As we stepped out of the hospital, the world descended in a blur of noise and flashing lights. Journalists swarmed like vultures, shouting questions I couldn't even register. Cameras clicked in rapid bursts, capturing our grief like it was entertainment. The Kims' bodyguards immediately formed a protective wall around us, their stern presence pushing the crowd back.
Mr. Kim's voice was calm but firm. "You're coming with us. It's not safe otherwise."
His tone left no room for argument. Mrs. Kim opened her mouth to speak, her brows furrowed in disapproval. Seoyeon looked ready to explode. But Mr. Kim's word was final, and no one dared challenge him. So I ended up in the last place I ever thought I'd be—the Kim mansion.
That night, the silence was deafening.
I tried to sleep. God, I tried. But every time I closed my eyes, I was there again. The alley. The rain. Hyunjin's blood on my hands. His fading voice telling me not to cry. I couldn't breathe. I got up and made my way downstairs, my body moving on autopilot as I headed to the kitchen.
I didn't see Mrs. Kim until the light flicked on.
I jumped, startled, and the glass in my hand slipped. It shattered against the tile floor, the sound piercing in the quiet night.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, kneeling to pick up the shards. "
Wait—" she tried to stop me, but I'd already sliced my finger.
Just like that—I was back there again.
The color. The smell. The way Hyunjin had looked in my arms, barely breathing.
My chest tightened. My vision blurred. My breath caught and wouldn't release. The beginning of a panic attack crept up like a wave ready to drown me.
Then arms wrapped around me.
Mrs. Kim.
Her embrace was unexpected—warm, steady, and real. She pulled me into her, letting me sob into her shoulder, holding me like I was something fragile and worth protecting.
She didn't speak right away. She didn't need to. Her touch said everything.
When I calmed down enough to breathe, she led me gently upstairs, her hand never leaving mine. She sat with me on the edge of the bed and asked softly, "What happened?"
So I told her.
Every brutal detail. Every piece of guilt. I apologized again and again, like the words could somehow rewind time. I wept until I could barely speak.
She didn't blame me. She didn't accuse me. She just stayed.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and I cried myself into sleep, her quiet presence the only comfort I had.
A week passed. Hyunjin was still unconscious.
Every day, I went to the hospital—only when I knew Seoyeon wouldn't be there. I didn't want to make things worse. I'd sit beside him for hours, talking about random things, reading to him, whispering desperate prayers under my breath. I begged him to wake up. Just once. Just for a second.
One afternoon, as I sat beside him reading softly, the door slammed open.
Seoyeon.
Before I could react, she grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from his side.
"Get away from him," she snapped, yanking me back.
I stumbled. Her hand cracked across my face.
Her voice cracked like glass. "It's all your fault! If you had never come into our lives, Hyunjin would be fine right now! Why couldn't you just get trafficked and disappear from our lives for good?"
