'I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you.'
Coming from a wealthy family was never the major flex in her life. To others, she might come off as a rich spoilt brat but the reality was far from what they perceived her to be.
In a world...
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The morning sunlight spilled through the hospital windows, a soft golden glow that warmed the otherwise sterile white of the room. It was the kind of morning that didn’t feel real, too gentle, too quiet, too still, as if the city outside had hit pause just for them.
Miyeon sat propped against the pillows, her leg still wrapped and slightly elevated, her ribs aching every time she shifted. But today, the dull throb wasn’t quite as sharp. She could breathe easier and sit up longer.
She could finally see the faces that mattered. Her people.
Her mother sat at her side, gently tucking the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. Her fingers trembled slightly, betraying how tightly she was still holding herself together. The dark circles beneath her eyes told Miyeon she hadn’t really slept, not since the night of the accident.
Miyeon didn’t know what to say. So she just let her hold her hand.
Mirae, on the other hand, had decided she didn’t have time for dramatics. The 15-year-old walked around the hospital room like a bee who’d had one too many spoons of honey, busying herself with 'organizing' Miyeon's side table, stacking the juice cartons, dramatically smelling the hospital soup like a food critic, and grumbling about how "hospitals clearly never heard of salt."
"You should’ve just stayed home, little devil." Miyeon mumbled under her breath, amusement tugging at the corners of her lips.
Mirae gasped, placing a hand on her chest, "After you nearly died? Please. If you think I’m leaving you alone again, you’ve obviously lost more than just your ability to walk properly. You need proper supervision."
"Mirae!", their father scolded her.
Miyeon rolled her eyes, biting back a smile, "You’ve always been dramatic with a big mouth."
"I get it from you."
Their mother chuckled at that, finally, the first time Miyeon had heard her mother laugh since the accident. It eased something in her chest.
But not everything was light.
On the couch across the room, their father sat quietly, not saying much, his posture stiff, his eyes sunken. He hadn’t met Miyeon eyes even once since he walked in. Not because he didn’t want to, but because she wouldn’t let him.
There were too many things left unsaid between them.
He had known. About Juwon. About Sohee’s father. About the past. About everything that mattered yet kept quiet for the reason of saving them. But look where it got them.
