Briefly, Dara wondered if she was thick-skinned enough to handle the career she’d chosen. Hayi’s confession broke her heart in and of itself. But the fact that Dara felt exactly the same about Bom made her wonder if she was able to remain objective.

 She took Hayi’s frigid hands in hers and stared directly at her. “Hayi, Seunghoon’s condition is not your fault. And you’ll probably always feel some guilt for being whole when he isn’t. I’m not sure there’s anything you can do about that.”

When the girl’s eyes turned bleaker than a February afternoon, Dara tightened her grip. “But what you can do is talk about it. Get it out. Yell and scream about how unfair it is. You will feel better about it, although the reality will not go away.”

Hayi’s face crumpled and moisture welled up in her eyes once more. Her whole body slumped back into the bed. “I can’t do that. Appa has enough to worry about. And Halmeoni and Harabeoji are too old. Chaerin-imo is the only one I could ever be that way with, but she…” Her voice trailed off.

“She what?”

Hayi shrugged. “It’s stupid.”

“So? Be stupid. It’s just you and me.”

Sinking deeper into the pillows, Hayi hesitated before she added, “It’s just that Chaerin-imo is so much fun. Things are better when she’s here. For Seunghoon and for me. I don’t want to spend the time we have with her whining.”

Again, Dara’s heart constricted and she averted her eyes to a poster of a unicorn on the wall.

“Well, then we’ll just have to find someone else you can yell about it with, won’t we?” she finally said.

“You?” Hayi’s voice is timid yet hopeful, then dropped, defeated. “But Appa said no.”

“I know that, Hayi. But we’ll take it as a good sign that your Appa called me tonight. And he doesn’t seem to be against counseling. He just seems uncomfortable with me. I’m not exactly sure why.”

Hayi closed her eyes and they were cloudy when she opened them. “Because you remind him of… my mother.”

And you’ve known a lot of women like me?

One too many.

It was beginning to make sense now.

When Hayi didn’t elaborate, Dara asked, “How do you know he feels this way?”

The girls face turned scarlet and she bit her lip. But she held Dara’s gaze, showing some of her father’s grit. “Because I listen when he and Chaerin-imo talk at night. It’s the only way I find out what he’s thinking. He doesn’t say much about his feelings to me, so I…eavesdrop. It’s how I found out about-“

Hayi stopped abruptly. After a few moments of silence, it seemed confession time was over. Donning what Dara called the Kwon scowl, Hayi finally said, “Please, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Dara knew the aftermath of hors of tears, from both personal and professional experience. Eyelids that felt like sandpaper. A queasy stomach. Every muscle screaming from tension the body could only hold for so long.

“Sure, honey. I think you should go to bed.” Dara said and drew the covers up.

Wearily, Hayi lay down and allowed Dara to adjust the quilt. She closed her eyes and reached out her hand. Dara took it and gave the girl a moment to settle down before saying anymore. Her eyes scanned the room.

The books on the shelves were arranged by size. The tops of the desk and dresser were spotless. Every surface reflected the same sense of neatness, the kind Dara hated. When she was a child, she and her sister had given the maid prematurely gray hair. There was always a doll hiding behind a couch or one of Bom’s trucks peeking out from underneath. Her father’s displeasure had not been enough to make the girls more tidy and Dara often reflected that it was probably just another way they’d had of thwarting him. And the reason you’re so messy today.

There was no rebellion in this room though.

Smoothening Hayi’s hair onto the pillows, she asked, “Feel better?”

“A little.” Hayi glanced at the door. “But you should send them all in to see that I’m okay.” Even amidst her pain, the child’s concern for others surfaced.

“How about if I fill them in on how you are, instead? Would you trust me to do that?” Dara squeezed Hayi’s hand.

Grateful brown eyes, exactly like her brother’s,