but couldn’t. As if calling would trigger something irreversible.
Dohyeon said nothing. Though young, the child already understood. That silence can sometimes speak louder than words. That silence can sometimes be sharper than a blade.
Dohyeon tried moving his hands. His arm moved. His fingers too. Everything seemed fine. Then why was he hospitalized? Dohyeon searched his memory. Mother’s voice. The bright light of the emergency room. The doctor’s serious expression.
Drug overdose.
That word surfaced.
Dohyeon looked more carefully at Seia. That older sister looked truly exhausted. As if she had spent all her energy to save Dohyeon. As if she had already died by preventing his death.
And Dohyeon thought there was something he needed to understand. A way to reach his sister. What it could be.
It wasn’t words. Seia couldn’t hear words right now. She was trapped in her own thoughts. Deep in a cave where no light reached.
So the method was silence.
Dohyeon simply looked at his sister. Without speaking. Just watching. As if carrying the weight with her.
Haneul remained seated. In the chair. The worn gray armchair with old armrests. That chair had probably held hundreds of families. Hundreds of people sitting and waiting for someone they loved.
She had long accepted that watching others’ pain was her role. When Mother was sick. When Sister cried. When Dohyeon collapsed.
Haneul was always there. Unable to do anything, but present. In that place. Together.
That was the only thing she could do.
Mother continued sleeping.
Or fleeing.
Resting on the bed. Or closing her eyes to the truth.
Seia looked at Mother’s face. A sleeping face. It appeared peaceful. As if all pain and secrets had vanished. As if she existed in another world.
“What does Mother know?”
Seia murmured. Her voice was very small. As if only for herself.
The hospital’s night continued.
Beneath fluorescent lights. Where everything is revealed. And where everything is hidden. A hospital is a place of paradox. Where death and life coexist. Where secrets are exposed while the most secrets are kept.
Doctors promise medical confidentiality. Nurses protect patients’ privacy. Everyone is sworn to silence. Because of that, everyone tells the truth.
Or lies.
Seia looked at her hands. Still trembling.
Her fingers trembled slightly. As if a small bird were fluttering its wings in her palm.
And now she understood what that trembling meant.
The trembling of not knowing who you are.
The trembling of not knowing who you were supposed to be.
And the trembling that you must know.
Seia slowly picked up her phone. This time, she didn’t put it down. She turned on the screen. Opened contacts. And found one name.
Kang Riou.
Her fingers trembled more severely.
But Seia pressed the call button.
The dial tone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And someone answered.
“Hello?”
It was Kang Riou’s voice. Trembling. Just like Seia’s hands.
## Part Four: The Boundary of Truth
The moment Kang Riou answered the phone, her fingers stopped.
The name on the screen: ‘Seia’.
Kang Riou knew that meant something. That Seia was calling at this hour, in this moment.
“Uh… Seia?”
Kang Riou’s voice trembled. Without meaning to.
“Sister?”
Seia’s voice came through. Small. Like a child’s voice.
“Yeah. What is it?”
Kang Riou asked. But he already knew. Something had changed. Seia had realized too.
“I… I found something. Among Mother’s things.”
Seia said.
Kang Riou’s chest tightened.
“What?”
“Medical records. Old ones. Mother’s childbirth records. But…”
Seia stopped.
“But?”
“I’m not there. My name isn’t there. Well, it is, but it’s under a different name.”
Kang Riou’s fingers trembled again.
“What do you mean?”
“’Lee Seia’. No wait, it seems like it was ‘Lee Seia’ at first. And then it was changed to just ‘Seia’ later… Sister, what is this?”
Through the phone came Seia’s breathing. Quickened breathing.
Kang Riou couldn’t answer. Instead, she looked at the documents on the passenger seat. Confidentiality agreement. That phrase came into focus again.
“Sister… Do you know?”
Seia asked.
“No. I don’t know either.”
Kang Riou lied. Or maybe she wasn’t lying. Kang Riou truly didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to understand. Because knowing would mean it couldn’t be undone.
“Sister…”
“Yeah?”
“Who… who am I really?”
Before that question, Kang Riou fell silent. A long silence. In that silence was everything. All the answers. The silence itself was the answer.
“Sister?”
Seia called again.
“Seia… you’re just Seia. Whatever else it is.”
“What does that mean?”
Seia’s voice rose. Desperation mixed in.
“I don’t know your past. I don’t know your history. Just… all I know is who you are now. And that’s enough.”
Kang Riou said. Was it a lie? Was it the truth? Even Kang Riou didn’t know.
“Then what about Mother? Mother knows something. Mother has—”