After Chaerin left, Jiyong sank into the chair once more and finished his beer, thinking back to his ife so many years ago...

                          Things had been rough right from the beginning, but they took a turn for the worse when Kiko got pregnant a second time, and the baby was born disabled. His son Seunghoon was paralyzed from the waist down. It could have resulted from the birthing process when the umbilical cord had wrapped tightly around his stomach, cutting off the supply of blood and damaging nerves irreparably. Or it could have been caused by Kiko's irresponsible behavior during the pregnancy. Most likely, it was a combination of things. A multifactorial birth defect, they called it.

                          Whatever the cause, Kiko hadn't been able to handle it. Jiyong came home early one night when Seunghoon was two weeks old because a strange foreboding had plauged him all afternoon. He'd been working on a building not far from their apartment and had entered the house tired, hungry and apprehensive.

                      When he opened the door, he heard Seunghoon squalling. The boy was not just fussing. He was in a fit of crying. Jiyong strode to the nursery, picked up the child and cuddled him to his chest. "It's okay, little guy," he'd crooned to the baby as he made his way to the bedroom. The sight of Kiko, sitting on the bed, her bags packed, a bottle of Scotch in her hand, would forever be etched in his mind. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Jiyong wasn't sure if it was from crying or booze.

                          She'd stared at him helplessly, "I just cant do it anymore, Jiyongie. I'm not strong enough. I have to have more. These children," she said, holding up her hands as if discussing some alien species, "they demand too much, so many doctor's appointments, and he'll never be right. I'm ... not capable of doing this. I don't want my life to be like this."

                            Jiyong remembered the picture she'd created. Kiko was a stunning woman with short black hair and come-hither brown eyes that blazed with sensuality. She had a knock-out body that she'd resented having spoiled by childbearing. But he'd never despised anyone mre than at that moment when he realized what his wife was going to do. She was turning her back on him and two innocent children. Without a word, he'd returned to the nursery. Hayi had been staying with his mother in an attempt to give Kiko some time to get used to the new baby, so he was alone with his child.

                            "Shh," he told his imperfect son, rocking the infant back and forth, long after Kiko had gone. "I'll make it up to you. I'll take care of you. I promise."

                              His hand clenched reflexively on the beer can, and the crushing sound brought him back to the present. Exhaling, Jiyong set it down woth a plunk. "Damn, where have those memories come from?" he muttered, knowing exactly the source. Table number four. And the beautiful Sandara.

                                He rose, threw back the chair and went into Seunghoon's room. The bedspread was uneven, the drawers half open and action figures spread in some kind of square-off on the desk. Though the boy tried, he simply couldn't keep his room straight. Small wonder, since he was in a wheelchair. Jiyong walked over, brushed the hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead. Ironically, he looked perfect lying there. His skin was porcelain clear, his nose turned up in a mischievous pug. "Good night buddy."

                                Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the slip of y