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# Chapter 77: The Silence of a Mother
Her mother held her, but didn’t move. The fluorescent lights of the convenience store washed over them both, and the hum of the freezer became the only sound. Sae-ah buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Her mother’s clothes were stiff with salt. It meant she still went out to sea on certain days. In her mid-sixties, and still diving into the water.
“Come here.”
Her mother spoke.
Sae-ah pulled away. Her mother cupped Sae-ah’s face in both hands, wiping her cheeks with her thumbs. Sae-ah didn’t know when she’d started crying. On the plane? At the airport? Or from the moment Kang Ri-u’s hands wrapped around her throat?
“What’s wrong with your face? Are you hurt?”
Her mother asked.
“Yes.”
Sae-ah answered. It was a lie. Her face didn’t hurt. But lying felt easier than telling the truth.
Her mother looked at her neck. The marks were still vivid. Even more so under the bright lights of the convenience store. Her mother’s face hardened. In that moment, Sae-ah knew. Her mother already understood. What someone had done to her daughter.
“Who did this?”
Her mother’s voice was low. Like the sound of surfacing from underwater. A voice that proclaimed survival. But this time, something else was woven through it. Anger. No—something deeper than anger. A primal hostility toward anyone who would harm her daughter.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah said.
“You don’t know? Sae-ah, what is this?”
Her mother gripped her shoulders. “Tell me who. Tell your mother.”
Sae-ah met her mother’s eyes. They had never looked at her like this. Not even after her father died. Her mother was a quiet person. The quietest among the divers. Like someone holding her breath underwater, she held her words on land too.
“Kang Ri-u.”
Sae-ah said.
Her mother’s hands fell away. The name Kang Ri-u was surely new to her ears. But what it represented was perfectly clear. A man. Violence. A man who had laid hands on her daughter.
“Where is he now?”
Her mother asked.
“Seoul.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Seoul? Still?”
Her mother asked. Then she grabbed Sae-ah’s arm and pulled her out of the convenience store. Outside, night had fallen. The sea was black. A few street lamps lined the breakwater, and beneath them lay fishermen’s nets.
“Mom, where are we going?”
Sae-ah asked.
Her mother didn’t answer. Instead, she hurried toward her home. It was five minutes from the harbor. A small house. One room, a kitchen, a bathroom. Nothing more, nothing less.
When they arrived, her mother led Sae-ah to the bathroom. She stood her in front of the mirror and looked at the marks on her neck herself. Five finger marks. Kang Ri-u’s fingers. No—Kang Ri-u’s despair.
“This… this is violence.”
Her mother murmured. “Sae-ah, we need to report this to the police.”
“No.”
Sae-ah said.
“No? Wasn’t he trying to kill you?”
Her mother asked.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Her mother lifted her shirt. There were marks on her back too. Bruises. Her mother’s face grew even more rigid.
“Does Do-hyun know? Does your brother know about this?”
Her mother asked.
“No.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Why didn’t you tell him? Why are you carrying all of this alone?”
Her mother’s voice rose. It was a voice Sae-ah had never heard before. A voice of anger. A voice of despair. The voice of someone who knows she can do nothing, yet feels she must do something.
“That person… he wanted to die.”
Sae-ah spoke slowly.
Her mother stopped.
“I saved him. On the Han River bridge. When he was trying to kill us all, I saved him.”
Sae-ah continued. “So… so I can’t report him to the police.”
Her mother looked at her. There was a long silence. The fluorescent light in the bathroom hummed. Water stains on the walls became visible. Marks Sae-ah had seen before. The kind her mother left when she washed after coming up from the sea.
“Sae-ah.”
Her mother spoke slowly. “You owe him nothing.”
“No, I—”
Sae-ah started, but her mother raised her hand to stop her.
“That man chose to die. And you chose to save him. But does that mean you have to accept his violence too? You’re not a savior, Sae-ah. You’re just a woman in her twenties.”
Sae-ah heard her mother’s words. They sounded like a language from another world. Words she had never heard directed at her before. Words that defended her. Words that saved her.
“Sit down.”
Her mother said.
Sae-ah sat on the bathroom floor. Her mother examined her back, arms, and neck carefully. Like a doctor. No—more precisely than a doctor. Like a mother.
“How did you hide all this through the night?”
Her mother asked.
“With clothes.”
Sae-ah answered.
“With clothes? Your neck?”
“My neck too.”
“But it’s hot outside.”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Her mother sighed. A deep sigh. The kind that comes from realizing just how much pain your child is in.
Her mother left the bathroom. When she returned minutes later, she carried bandages, ointment, and clean towels. Old things. The kind she had used to treat Sae-ah’s wounds twenty years ago, when she was small.
“Can I use these?”
Her mother asked.
Sae-ah nodded.
Her mother began to gently clean her wounds. Starting with her back. Her arms. And then her neck. Her fingers were soft. Completely different from Kang Ri-u’s fingers. A diver’s hands. Hands that held rope underwater, that gathered seafood, that grasped at life itself.
“You said Kang Ri-u, right?”
Her mother asked as she applied a bandage to her neck.
“Yes.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Does he have a father?”
“Yes. Kang Min-jun.”
Her mother continued bandaging. Covering every mark she could. It was impossible. She couldn’t cover everything. But she did what she could.
“Do you know what you need to do right now?”
Her mother asked.
“No.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Rest. Sleep, eat, and don’t think about anything.”
Her mother said. “I’m here.”
These words were lies. Her mother couldn’t do anything either. Kang Ri-u was in Seoul. Kang Min-jun was even higher up. Her mother was just a woman who worked as a diver in a small house in Jeju. There was nothing she could do. But these words were necessary. For Sae-ah. She needed the illusion that someone could protect her.
Her mother led Sae-ah to her room. A small space. One window, one bed, a small closet. Her mother made the bed and laid Sae-ah down.
“Sleep.”
Her mother said.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said.
“Sorry for what? Sleep.”
Her mother replied.
Sae-ah closed her eyes. But sleep didn’t come. Instead, her ears became hypersensitive. The sound of her mother doing something in the kitchen. Water boiling. Rice being served. The sounds of life. These sounds were warming her.
11:47 p.m. Her mother returned to the room with rice and soup.
“Eat.”
Her mother said.
Sae-ah sat up and began to eat. There was no taste. But that didn’t matter. It was her mother’s food. Something her mother had made. Something her mother had served with her own hands.
“Is Do-hyun doing well?”
Her mother asked.
“Yes. He’s going to school.”
Sae-ah answered.
“His studies?”
“He’s doing well.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Her mother said. “At least he won’t make the kind of mistake you did.”
Sae-ah looked at her mother. She couldn’t tell if those words were criticism or fact. Probably both.
“Did you… like Kang Ri-u?”
Her mother asked.
Sae-ah set down her spoon. The answer to that question was complicated. Did she like him? No, it wasn’t that. What was it then? Did she need him? Did she depend on him? Did she want to save him?
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah answered.
“You don’t know? Even as you get older, there are so many things you don’t understand. When I was young, I thought I knew everything.”
Her mother said.
“Did you have someone like that, Mom?”
Sae-ah asked.
Her mother paused. There was a long silence. She looked out the window. Night in Jeju. The black sea. The moon floating above it.
“Yes, I did.”
Her mother spoke slowly. “Before your father.”
Sae-ah looked at her mother. She had never heard her say such a thing.
“He wasn’t a good man. But he wasn’t a bad man either. He was just… wrong for me. I needed him the way he needed something from me. But what we needed weren’t the same things. So… we parted.”
Her mother said.
“And Dad?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Your father was different. He knew what he wanted. And he could say it. He could tell me, ‘I need you,’ not ‘I want you.’ ‘I need you.’”
Her mother’s voice grew softer.
“Do you understand how much that difference means? Sae-ah, you can’t be someone’s necessity. Wanting is not enough. Actually, it’s more than enough. You should only exist for yourself.”
Sae-ah heard her mother’s words. They sounded like language from another world. To exist only for yourself? What did that even mean? She had never lived that way. Always burning for someone—for her mother, for Do-hyun, for Kang Ri-u, for this world.
“Will he call?”
Sae-ah asked.
Her mother looked at her. Her eyes were deep. Like the ocean itself. Deep, dark, and heavy with something.
“He will call.”
Her mother said. “He’ll be awake by now. He’ll be looking for you. He’ll say he’s sorry. He’ll ask for forgiveness.”
Sae-ah met her mother’s gaze. She realized how well her mother understood her.
“What should I do then?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Hang up.”
Her mother said. “That’s the only power you have.”
11:59 p.m. Sae-ah lay in her mother’s bed. Her mother was on the sofa in the living room. The walls were thin, so she could hear her mother’s breathing. Deep breaths. Sad breaths. The breathing of a mother enduring the reality of what had happened to her daughter.
Sae-ah looked at her phone. When she turned off airplane mode, notifications flooded in. Five messages from Kang Min-jun. Nothing from Kang Ri-u. Perhaps Kang Min-jun had taken his phone. Or perhaps Kang Ri-u thought he couldn’t reach her.
Kang Min-jun’s final message:
“Ms. Na Sae-ah. We will proceed with legal action regarding your breach of contract. Please remit the penalty fee of 500 million won within seven days. Failure to do so will result in our company pursuing all available legal remedies. Sincerely, Kang Min-jun.”
Sae-ah read the message, then deleted it. She emptied the trash. And turned airplane mode back on.
The night in Jeju grew deeper. The sea remained black. The moon remained in the sky. And her mother’s breathing could still be heard. Through the thin walls of the bedroom. Through her mother’s sorrow.
Sae-ah closed her eyes. Sleep still didn’t come, but there was a sense of being protected. Her mother’s presence. That was enough.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Sae-ah woke. She had been dreaming. A dream of Kang Ri-u looking for her. He was floating in the Han River, extending his hand to her. And in the dream, she didn’t take it.
She sat up. She looked out the window. It was still night. Stars filled the sky. Stars you can’t see from the ground. Stars only visible at great height.
And Sae-ah realized something. The stars she had seen on the plane—they were still above her. Wherever she was now, those stars didn’t change. They remained constant.
3:15 a.m. She lay back down. This time without dreams, only aware of her own breathing.
And in the living room, her mother remained awake. Guarding her daughter. Like a diver holding her breath until the oxygen runs out. Without speaking. Simply by being there.
# Deep Water
## Part One: Eyes
When Sae-ah met her mother’s gaze, it felt like falling into deep water.
Those eyes were profound. Truly profound. Like the abyss of the waters off Jeju’s coast—deep, dark, and carrying something heavy. Sae-ah studied her mother’s face closely. The wrinkles seemed deeper. Or rather, they weren’t wrinkles at all, but traces of sorrow. The marks of time carved into her mother’s forehead, between her eyes, at the corners of her mouth. And all of it seemed to have deepened a hundredfold in the past few hours.
“He will call.”
Her mother’s voice was low and measured. As if she already knew everything. As if she could see the future. Her mother took Sae-ah’s hand. Warmth passed between their fingers. It was reassurance. And at the same time, it was sadness.
“He’ll be awake by now. He’ll be looking for you. He’ll say he’s sorry.”
As Sae-ah listened, she felt her heart sink. Kang Ri-u. His name didn’t leave her lips, but both of them were thinking of him. His face appeared in her mind’s eye. His dark eyes. His hands.
Her mother continued.
“He’ll ask for your forgiveness. And you will be weak.”
Her mother paused. In that silence, Sae-ah could hear her own heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. Rapid, though steady.
“You’ll be weak because of it. Because you saved him.”
Sae-ah looked into her mother’s eyes again. She realized how completely her mother understood her. It was frightening. To know that no secret could be hidden. That she was transparent glass before her mother.
“Mom, what should I do then?”
Sae-ah’s voice was small. Almost a whisper. Her mother stroked her face. Her fingers passed over her cheek. The touch was like a blessing. Or like a farewell.
“Hang up the phone.”
Her mother said. Her voice held a firmness. The voice of a stern mother. But beneath it was sincerity.
“That’s the only power you have. It’s the only way to save yourself.”
Sae-ah nodded. But her heart didn’t. Her heart wavered. Her heart was already with Kang Ri-u.
## Part Two: 11:59 p.m.
In the quiet residential neighborhood of Old Jeju City. Her mother’s house. Sae-ah lay in her mother’s bed, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing there. Only faint darkness.
Her mother’s breathing could be heard from the living room. The walls were thin, and every sound traveled through. Deep breathing. And sadness within that breath. Her mother’s sadness. The sadness of enduring what had happened to her daughter.
Sae-ah found herself holding back tears. She bit her lip. She tasted blood. The taste of iron.
She picked up her phone. When she disabled airplane mode, notifications poured in. The screen flickered. Messages. Emails. Missed calls.
Five messages from Kang Min-jun.
First: “Ms. Na Sae-ah. Please contact us.”
Second: “Miss Na. The situation is serious. Contact us immediately.”
Third: “Wherever you are, we will find you.”
Fourth: A photo. A contract. Penalty clauses. The number 500 million won was highlighted in red.
Fifth: “Ms. Na Sae-ah. We will proceed with legal action regarding your breach of contract. Please remit the penalty fee of 500 million won within seven days. Failure to do so will result in our company pursuing all available legal remedies. Sincerely, Kang Min-jun.”
Nothing from Kang Ri-u.
Sae-ah verified this reality multiple times. She scrolled up looking for his messages. Scrolled down. She typed his name into the search bar.
Nothing.
Perhaps Kang Min-jun had taken his phone. Or perhaps Kang Ri-u thought he couldn’t reach her. Or perhaps something worse—Kang Ri-u had forgotten her.
Sae-ah read Kang Min-jun’s final message again and again. As if there might be hidden meaning between the lines. But it was only a threat. A clear, legal threat.
She deleted the message.
She emptied the trash.
And she turned airplane mode back on.
## Part Three: A Night at Sea
The night in Jeju grew deeper.
Sae-ah looked out at the sea from her mother’s bed. The sea was there. Black sea. In the night, the sea looked like a great black beast. It breathed. Waves came and went. Came and went. Like a heartbeat.
The moon was rising. Nearly full. Its light created a path across the black water. A silver road. Would someone travel down that road to return? Would someone travel down it to leave?
Her mother’s breathing still echoed from the living room. Through the thin walls of the bedroom. Through her mother’s sorrow. Sae-ah listened to that sound. As if it were an incantation protecting her.
She closed her eyes.
Sleep still didn’t come. But there was a sense of being guarded. Her mother’s presence. On the sofa in the living room, watching over her daughter. That was enough.
That was enough to endure.
## Part Four: Dreams
Around 2:33 a.m., Sae-ah dreamed.
The dream was vivid. More real than reality itself.
Kang Ri-u was in the sea. In the middle of the waters off Jeju. In the deep, black depths. His hand was raised. He was reaching out to Sae-ah. His mouth moved. He was saying something. But there was no sound. The water swallowed his words.
Sae-ah stood at the water’s edge. Black water of unknowable depth gripped her feet. It was cold. Freezing cold. Kang Ri-u called to her. Still no sound, but she could read it in his eyes.
‘Sae-ah. Help me.’
And Sae-ah reached out. But her hand didn’t touch his. It never touched. As if there were an invisible wall between them. And that wall kept growing higher.
Kang Ri-u’s face began to disappear beneath the water. First his mouth. Then his nose. Then his eyes. Finally his hair.
And Sae-ah could only watch. Hand outstretched.
## Part Five: Awakening
3:15 a.m., Sae-ah woke.
Her chest heaved. Her hands were damp with sweat. Her body was rigid. As if she had truly been drowning.
She sat up. She looked out the window. It was still night. But the moon had moved. Night was continuing to pass. Time doesn’t stop. Sae-ah cannot stop.
She looked at the stars. The ones you cannot see from the ground. The ones visible only at great heights. The ones she had seen on the plane.
And Sae-ah understood something.
Wherever she was now, those stars didn’t change. No matter how far she ran, those stars remained above. The stars don’t judge. They simply shine.
She lay back down. This time facing the window. Facing the stars.
Her mother’s breathing could still be heard from the living room.
## Part Six: A Mother’s Night
In the darkness of the living room, her mother remained awake.
She lay on the sofa, but didn’t sleep. Her eyes were closed, but she was not sleeping. As if preparing for an emergency.
She had been a diver. Once. Though age had taken her from the sea, the habits of those days remained. The habit of holding her breath deeply. The habit of enduring. The habit of lasting until the oxygen runs out.
She did this now. Controlling her breathing. Drawing in deeply, exhaling slowly. As if underwater.
She heard movement from the bedroom. Sae-ah turning. Sae-ah moaning. Sae-ah dreaming. Her mother felt her chest sink as she listened.
‘Please. Please wake up. Please survive.’
Her mother prayed silently. With or without faith, she prayed. For her daughter.
The wall clock chimed. 3:30 a.m. Her mother remained awake. Guarding her daughter. Without words. Simply by being present.
It was the only thing a mother could do. It was a mother’s power.
## Part Seven: Dawn
At 5:45 a.m., the sky began to brighten.
The black sea transformed into a deeper shade of blue. The stars began to fade. One by one. Two by two. Three by three. As if someone were turning off lights. Or as if someone were taking them away.
The birds began to sing. Jeju’s birds. They were greeting the new day. Without thought. Without judgment. Simply because a new day had come.
In the bedroom, Sae-ah still slept. This time without dreams. In the living room, her mother finally fell into deep sleep.
The night had ended.
A new day had begun.
And Sae-ah’s phone remained in airplane mode. There would be no notifications. No voice of Kang Ri-u. No threats from Kang Min-jun.
Only the quiet of dawn.
Only the breathing of a mother and daughter.
Only that was enough.
Epilogue
Days later, her mother asked her a question.
“Has he called?”
Sae-ah shook her head.
“No.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Her mother said. And both of them knew it wasn’t a lie. No call is a blessing. Silence is salvation.
Sae-ah looked at the sea beyond the window. It was daytime now. Not black. Blue. Bright.
And somewhere across that sea, there would be someone. Kang Ri-u. He would be looking for her. He would apologize. He would ask for forgiveness.
But when that moment comes, Sae-ah will hang up.
Because it is the only way to save herself.
Because it is the strength her mother taught her.
The sea continues to move with its waves. The moon and stars remain where they are.
There are things that don’t change.
And that is enough.