Soobin was lingering by the kitchen, scrolling through her phone as she absentmindedly sipped her coffee. The muffled sound of her mother’s voice floated in from the living room, breaking her concentration. It wasn’t unusual for Haein to take calls for work at odd hours, and Soobin was used to tuning them out. But this time, something about Haein's tone stopped her.
The voice coming from the other room sounded almost frantic, yet quiet—like a whisper desperately trying to be heard. There was a sharp edge to it, as if Haein were arguing with someone. Curious, Soobin lowered her phone and crept closer, feeling an unusual pang of worry.
She strained to listen, catching only fragmented phrases. Haein’s words were laced with a fear that made Soobin’s chest tighten, though she couldn’t understand why.
“No, please... not again,” Haein murmured, her voice trembling. “I can’t... I can’t do this anymore...”
A silence followed, thick and tense, before Haein’s voice rose again, even shakier this time. “Stop looking at me like that... I told you... leave me alone!”
Soobin’s brows furrowed. There was no one else in the house, no voice responding to her mother’s pleas. She suddenly felt a chill, as if the air itself had turned hostile. Moving closer, she peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of her mother sitting alone on the sofa, her head in her hands, her whole body trembling.
The sight made Soobin’s heart pound in her chest. She had seen her mother angry, distant, even exhausted—but never like this. Haein looked vulnerable, almost like a child cowering from a shadow. For the first time, Soobin felt an unsettling suspicion that maybe her mother was hiding more than she let on.
A fragment of the previous night replayed in Soobin’s mind. She remembered the shattered glass, her mother’s frail figure bent over the mess, and how she had walked past, dismissing it as yet another sign of Haein overworking herself. But seeing her now, muttering to no one, lost in an invisible argument, Soobin felt the weight of something bigger, something far more ominous.
“Umma?” she called softly, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound casual.
Haein froze, her head snapping up as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She looked at Soobin with wide, haunted eyes, struggling to compose herself. The mask of calm she usually wore was nowhere to be found, leaving a raw, fragile expression that made Soobin’s stomach twist.
“Are... are you okay?” Soobin stammered, not knowing what else to say.
Haein managed a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just... just a little tired, that’s all.”
The words felt hollow, a flimsy cover for whatever truth was lurking beneath. Soobin wanted to believe her, wanted to dismiss it as just another symptom of stress, like she had so many times before. But something about the way Haein avoided her gaze, the way her hands shook even as she clasped them together, told her that there was more to the story.
Without saying another word, Soobin retreated to her room, her mind racing. The fragments of her mother’s distressing conversation echoed in her ears, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that they pointed to something more serious, something her mother wasn’t willing to admit.
Over the next few days, Soobin found herself watching Haein more closely, paying attention to every subtle tremor, every flicker of panic that crossed her face when she thought no one was looking. She noticed the way her mother’s hands sometimes hovered over objects, as if unsure whether they were real or simply figments of her imagination. She watched as Haein’s eyes darted to empty corners of the room, her face tightening with fear, before she quickly masked it with a forced smile.
It wasn’t long before Soobin began to hear more snippets of Haein’s strange conversations. Each time, the words made less sense, but the fear in her mother’s voice was unmistakable.
“You’re not real... go away,” Haein whispered one night, her voice barely audible. “I’m not... I don’t want to see this.”
Soobin’s heart ached with a confusion she didn’t fully understand. She wanted to confront her mother, to demand an explanation, but a part of her was afraid of the answers she might find. Instead, she watched and listened, hoping to piece together the mystery on her own.
One evening, as she passed by her mother’s study, she overheard Haein speaking in a voice thick with desperation. “It’s not my fault... I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please, leave me alone.”
The words sent a chill down Soobin’s spine. She pressed her ear to the door, her mind racing with questions. What was Haein apologizing for? And who was she talking to? The house was empty, and there was no one else here. Soobin’s throat tightened as a terrible realization began to dawn on her—was her mother talking to herself?
In that moment, memories of her mother’s strange behaviour flooded her mind: the blank stares, the bouts of silence, the way she sometimes seemed to lose herself in invisible conversations. Soobin had dismissed it all before, chalking it up to stress and fatigue. But now, with the pieces falling into place, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that her mother was suffering from something far more serious.
Unable to keep the worry bottled up any longer, Soobin cautiously approached her mother that night. Haein was seated in the living room, her eyes vacant as she stared at the wall, lost in thought. Soobin took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak.
“Umma... what’s going on with you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Haein turned to her, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. “What do you mean, Soobin?” she replied, her voice strained but steady.
Soobin hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve... I’ve noticed that you’ve been talking to yourself lately. And sometimes... it seems like you’re seeing things that aren’t there. Are you... are you okay?”
Haein’s face tightened, and for a moment, Soobin thought she would deny everything, brush it off with a laugh or a dismissive wave. But instead, Haein looked away, her expression unreadable.
“It’s just... stress,” she murmured, her voice hollow. “You know how demanding work can be.”
Soobin’s heart sank at the familiar excuse. She wanted to scream, to shake her mother and force her to admit the truth. But something in Haein’s eyes stopped her. There was a vulnerability there, a fear that Soobin couldn’t quite understand, but it made her hesitate.
“Umma... if there’s something wrong, you can tell me,” she said softly. “I’m... I’m here for you.”
Haein managed a small, sad smile, but it held no warmth. “I appreciate that, Soobin. But I’m fine. Really.”
The conversation ended there, leaving Soobin with more questions than answers. She returned to her room, her mind swirling with worry and frustration. Her mother was hiding something, something that terrified her, and yet she refused to let anyone in. Soobin clenched her fists, feeling an unfamiliar anger bubbling up inside her.
For the first time, she realized just how deeply her mother’s silence affected her. It wasn’t just the secrecy—it was the feeling of being shut out, of being left in the dark while her mother suffered alone. The more she thought about it, the more her anger grew, twisting into a determination to find out the truth, whether Haein wanted her to or not.
Soobin lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with a mixture of fear, confusion, and a newfound resolve. One way or another, she would get to the bottom of whatever was haunting her mother.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces Of Us
Random"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...
