It was the anniversary. The anniversary of her death. The anniversary of the day Nari was taken from Shindong forever. Not only that, it was the anniversary of their son’s birth. Kibum was six now. Six years had past since Kibum was born, and Nari was killed.

She wasn’t purposefully killed. Kibum was born and she died. Who could possibly blame a newborn child for the death of their mother? Shindong could. Shindong could blame Kibum for everything. Shindong could blame him for Nari’s death easily. He could blame him for the depression Shindong had fallen into and only stayed out of enough to keep the child alive. He could blame him for the sudden liking he took to nameless women being in his bed. It was easy for Shindong to blame the child because the blame was the child’s to take. It was also easy for Shindong to do what he came here to do today.

Today was the day he and Kibum had visited Nari’s grave, just as they did every year. Shindong had made sure Kibum was dressed warmly enough for this day. A thick coat, hat, gloves, boots, thick pants, and two shirts. He knew the child would see colder days than this one, so he wanted him to be as prepared as he could.

Shindong watched as Kibum gently cleared snow from Nari’s headstone. The child didn’t even know who she was, and he’s acting as if she had only died a few months ago. Shindong cringed. He had to do this now or he might go too far. Shindong set down the bag he had on his shoulder. It normally carried what they would eat and drink, but today it had clothing and money.

“Kibum,” Shindong said softly. The child looked up at his father. His deep eyes boring into Shindong, telling him he was about to do something wrong. He couldn’t turn back though. He had to rid himself of the only reminder he had of his dead love. He had to leave. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Why did he lie? He could’ve just left it without the lie.

Shindong walked away, trudging through the calf high snow. Once he reached the end of the row of dead, he turned back. Kibum was sitting with his arms around his knees, staring at Nari’s headstone. Shindong kept walking. He didn’t look back anymore. He couldn’t. He refused to. He had planned this for the last two years. Someone would find him. Someone would find Kibum, take him into their care after searching for Shindong for months, and then Kibum would grow up and hopefully forget Shindong ever had him.

Shindong got onto a bus, sat in the back, and pulled out his wallet. He had a picture of Nari, his beautiful wife, and of Kibum, his dreaded reminder. He ripped the picture of Kibum in half and tossed it on the floor. If Kibum were going to face colder days than this, so would he.