P.s: I think reading is always better in reader's mode <3

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       On the third visit, the psychologist finally asked me, what did my child meant to me?

       Perhaps, she wanted to make sense of why a miscarriage, though justifiably devastating for everyone, seemed to take an exceptionally extreme toll on me.

       I closed my eyes in a sorry attempt to suppress the tears that quickly welled up my eyes.

       I had to remind myself over and over of how promised my child I was going to get better.

       So through sobs and croaked voice and bitter lumps, I tried my best to talk through the answer I painfully knew all along.

     ‘When I was fourteen, my mother gave birth to my younger brother, Hae Jin, whom I came to love dearly and doted on him religiously. And in some childish way somehow, I began to expect that he would grow to love me as much as I love him. But that didn’t happen. He would always love my mother more, and he would always sought my mother every time even when I was right beside him when he fell and cut his knee. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s only natural that it is the way it is – it’s just that, I realized how a mother will always be the only one a child sees.

        And in my own selfish way, I wanted that. For so long, I’ve wanted that. I’ve wanted a child whom I can give out all the love I had inside of me and know that she will definitely love me back. Because nobody ever did love me unconditionally the way I could easily love people with my whole damn heart – not even my mother and I am desperate to feel loved, to know that I am worth to be loved. I had this thought then, if my own mother can’t love me, if my own mother can’t find myself worthy of her affections the way she does to my brothers – who will?

        And God knows how I bore the consequences of that until this very day.

      My child, would’ve loved me with her entirety and maybe, if I didn’t had that fall, I could finally have that one person who would grow into someone who will see people and love them not despite, but instead, for their flaws.

       Because she had grown up loving someone so flawed and so faulted as a mother.

       She, my poor, poor child – is everything I had ever hoped for. She’s my God given grace, my cure, my.. will to live again,’

       And I remember that look on Yi Fan’s face, as he took his time before sharing his own response to the psychologist’s question.

       Because a lot had gone unsaid, and we both know them all too well.

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       We tiptoed around a lot of things lately, but I know I am grateful for the suffocating atmosphere that once existed between the walls of our home had slowly dissipated day by day. We went for counseling once a week, we did the little homework the psychologist sometimes gave us, and I had gone back to work, which was even more amazing, despite only on minimum work hours still and without on-calls.

       So with the tenth appointment coming up, I could say that I was doing better.

       Though I still had those moments where the monster came knocking, forcing me down, and there are still nights when I would be crying in my sleep, and there was also that one time that I had a nervous breakdown at the hospital. But I always had someone with me during those times, and since then, I would always find someone at the very first hint of a prodrome.

       So those moments are becoming noticeably rarer now.

       Like I said, I was doing better and I wouldn’t wish it to be in any other ways.

       And all of a sudden, I felt my mouth being smeared, with what I came to realize as my wooden spatula stained with the Bolognese sauce.

       ‘Earth to, Hayoung,’ Said the man with the sheepish grin across the counter.

       ‘What the.. Yi Fan! That was uncalled for!’

       Begrudgingly wiping my face with that rough kitchen tissue, I turned to face the culprit, ready to shower him with the colourful string of words I had at the very tip of my