C30 - Soul-ed MATE

“Dad!”

He’s already awake when I enter the room, his face pale but eyes lively. “My lil mochi.”

I lean over the bed and wrap him in a hug, careful not to disturb the wires all around him. He smells like alcohol and soap, but he’s here—solid and alive.

“I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“More than awake. I went for a walk today.”

“What? Seriously?”

He chuckles. “For all of five minutes in the hall. The nurse helped me.”

“That’s amazing. You’re going to be walking by yourself soon. I just know it.”

“Maybe so. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been asleep for decades, it feels like. What’s happened with you? You look thin. Are you eating well?”

I haven’t eaten since Namjoon left my motel room two days ago. I kept up the facade in texts to Hoseok, not wanting him to worry about me. And a little hurt that he knew about the pictures and didn’t tell me.

“I’m fine, Dad. And look what I found.” I hold up the diary triumphantly.

His face turns impossibly whiter, almost like concrete. “What’s that?”

“It was Mum’s. I found it in the attic. I’ve been reading it a little at a time, savouring it. And it’s so amazing to hear things in her own words. About her family. And about you, too.”

Something flickers across his expression. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Surprise makes me freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Some things are better left in the past, Jimin. Your mother was a beautiful woman. The kind that every man wanted. I loved her with everything I had, but I wasn’t blind to her faults.”

This is the first he’s mentioned of her faults. My fingers clench the worn leather as if he’s ripping the diary away from me.

I won’t let him. “What will I find?” I ask softly.

His dark eyes harden to obsidian. “You would speak to me that way? Especially after the secrets you’ve been keeping?”

Breath rushes out of my lungs. “Secrets?”

“I demanded to know who was paying for the room. And they told me it was coming from your trust. Your trust, which I already know you drained to pay my restitution and medical bills. Which means you sold the house. How could you?”

He thinks I voluntarily sold the house to cover his stay here. That’s a much more innocent explanation than the real one.

“But I have her diary, Dad. Isn’t that better? Her own words.”

“Words can be misleading.”

Apprehension settles in my chest. How can a diary be misleading? She wrote it with no intention that it would be read. She’d have no reason to lie. The only person who had a motivation to lie about the past would be Dad.

His words could have misled me. He had certainly never mentioned a rival to my mother’s hand in marriage.

“Did my mother see anyone besides you? Before you were married?”

His eyes widen. “Don’t you dare speak about her that way.”

“It’s not an insult to her, Dad.” But whatever is inside this diary may very well indict my father. Namjoon called me naive when it came to Min Yoongi, but I’m beginning to wonder if the monsters in disguise were around me all along.

He softens. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed. I’d rather you remember her as I do, as the beautiful woman I loved.”

“She’s more than just the way she looked.” And I am, too.

“I know that, but she was troubled.” Dad sigh.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re right that she saw someone else. I didn’t find out until later. Until the night before we were married. I couldn’t sleep I was so excited to be with her. So, I went to her room and saw her sneaking out the window.”

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“She was going to meet someone else.”

“I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be,” he says, more fierce than I’ve seen him in years. “She married me, understand? She chose me.”

“Yes.” Tears sting my eyes. “She did.”

“And I didn’t hold it against her, but I’m not proud of it either. She said goodbye to him, said goodbye to that kind of thinking. And she was faithful to me.”

“I believe you.”

And I do believe him, because I can already tell from the entries what she plans to do. She’s in the process of saying goodbye.

That night I read the next few entries, slowly, painfully reliving the way she planned the wedding, both a new beginning and a sad farewell.

He waited for me at the theatre, closed for the season and empty except for the two of us. He asked me to leave with him, to make a new life. I would never see my family again. Never see Jiwoo again. And my family would be disgraced. I told him no.

I’ll find my own happiness, here in Daegu.

!!~~~~~!!

In the morning I take a cab instead of the bus. The routes don’t go into the upscale part of Daegu, where the gates are high and the pools are glittering.

I slip the taxi driver a little extra to cruise the wide streets until I spot the house from memory. Dad and I attended Ahn Jiwoo’s fiftieth birthday party a while ago, but I still remember the gorgeous Corinthian columns across the front.

It isn’t Jiwoo who answers the door, or even a servant, but Hyejin. Her

pretty eyes widen. “Jimin. Are you okay?”

That tells me what I look like right now, dark shadows under my eyes and soul grieving my father’s secret shame. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry to just show up like this, but I was wondering if it would be possible to see your mother.”

The worry doesn’t fade from her eyes. There’s curiosity too. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Come in, come in.” She pulls me into a glittering foyer that opens to a large spiral staircase. To the side I can see a long dining room table with a laptop and papers covering the gleaming wood.

Hyejin gives a little laugh. “I’m always working. I have a condo near the office, but I like to come here on the weekends to spread out.”

I manage a smile, but she doesn’t seem to expect pleasantries.

“Wait here a sec,” she says, apologetic. “Let me just make sure she’s up for visitors.”

While she’s gone, my gaze strays again to the pile of papers. Probably whoever bought my house is somewhere in that stack. Only a few yards away from me. It’s a betrayal of trust to even consider looking, especially when Hyejin has been so helpful and gracious to me.

I’m desperate enough to think about it, though.

A dark voice reminds me, ‘Other people don’t play by the rules, do they?’

The dark voice sounds uncomfortably like Min Yoongi’s. The man who shared pictures of me, even after the auction was over. To humiliate me?

Mission accomplished.

Hyejin skips down the steps.

“She definitely wants to see you, but…” Her eyes mist over. “She has hard days sometimes. Today is one of those days.”

My chest tightens. “I can come back.”

“No! She’d feel awful if you left. She really does want to see you.” A melancholy expression crosses Hyejin’s face. “I don’t think you know how much she loved your mother.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

And that’s how I end up in a dimly lit room smelling of incense. Wall hangings in jewel tones and damask patterns give the room an intimate feeling.

A large bed sits on a platform, but it’s empty. A large fireplace crackles from the side of the room, with two cream-colored armchairs perched nearby.

Ahn Jiwoo looked ageless on her fiftieth birthday, hair and makeup flawless, not a wrinkle that could be seen. Her smile had been brilliant and white, a contrast to her smooth dark skin.

She looks like a different woman now—tired and sad.

Frail despite her full body.

A large-knit throw covers her legs. Is this how she looks on all her bad days? Or has that much changed in the past couple of years?

“Mrs. Ahn?”

“I told you, dear,” she admonishes. “Call me Jiwoo. No Mrs. Ahn and definitely no ma’am.”

I’m pleased at the small show of her old spirit. I perch on the other armchair. “Are you sure it’s a good day to visit? I’m sorry I dropped by unannounced. I really can come back.”

“Nonsense. A child of Lee Gyo-Minali is always welcome here.”

My mother’s maiden name. A smile touches my lips. “You were the best of friends, weren’t you?”

She nods toward the leather-bound book clutched in my lap. “If you’ve been reading that, then you know as much. There was no better woman than your mother.”

Grief weighs down my heart that I didn’t know her better. She was the person who cuddled me when I got sick, the person who taught me how to apply lipstick when I begged at age eight.

I knew her as a mother, but I never got to know her as an omega, a married one at that.

“Can you…tell me about her?”

A sigh of acquiescence, fond and sad. “Of course, she was beautiful. I’m sure people have told you.”

I nod. “We had her portrait above the fireplace.”

“You look like her. I’m sure people have told you that, too.” She studies me with a critical eye. “You’re softer than her. Sweeter. She had a hardness about her.”

I remember that much, the way she could be kind and stern at the same time.

Jiwoo’s dark eyes turn distant. “She was smart, which you weren’t supposed to be back then as an societal omega. Maybe not even now. With a sharp wit. You didn’t want to get on her bad side.”

That makes me laugh unaccountably. That there was some fault of hers, something still endearing to those who loved her.

“Were you ever on her bad side?”

“Oh, plenty. Her family didn’t like me. Said I was a bad influence. They were right.” A husky laugh. “I was what people called a hell-raiser back then.”

“I bet you could still raise hell if you wanted,” I say kindly.

She grins, unrepentant. “True enough. But I think Helen wanted to break out, you know? She had been good for so long, done all the things her mother asked. And she was looking down the barrel of a life as a society wife. When would she have time to be herself except right then? About the same age you are now, I think.”

An ache beats in my heart, steady and familiar. I know what it feels like to do what’s expected of me, to see the future stretch in front of me. To have fleeting moments of freedom.

I hold up the diary. “I read about the canoe.”

“Oh yes. Her father was furious when we dragged ourselves out of the lake, dripping wet and laughing. Who ever heard of a canoe catching fire? In the middle of the water, no less.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “At least it destroyed the evidence of what we were doing.”

Hesitation traps my next words, but I need to know. “There was a man she talked about. Someone who wasn’t my father.”

Grief presses down on her. “Yes, dear.”

“Do you know…do you know who it was?”

Jiwoo studies the fire, rubbing her hand as if her joints ache. “Are you sure you want to go down that path?”

“Dad warned me away, too. Told me not to read the rest of the diary.”

And now that I think about it, Min Yoongi had warned me.

‘Did you consider that I might be protecting you? You might not like what you find inside.’

I hadn’t believed him then, but he might have been telling the truth. What poison does this book hold inside?

Jiwoo’s dark eyes reflecting the flames. “Do you know that I loved your mother?”

That’s what Hyejin said downstairs. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I loved her. Not as a friend.”

My heart beats faster. Not the way that I care about Hoseok. “You mean, romantically?”

She nods.

“Did she love you back?”

“I think she did in her own way.” Her gaze is direct. “We were lovers. It would have been scandalous back then, two omegas exploring their sexuality like that, but no one suspected. Not even her parents thought we were anything but friends.”

“Wow. I never knew that. She didn’t—”

She didn’t mention that she was in love with Jiwoo, but maybe she was being careful. But then again, she said things her parents wouldn’t have approved of.

So why hadn’t she mentioned it?

Sorrow and acceptance flit across Jiwoo’s face. “It didn’t mean the same thing to her. It was a way to rebel against her parents. Something to do for fun.”

“No, I’m positive she cared about you.”

“Oh, she did. But I loved her with all my heart and soul. I knew we’d both have to get married, but we’d still be friends. No one would suspect what we did after, either, and I wanted it to continue.”

I blush, feeling strange talking about my mother’s private relations. Love is one thing. Sex is something else. Min Yoongi taught me that.

“She didn’t?” I ask not knowing how to frame a question that will hurt less.

She gestures toward the diary in my hands. “Not once, she met that mystery man.”

“And she loved him?”

A nod. “All the way. She thought about running away with him.”

“And he wasn’t my Dad.” I already know from the diary entries, but I need to be sure. This must be what Dad didn’t want me to find. I know she didn’t run away with him. She married Dad, after all. But something happened to make her stay.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Did Dad know?”

“Not at first. There were a lot of alphas in this town who wanted to marry Minali. She would smile her Mona-Lisa smile at them, and they’d think they had a chance. The only one in the running was ever Sejin. Your grandmother made sure of that.”

“Because he had money.”

“He didn’t just have money. He had an ungodly amount of money. And your grandmother, Haari had expensive tastes. Big ambitions. Nothing less would do.” She laughs without humor.

“And it’s ironic, isn’t it? The man she made your mother marry is flat broke. And the man she wanted to marry did well for himself.”

“I really need to know who it was.”

Did she mention his name somewhere in this book?

“It wouldn’t have been enough for Haari,” Jiwoo says, still lost in the past. “She wanted standing, too. The kind that only an established family can give you.”

The kind that Namjoon had, at least before his father disowned him.

“Please tell me.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not a good idea to go digging in the past. I heard they auctioned the house. You need to stay away from it.”

Confusion tenses my brow.

“I don’t own it anymore. Why would I go there?”

Her gaze holds a warning. “Whatever you read, Jimin. Don’t go back.”

My fingers clench around the diary, resolve thick in my throat. “I don’t have any plans to step foot in that house again. But I need to find out what happened.”

“Why?”

I consider that a moment, wanting to be honest with her. “Because I lived in her house for most of my life. I listened to Dad talk about her. It’s like everything I knew was a shrine dedicated to her, but it turns out I didn’t know her at all.”

“She had her share of secrets.”

“And because…” My voice catches. “I think in some ways I might be following in her footsteps. And maybe seeing how she settled down, how she found happiness might help me do the same.”

“There’s a flaw in your thinking, dear.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re assuming Minali ever found happiness. She never...” Foreboding runs through me in tangible, almost violent shudders. A racking cough overtakes Jiwoo.

I kneel at her side, clasping her hand. “Is there something I can do?”

“Hyejinnie,” she says, eyes closed, leaning back.

I rush downstairs. “Hyejin? I think Jiwoo needs you.”

Hyejin comes out of the dining room, a grim look on her face. “That’s another reason why I like to spend my weekends here. She doesn’t like to ask for help, but she needs it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I might have worn her out.”

“Don’t worry. Talking about Minali always does her good. And she was thrilled when I told her you had come.” Hyejin bites her lip. “I’m not sure she’ll be able to talk more, though. Once the exhaustion sets in—”

“Please don’t worry about me. I’ll show myself out.”

“Okay, thank you. Do come back and visit her. I’m positive she would want to see you again.” Hyejin looks relieved before she hurries up the stairs.

I watch her as she disappears into the top landing. The barest hint of voices trickles down the curving staircase. In my mind I see Hyejin hovering over her mother, Jiwoo insisting that she’s fine despite the fact that she isn’t.

Not entirely unlike me and my father, until the secrets started spilling out. Does Hyejin know that her mother was once lovers with mine?

My hand is on the bronze doorknob when I turn sideways. The stack of papers is a mirage in the desert, the promise of safety.

I know that whatever I find there won’t save me, but I can’t stop from walking into the dining room. There are demons that drive me just as they drive Yoongi to seek revenge, to demand the truth.

I take one final glance at the stairway.

Empty.

Complete silence.

My gaze runs over the papers that I can see—Unfamiliar addresses—Names I haven’t heard before.

There’s so much information here. I’m not sure I can narrow it down to a single case in the few minutes I’ll have to look.

I sit down in the formal dining chair at the head of the table, the embroidered cloth still warm from Hyejin’s body. The laptop screen still shows her e-mail application.

My gaze snaps to Min Yoongi’s name. A double-click.

‘The previous owner of the home may request information about the winner of the auction. Under no circumstances should you provide it.’

Heat floods my cheeks. That’s how much he wants to block me, that he would send a memo?

‘I know that you have discretion, but I also know your family has a personal connection to this case. I trust that it won’t interfere.’

And now remorse burns a hole in my stomach. I’m exploiting that personal connection right now. And I don’t stop.

‘To underscore the importance, know that this is a privacy issue as well as a safety concern. My concern is for the well-being of Mr. Park Jimin in light of the recent events.’

“Jimin?”

I stand up, guilt warring with anger. “What recent events?”

Her dark eyes flash. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about me with Min Yoongi, pretending like it’s just business when we both know it’s personal.”

She looks away. “This whole damn city is like a damn Greek tragedy.”

“Tell me what event he’s talking about.”

“Shit.” Her eyes close, and she gives a little shake of her head. When she meets my gaze again, she’s frank and unafraid, so much like Jiwoo. Is this how I look to people who knew my mother? “Someone vandalized the house.”

“What?” Grief squeezes my heart.

“Yoongi will freak out if I tell you, but maybe you should know.” She digs through some of the papers to a file folder at the bottom of a stack. “It’s not like whoever did this can’t find you.”

Pictures appear, large and crude.

The front of the house with WHORE written across the front door in bright red spray paint. SLUT scrawled above the fireplace in the empty space where my mother’s portrait used to be.

And in my bedroom, taped to the walls beside pictures of kittens and boy bands, are black-and-white pictures. Blown up, grainy like from an old security camera.

My eyes, my lips. Naked chest. Penis that could be mine.

Except I never turned to the photographer.

So where did these pictures come from? The truth hits me like a sledgehammer. Yoongi didn’t just share pictures that we took that day at the Inferna. He must have taken secret shots of me while I was at his house.

When I showered, when I changed my clothes.

When we had sex.

!~~~~~!!!!!~~~~~!