jane doe

chapter 7:

Jungkook was only three years old when his mother left, too young to fully understand the weight of it, but old enough for the memory to stay with him like a scar that never truly healed. Everything felt distant, like it was moving too fast and too slow at the same time. His parents were hardly ever home together, and even when they were, they never sat in the same room for long. It was as if their busy lives couldn't spare even a moment for the child caught in the middle.

That day, though. That day he still remembered.

It was a black Mercedes, sleek and unfamiliar, parked outside the house. A man he didn't recognize sat in the driver's seat, his face turned away. Jungkook stood on the porch, eyes wide and heart racing, watching as his mother walked toward the car, suitcase in hand.

"Mom?" His voice was small, confused. She didn't stop.

"Mom!" He yelled this time, his little legs carrying him forward, stumbling over the uneven gravel as he chased her.

She paused, just for a second, turning her head over her shoulder. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought she might say something to him. He thought she might stay.

"Go back inside, Jungkook. It's better this way," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But-" He ran faster, the gravel cutting into his knees as he tripped and fell, tears stinging his eyes. "Take me with you!"

She turned away again, climbed into the car, and the door slammed shut. The engine roared to life, and before he could pick himself up, the car was pulling away, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust. Jungkook screamed after it, his tiny fists pounding the ground as if that could somehow stop her from leaving.

He didn't stop crying until his voice was hoarse, his face smeared with dirt and tears. His knees throbbed where they'd scraped against the ground, blood trickling down his legs. But none of that mattered. His mother hadn't looked back.

Now, years later, the memory still clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake. He didn't remember her voice anymore. The details of her face had grown hazy, blurred by time. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if he hated her or if there was some other word, stronger, more powerful, that could describe the mess of emotions tangled inside him.

His father never spoke about her, and Jungkook had stopped asking. It wasn't worth the hollow silence that followed every time he dared to mention her name.

"Did she ever think about me?" he wondered aloud one night, his voice echoing in the empty apartment. There was no one there to answer him, and deep down, he already knew the answer.

But still, a part of him longed for a response, some closure that never came.

A year after his mother left, Jungkook's father became a stranger to him, more absent with each passing day, consumed by work, buried under the weight of his own frustrations. The house, once filled with distant voices and hurried footsteps, now echoed with silence.

Jungkook waited, just like every week, for the moment his father would walk through the front door. His heart fluttered with pride as he clutched the weekly result paper from preschool. No mistakes. Not a single one. The teacher had called him brilliant, and for the first time in months, he felt like he had something to be proud of.

When the door finally opened, Jungkook ran down the hallway, paper in hand. "Dad! Dad! Look!" he shouted excitedly, his small feet pattering against the floor.

His father didn't respond, his expression dark, face creased with frustration. He stormed into his office, the door left slightly ajar. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but his excitement got the better of him. He knocked on the door, gently pushing it open.