Off limit President || Yungi

- eighteen -

Yunho || Mingi 

When I finally arrived at my mother's house out of town, the weight of everything that had happened seemed to crash down on me all at once. 

As soon as she opened the door, I couldn't hold back any longer. I threw myself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

She held me tightly, her voice full of worry. "Yunho, what happened? Why are you here like this?"

I could barely get the words out, my voice breaking with every attempt. "Mom... I... Mingi... he... I couldn't... I had to leave."

My mother's grip tightened around me, and she guided me inside, her own tears beginning to fall. "Shh, it's okay. You're safe now. Tell me what happened."

I struggled to form coherent sentences, my sobs choking my words. "He... he was so different, Mom. He hurt me. Not just... not just physically, but... but emotionally. I don't know what I did wrong."

She shushed me softly, stroking my hair as she held me. "You didn't do anything wrong, Yunho. This isn't your fault. You're safe here. We'll figure this out together."

I clung to her, feeling the warmth and safety of her embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a glimmer of hope.

For the rest of the day, I stayed in my mother's arms, unable to bring myself to do anything else. I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to move—I just wanted to feel the comfort of her presence. 

Every now and then, tears would spill over, and I'd bury my face in her shoulder, my voice trembling as I asked, "Mom, was I the problem? Did I do something wrong?"

She held me tighter each time, her voice steady and soothing. "No, Yunho, you weren't the problem. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes people change, and it's not your fault."

Her words brought a fragile comfort, but the pain was still there, raw and overwhelming. My mother's warmth was the only thing keeping me anchored, her gentle reassurances the only thing holding back the flood of despair. 

I couldn't shake the feeling of worthlessness, the haunting echo of Mingi's words and actions.

As the hours passed, my mother continued to cradle me, whispering soft words of love and encouragement. 

The afternoon light faded into evening, and still, I remained in her arms, seeking solace in her unwavering support. 

She didn't push me to talk more, to eat, or to move—she simply let me be, understanding that right now, all I needed was to be held and reassured that I wasn't alone.

As night fell, my mother suggested we go to a nearby food stall. It wasn't anything fancy—nothing in the village was—but it was my favorite place to visit as a child. 

She hoped it might help take my mind off Mingi and bring a little comfort. I reluctantly agreed, feeling emotionally drained but appreciating her effort to lift my spirits.

The walk to the stall was quiet, my mother's presence a calming balm to my frayed nerves. The familiar sights and sounds of the village brought a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. 

When we arrived at the food stall, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly cooked food greeted us. 

The place looked just as I remembered, with its simple wooden tables and benches, the soft glow of lanterns casting a comforting light.

We found a seat, and my mother ordered our favorite dishes. As we waited, she talked about old times, sharing stories from my childhood. 

I listened, my heart aching with a mix of fond memories and the pain of my current situation.