in the quiet sanctuary of a small-town church, two souls from different worlds collide. yunjin, a gay girl with a vibrant spirit, finds herself navigating the rigid expectations of her conservative family. each sunday, she seeks solace in the church...
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chapter twenty six ʚ ✮ ɞ
the atmosphere is stifling—too much for yunjin's liking. the tension in the room is nearly palpable, pressing down on her chest like a heavy weight. she watches in silence as her mother's hands move with practiced gentleness, carefully caressing chaewon's forehead before tending to the small gash left behind from the fight. each stitch is precise, deliberate, but yunjin can't shake the uneasy feeling curling in her stomach. the sight of chaewon, bruised and vulnerable under the dim lighting, only makes it worse. she swallows hard, gripping the fabric of her sleeves, unsure if the pressure in her throat is from unspoken words or the overwhelming sense of helplessness creeping in.
her mother hasn't uttered a single word since the phone call. the silence is deafening, thick with unspoken questions and buried emotions. yunjin wonders if she's angry, disappointed, or just too exhausted to say anything at all. she watches her mothers face, searching for any sign of what she may be thinking, but her expression remains unreadable—focused solely on tending to chaewon's wound.
a lump forms in yunjin's throat as doubt creeps in. is she disappointed? does she resent yunjin for leaving her alone with her father for these past few days? the thoughts lingers, sinking deep into her chest and leaving that feeling of panic surging through her bones. she wants to ask, to break the silence, but the words feel too heavy, too dangerous. so she stays quiet, watching as her mother works, feeling like a child again—small, uncertain, and painfully aware of the distance between them.
yunjin watched as chaewon flinched under her mother's touch, her body tensing with each precise movement. tears welled up in chaewon's eyes, threatening to spill as the needle punctured her skin, but she never made a sound. yunjin felt her own chest tighten at the sight, her fingers curling into her palms. she was grateful—grateful that her mother, a nurse, had come to help them. but no amount of gratitude could silence the ache in her heart, the desperate wish that she could take chaewon's pain away.
chaewon had refused to go to the hospital, her fear outweighing her injuries. if she went, they would ask questions—questions she wasn't ready to answer. she would have to turn her father in, expose the bruises and scars he'd left behind. yunjin knew that fear well, the way it paralyzed and consumed, the way it made even survival feel like a risk. so she didn't argue. she just sat there, watching as her mother stitched chaewon back together, even as everything else threatened to fall apart.
as yunjin's mother carefully finished the last suture, her hands steady despite the tension in the air, yunjin let out a long, shaky breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. relief crashed over her in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming, as her teary eyes remained locked on the girl lying beneath her. her face was streaked with tears—some dried, some fresh—and her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. yunjin felt her knees give slightly, the weight of fear and desperation slowly beginning to lift now that the worst was over. she reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a strand of hair away from the girl's forehead, silently praying that this would be the turning point, that everything would be okay now.
