Chapter 28: Maternal Traces and the Shadow of July

Sibling.

At the woman’s words, it felt as though the blood was slowly draining from my body. My gaze shifted naturally toward my father. From the stiff line of his neck to the sharp angle of his jaw, there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment or hesitation. Goosebumps erupted across my back, which was still damp from the trek under the scorching sun. It wasn’t an impossible occurrence, but it was more repulsive and farcical than anything I had ever imagined.

“…Your bond must be incredibly strong.”

“…….”

“Or perhaps Father is just exceptionally… capable.”

“Stop acting out. How much longer are you going to behave like a petulant child?”

My father’s words of blame didn’t even have a place to land. My heart, twisted into a complex knot, had no energy to chew over such trivial insults. A faint headache set in, as if the blood that had drained to my feet was surging back up. Through it all, the woman didn’t lose her smile. As she reached back out for the ultrasound photo she had handed me, her eyes were those of someone cradling something of immense value. A hollow laugh escaped me.

“Acting out? Whatever the case, good news is good news.”

“…….”

“Congratulations on the pregnancy.”

Her eyes crinkled again at my greeting, delivered through gritted teeth.

“Thank you, Son.”

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Still, I had to maintain a smirk for that godforsaken face. I didn’t want to show even a shred of expectation or disappointment.

“Have a nice trip.”

Try not to lose the baby.

I swallowed the unspoken words as I headed up to the second floor. Not a single word of conversation drifted up from the living room. Perhaps that was why the image of my father’s prideful face haunted every step I took up the stairs.

Tomorrow was my mother’s birthday. The timing was viciously, cruelly perfect.

Was it love?

Was it a love so desperate that she would marry at an age younger than most, raise a child, and abandon everything she had ever wanted to do?

There was something I had desperately wanted to ask my mother before she died. But looking at her face—barely managing a smile through pale, bloodless lips—I could never bring myself to say it.

Did you truly love Father?

I was terrified that the answer might be “yes.” Even without her saying it, I could sense her heart; it felt as though she still loved him. It was there in the way she looked out the window with her gaunt, sickly face. Even before the terminal diagnosis, as the number of days my father spent at home dwindled, she withered away. And even as she withered, she continued to iron his suits with her own hands. I had to pretend not to notice the lingering obsession in her silhouette as she prepared lunch boxes for a husband who wouldn’t even come home while making snacks for me. I simply didn’t have the courage to hear her voice define those moments as love.

Did she know? Did she know a day like this would come? Did she know about the other woman’s existence? She must have known long ago, smelling the faint scent of another woman’s perfume on him. Yet she closed her eyes without seeing a thing, without asking a question.

Because of that, I was the one left to watch and listen to it all.

This was just more of the same. Since I was the one left behind, it was only natural that I had to witness this filth. With that thought, I swallowed the curses rising in my throat.

“Hey, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“…Uh.”

“Don’t just ‘uh’ me. I asked what you’re thinking about.”

I hadn’t even realized supplementary class was over. Startled by the cool touch on my arm, I looked up to see Song Yun Jae’s face. For a moment, my senses returned.

All day, I had done nothing but alternate between the ultrasound photo the woman held out and the memory of my mother’s final face. Even when I forced my eyes onto the workbook, my thoughts drifted so far that I couldn’t finish a single page. When I made no move to pack up, he placed his hand on my forehead. I reflexively closed my eyes at the cool sensation.

“Are you sick?”

“…No.”

“You seem to have a slight fever.”

“Your hands are just cold.”

At my words, his hand dropped from my forehead. It felt like he pulled away far too quickly. I felt as though the sensation of his slender fingers would linger for a long time. Like someone who didn’t know where to start, I began messily shoving books and my pencil case into my bag, but he grabbed my arm with surprising strength. I looked up at him naturally. I watched his eyelashes descend and rise in slow motion. Meanwhile, I felt the grip on my arm loosen.

“You didn’t really get any studying done today.”

“…….”

“I asked the homeroom teacher, and he said we can use the fans and AC if we stay late to study.”

When did he even ask that? I stared at him as he whispered in the empty classroom, then dropped my gaze. His hand touched my shoulder. Two light taps—a firm, solid touch before he pulled away. Let’s stay just a bit longer. The workbook I had haphazardly closed was pulled open again by his hand.

“Don’t think about other things. Just study. I waited over thirty minutes for you to do just that.”

“You can go eat.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“I’m going to eat a lot. I’m going to finish this whole book today, so don’t mind me and just keep going.” With that, he went back to his seat and picked up his pen.

Faintly catching his scent, I reined in my drifting mind.

In many ways, it was a day that required a lot of effort.

Time passed without me even realizing it.

It was his voice that finally made me realize I had drifted off into a daze again.

“Hey, Cha Hyun Uk.”

He spoke up out of nowhere. Perhaps he had realized that even with the workbook open, I hadn’t been able to concentrate for over two hours. My hand, which had been merely dotting the blank page as my mind went blank while reading the questions, flinched at his voice.

“…Yeah.”

“Stop with the ‘yeahs.’ Aren’t you hungry?”

Before I could even answer, he let out a short sigh and shook his head. I felt a sense of hunger, but since I usually didn’t eat much anyway—or perhaps because I felt so detached today—the thought of food wasn’t urgent.

The screech of a chair echoed through the classroom. He stood up abruptly, rolled his cardigan sleeves up to his elbows, and began tidying his workbooks.

“Are you leaving?”

“My fuel efficiency is worse than yours.”

He held up his forearm. Where there should have been flesh or muscle, the cardigan just hung loosely. He didn’t have to show me; I already knew how thin his small, pale frame was.

Tracing the thin lines of his silhouette in my mind, I suddenly remembered his last bruise. I had been meaning to ask how much it had faded and healed, but the question had been pushed aside by that piece of sh*t father of his and his “expedition,” and then by the hellish situation my own father had dropped on me.

Watching him pack up, I haphazardly threw my things into my bag. The question of when to ask him kept swirling in my head, only to sink back down as he opened the front door and began walking along the riverbank.

I couldn’t just demand to see it. And if I asked if he was okay, he was the type to say “yes” with a straight face. Thinking that made me feel a surge of irritation, recalling the way his eyes looked when he swallowed his emotions as if he were used to it.

I walked, kicking at every stone in my path. It wasn’t an overtly loud movement, but it must have been loud enough for him. Song Yun Jae slowed his pace and spoke.

“What’s on your mind?”

“…Nothing much.”

“Then let’s go to the convenience store and grab something light.”

“That’s your conclusion?”

“What else would come out of asking you for a menu?”

The sunlight was stinging. He stubbornly kept his cardigan on, tilting his head slightly to avoid the blinding glare. Perhaps that was why his voice, usually so simple, lacked energy. Ever since we left the school and crossed the playground, the heat had been suffocating, as if we were being steamed alive.

Stealing a glance at his tired eyes, I stepped out in front of him.

“…What?”

“What.”

He hesitated for a second, then I heard his footsteps quicken to catch up.

“…Are you showing off because you’re tall?”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“……You’re so annoying.”

A smirk broke across my face—the first today. I grew curious about his expression at his grumbling tone, but I didn’t turn around. Perhaps it was because of the walk in the heat, or perhaps because of his words, but my hazy mind was clearing up.

“You should have eaten better.”

“I eat better than you do.”

“Then why did you stop growing?”

“……Annoying.”

A silent laugh escaped me. The heavy, complicated things weighing on my mind felt as though they were drifting away. The sun was stinging and the hot air was stifling, yet I felt as though I could finally breathe.

“I’m hungry.”

“Only now?”

“Let’s have kimbap. Not at the convenience store, but a real snack bar.”

“You’re paying, right?”

I walked on without answering, but I didn’t hear him ask again. I could tell from his voice that there was a small smile attached to the end of his question. While his lips curved into that line, I was oblivious to the July heat.