The slap from his father’s hand cut across his face with a loud crack. Seung-Bae turned to the side, closing his watery eyes against the sting, and drew in a slow, steadying breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” His father’s voice was cold with disbelief. “Do you have any idea of the humiliation I suffered because of you? I spent the rest of the evening covering for your lapse of judgment, Seung-Bae. It is enough. Whether an engagement to Choi Bo-Ra comes to be is no longer relevant.”

Seung-Bae raised his head. Passengers bustling towards the airport gates hurried past, their footsteps trailed by the grinding roll of luggage wheels. He was surprised that none of them paused to stare at the scene he and his father were making. His fingertips grazed the burning mark stamped on his left cheek. He felt invisible and achingly alone.

It had been years since his father had last hit him. In fact, he recalled, it had been two days after his mother’s death. He’d been kneeling alone in his black Sunday suit and white gloves in front of her funeral portrait; standing sprays filled with chrysanthemum cuttings had crowded him – a pungent white wall blocking the clear flow of oxygen and tears.

When the last mourner came, bowed, and went, a slender woman with garish red lips had approached him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t remember her face, only the size of the diamond on her finger. “I’m your new mother,” she’d flashed perfectly white teeth at him, but she was Korean American and her speech was stilted, and to his ears, ugly. He’d told her to go away, and when she didn’t he’d yelled at her that his mother’s death was all her fault. And then his father had come and hit his face.

“I’ve put the condominium up for sale.”

Seung-Bae froze. “What?”

“The realtor will be visiting within the next two weeks, so do what you need to get it prepared. Make sure your friends are gone before she arrives. Your aunt is expecting you, so box up what you want to take and ship it to her house. The furniture and the rest I’ve arranged to have put into storage.”

Seung-Bae shook his head. Laughter swelled in his chest, and he struggled to keep it inside. “All this time,” he raised his head and met his father’s stonewall gaze, “I’ve never been able to manage the courage to stand up for myself, to tell you what it is that I want for my life. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been afraid of losing you too. But I’m not afraid anymore, Abeojie. Isn’t that something? Haenyeo has given me that courage.”

“Haenyeo?” His father’s brow had darkened, and now his eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Seung-Bae grinned, the cruelest grin he could muster. The weight he’d carried for so long suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and he felt giddy with relief. He took a backwards step away from his father.

“We’ll leave the apartment, so do what you want.” Seung-Bae turned away. “But I’m not going to California,” he tossed over his shoulder. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and, ing his chin high, strode away.

“Seung-Bae!” his father yelled after him. “Kim Seung-Bae!”