Pieces Of Us

Chapter 12: A Cold Gesture

The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. Haein sat in her room, her eyes fixed on the collection of shoes and handbags that lined the far wall. Luxury brands, countless styles, most of them barely worn. She hadn’t touched some of them in years.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the first pair—a limited-edition set of designer heels, delicate and shimmering under the soft light. It wasn’t the shoes themselves that caused her hesitation, but the significance of what she was about to do.

For weeks, Soobin had been increasingly distant, her demands growing bolder and more frequent. Haein couldn’t remember the last time they had a conversation that didn’t involve Soobin asking for something. There was always something more. A new phone, a designer dress, expensive skincare products. And then there was the bag—the bag—worth millions, that Soobin had been eyeing for months.

Haein had initially refused to buy it. It wasn’t because she couldn’t afford it, but because she was desperately trying to hold onto something deeper—some thread of respect, some semblance of appreciation that had long since disappeared between them. But now, after her latest health scare, she felt…empty. Numb. She didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, to hold onto pride or boundaries.

She moved the shoes into an empty box, her movements mechanical, emotionless. Pair after pair. Every time she placed one in the box, she felt a small piece of herself slip away—a reminder of the person she used to be, the one who didn’t need to buy her daughter’s attention.

The handbags were next. Leather, suede, crocodile skin. All of them had a story, a memory. Yet, none of them mattered anymore. She placed the final bag on top, the million-dollar one that Soobin had so desperately wanted.

Haein pushed the box into the hallway, calling out softly, “Soobin.”

It didn’t take long for Soobin to appear, her expression as indifferent as ever. She stopped in front of the box, glancing down at its contents, and then back at Haein. There was no excitement in her eyes, no spark of gratitude.

"These are for you," Haein said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The shoes, the bags... you can have them all."

Soobin raised an eyebrow, stepping forward to inspect the box. She rifled through the items, pulling out a few pairs of shoes and tossing them back without a word. Finally, her hand rested on the million-dollar bag, her fingers curling around the handle. She lifted it out, her eyes appraising it for a moment before slinging it over her shoulder.

“Cool,” she said simply, her tone flat, detached. No thank you, no acknowledgment of the gesture. Nothing.

Haein watched her daughter with a heavy heart, the weight of her silent rejection sinking deeper with every second. She had given Soobin everything she had left to give—everything material, at least—and it still wasn’t enough.

Soobin turned on her heel, her new bag swinging at her side as she headed toward the door. “Let me know if you have any other stuff you don’t want,” she tossed over her shoulder as she left the room without another glance.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Haein alone in the empty space, surrounded by the remnants of what used to be hers. She stared at the spot where Soobin had stood, her chest tightening with a mix of sorrow and regret.

She had thought, perhaps foolishly, that this gesture might mean something—that Soobin might, for once, show some sign of appreciation, of care. But as the silence settled around her, Haein realised she had been wrong. Soobin’s indifference was colder than any rejection, her lack of gratitude a painful reminder of the growing distance between them.

Haein sat back down, her body feeling heavier than ever. The shoes and bags were gone, but the emptiness remained, deeper now, more profound. In her attempt to appease her daughter, she had given away more than just material possessions.

She had given away hope.