The days blurred together for Haein, each one more difficult than the last. Her condition was worsening rapidly, and the hallucinations had become an almost daily occurrence. Sometimes they were fleeting—a few seconds of lost time or a disorienting shift in her surroundings. But other times, they lasted longer, leaving her trapped in distorted memories or confused by faces and voices that didn’t exist.
One evening, as she sat at the dinner table with Soobin, the world around her began to warp. The walls seemed to close in, and the sounds of the clinking cutlery faded into an eerie silence. When she looked up, she didn’t see her teenage daughter sitting across from her but a much younger Soobin—small, innocent, and staring at her with wide eyes filled with fear.
Haein blinked, trying to shake the image away, but it clung to her like a shadow. She could hear the distant echo of a child’s voice, “Mom, why don’t you love me?” The words cut through her heart, dragging her deeper into the illusion.
Suddenly, Soobin’s voice broke through the haze. “Are you even listening?” she snapped, her usual tone dripping with impatience. Haein blinked again, the vision of young Soobin dissolving into the sharp glare of her daughter’s teenage face.
“I’m sorry,” Haein murmured, her voice weak. She could feel the cold sweat on her forehead, the tightness in her chest. The hallucinations were taking a toll on her, but she had learned to hide the physical strain from Soobin. She couldn’t let her daughter see how much pain she was in.
“You’re always sorry,” Soobin muttered, rolling her eyes as she pushed her plate away. “It’s like you’re not even here half the time.”
Haein’s stomach twisted. She wanted to explain, to tell Soobin the truth about her illness, but the words never came. How could she tell her daughter that her mind was slipping, that each day felt like a battle to stay in control?
Instead, she forced a small smile. “I’m just tired, Soobin. Work’s been overwhelming.”
Soobin didn’t respond. She stood up, grabbing her phone, and disappeared into her room without another word. The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the empty house.
Haein sat there in silence, staring at the half-eaten meal in front of her. The weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her, suffocating her. Soobin’s attitude hadn’t changed, and her demands were as endless as ever. It didn’t matter how much Haein tried—no gift, no sacrifice seemed to satisfy her daughter.
At work, she struggled to keep up with her duties. Meetings blurred together, decisions that once felt instinctual now took every ounce of her focus. She had always been able to manage the pressure, but now it felt impossible. Every step forward was met with a wall of confusion, and the hallucinations only made it harder to maintain her usual composure.
More than once, Haein found herself staring blankly during important discussions, losing track of conversations entirely. She was falling apart, and no one could see it—except for Hyunwoo, but even he was at a loss on how to help.
The tension between her and Soobin was growing worse by the day. Soobin’s entitlement and indifference toward her mother’s struggles left Haein feeling more isolated than ever. It was as if they were living in two different worlds—Soobin in her bubble of teenage rebellion and Haein in her prison of silent suffering.
But despite it all, Haein refused to let her daughter see how much she was hurting. She had always been the strong one, the one who held the family together, even as it crumbled around her. But now, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up.
As the days passed, Haein’s hallucinations worsened. Sometimes, she wouldn’t recognize her own reflection in the mirror. Other times, she would find herself lost in conversations with people who weren’t there, only to snap back to reality, confused and terrified.
One morning, after Soobin had left for school, Haein stood in the kitchen, staring at a pile of dishes. Her vision blurred, and suddenly, she was no longer in her home but in the hospital room where her father had passed away. The machines beeped in the background, and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled her nostrils. She could hear the soft hum of nurses talking outside the door.
“Haein,” a voice said softly.
She turned, expecting to see her father in the bed, but instead, it was Soobin, much younger, sitting beside him. She was crying, her small hands gripping the edge of the bed as if holding on for dear life. “Why didn’t you save him, Mom?” the young Soobin whispered, her voice trembling. “Why did you let him die?”
Haein’s heart shattered as the words echoed through the room. She reached out to touch her daughter, to comfort her, but the image dissolved, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the counter for support. The hallucinations were getting worse, and she was losing control.
She couldn’t keep this up.
She needed help—but admitting that felt like the hardest thing in the world.
The tension between Haein and Soobin wasn’t just a result of typical mother-daughter disagreements anymore. It was becoming something much darker, driven by the secrets Haein was keeping and the resentment Soobin was harboring. And with each passing day, the distance between them only seemed to grow wider.
Haein knew something had to give soon.
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Pieces Of Us
Losowe"Pieces of Us" follows the tumultuous relationship between Baek Soobin, a sixteen-year-old who lives a life of luxury and rebellion, and her mother, Hong Haein, a powerful CEO known for her cold, distant demeanour. As Soobin continues to push her mo...
