Haein was now nine years old. Each year had only deepened the void between her and her family. Her father remained an elusive figure, a shadow in the background of her life, always busy with meetings or distant travels. Her mother, who had once been indifferent, now seemed outright cold, often finding reasons to criticize or dismiss her. Soo-cheol, meanwhile, basked in the affection that Haein longed for but rarely received.
The days were a routine blur of school, study, and solitude. Haein found herself retreating further into her books, her quiet sanctuary against a world that seemed determined to push her to the margins. Her teachers admired her diligence, her classmates envied her intelligence, but none of it mattered at home. Her successes, which should have been celebrated, were instead brushed aside as trivial.
One day, an incident at school marked a turning point. A group of girls had gathered around Soo-cheol, giggling and admiring the new watch he wore—a gift from their mother. As Haein approached, hoping to join in the conversation, she overheard their mocking whispers.
"Why doesn't your sister ever smile, Soo-cheol? Is she a robot or something?" one of the girls sneered.
Soo-cheol laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. "Who knows? Maybe she just doesn't have a heart."
Haein paused, the words slicing through her like a knife. She had grown accustomed to the teasing, but hearing it from her own brother stung more than she cared to admit. She turned away, pretending not to hear, and forced herself to focus on the math problem she’d been working on. Numbers were easier than people; they made sense.
Later that evening, as she sat in her room, Haein replayed the events in her mind. She knew she was different, but was she truly as cold and unfeeling as others seemed to think? A thought nagged at her—maybe she was.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. Soo-cheol entered, holding something behind his back. "Hey, noona," he said with a grin that seemed unusually wide. "I have something for you."
Haein eyed him suspiciously but nodded. Soo-cheol pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to her. “It’s a note. I wanted to apologise for earlier,” he said, his voice surprisingly sincere.
Haein unfolded the paper and read it slowly:
*“I’m sorry for what I said today. I didn’t mean it. I think you’re actually very smart and… kind.”*
A warmth spread through Haein’s chest. She glanced up at Soo-cheol, who was watching her intently, and for a brief moment, she believed him. She let out a small smile, touched that he’d taken the effort to apologise.
But as she lowered the note, Soo-cheol burst into laughter. “I can’t believe you fell for that!” he cackled, pulling out a small camera from behind his back. He had been recording her reaction all along. “You should have seen your face—so gullible!”
Haein’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. She felt the heat rise to her face, a mix of anger and humiliation boiling inside her. Soo-cheol kept laughing, the sound echoing off the walls, as he ran out of the room to show the recording to their mother.
Haein sat frozen for a moment, the note crumpling in her hand. She could hear Soo-cheol’s laughter fading down the hallway, followed by their mother’s voice, faint and unconcerned. Tears pricked her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, refusing to let herself cry. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction.
Determined not to let Soo-cheol see her upset, Haein shoved the note into her desk drawer and turned her attention back to her books. The words on the page blurred, but she forced herself to focus. She would not be broken by their cruelty. Instead, she channeled her frustration into her studies, spending the rest of the night immersing herself in her schoolwork.
The next day, at school, Haein was quieter than usual. She avoided her classmates and spent lunch alone, sitting under a large tree in the schoolyard with her textbook open in front of her. But her thoughts kept drifting back to Soo-cheol’s laughter and her mother’s dismissive tone.
A teacher noticed her sitting alone and came over. "Are you okay, Haein?" she asked softly.
Haein nodded quickly, putting on a brave face. "I'm fine, thank you," she replied, her voice steady.
But inside, she was anything but fine. She felt a growing emptiness, a void that seemed to expand with every passing day. She was beginning to understand that the love she craved from her family might never come, no matter how hard she tried or how well she performed.
When she returned home that evening, her mother was waiting. "Haein," she said, her tone unusually stern, "I heard about your little moment with Soo-cheol. You should be more careful about what you believe."
Haein swallowed hard, her face a mask of composure. "Yes, Mother," she replied quietly.
Her mother sighed and walked away, leaving Haein standing alone in the hallway. She felt small, like a child again, yearning for approval that seemed forever out of reach. That night, as she lay in bed, she stared at the ceiling and made a promise to herself: if her family wouldn't give her the recognition she deserved, she would find it elsewhere. She would prove her worth in the world, even if it meant leaving them behind.
Chapter 9 ends with a quiet determination taking root in Haein’s heart. The first seeds of independence have been sown, and while she is still just a child, she is beginning to realise that she might have to carve out her own path in a world where even those closest to her refuse to see her value.
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Solstice in Grandeur
Acak"Solstice in Grandeur" follows Hong Haein, the daughter of Asia's richest family, whose life of opulence is marred by isolation and emotional distance. Despite living in luxury, she is emotionally neglected by her constantly absent parents and strug...
