Found ||Woosan||

Part 2/2 of "Lost and Found"

San had always been told to be kind.

"The world won't give you kindness, baby," his mother used to whisper, her frail hands cupping his seven-year-old face, her eyes bright with a love that felt like sunlight.

"That comes from humanity. From you. Be loyal. Care for others. Even when it hurts." She would smile then, brushing his dark hair from his forehead, her fingers trembling slightly from the sickness eating her away. San believed her. He believed every word.

She died when he was eight. Suicide. He found her in the bathtub, wrists open like red butterflies, the water pink and still. "Mama?" he'd whispered, his small hand reaching for her cold one. She didn't answer.

The neighbors found him hours later, curled beside the tub, humming the lullaby she'd sung him every night. "Be kind, San-ah," he'd murmur to himself, rocking back and forth. "Be kind."