(It’s one of those nights, it seems.

Jihyo brushes Mina’s hair away from her face, fingertips tracing against soft skin. She can’t help but linger at Mina’s next few breaths, tumbling past pretty parted lips. Jihyo can only watch her as she sleeps, relishing in the steady rise and fall of her chest. She watches the way the moonlight seems to dance on her skin, as easily as Mina did on stage. Fluid as water. Fleeting as the time they had together. Jihyo in a shaky breath of her own.

Mina is here.

Mina is hers.

Jihyo tucks those words away in her heart that night and presses in a little closer, her own breath trembling out of her chest.

“What are we doing, Minari?” Jihyo whispers in the dark of their bedroom, knowing she won’t get an answer. She’s unsure if she would even be able to handle the answer. Still, she presses, thumb following the sharp line of her jaw. “We aren’t kids anymore. How much longer can we keep doing this?”

Mina sleeps, still. The weight in Jihyo’s chest rests heavily, and only gets heavier at the kiss she places on Mina’s forehead, feeling her promises at the tips of her fingers. A life away from all of this, Mina had whispered to her, her fingers laced through Jihyo’s, a hopeful smile on her face. Soon, Jihyo. I promise.

Her promises feel even farther away now, especially when her phone begins to vibrate incessantly on her nightstand; a familiar beat she’d set for only one person. Jihyo could almost laugh at the way fate toys with them, with their hearts. The lines between them have tangled far too tightly to ever break, now.

“You have a lot of guts calling tonight, Hirai Momo.” Jihyo hears Momo’s soft laughter in lieu of an actual greeting, feeling that strange warmth filling her stomach again. She sinks onto her back, making sure to keep an eye on Mina, still sleeping soundly beside her, hers until the morning. Hers until she’s Jeongyeon’s, again.

“I think you make me fearless, Park Jihyo.” Momo’s easy answer draws her back from the daunting reality of the morning to come. Momo is always fearless, as if she doesn’t know that the girl she’s protected her entire life isn’t lying beside Jihyo. As if she doesn’t know that the girl she’s protected her entire life still owns Jihyo’s heart. Still, Jihyo indulges her and laughs at the tone of Momo’s voice, at the sleepiness that coats it, willing to pretend for just a moment. Always just a moment. “I missed you.”

That quiets Jihyo, quiets her for so long that Momo speaks up again, wondering if she’d fallen asleep to the sound of her voice. Jihyo scoffs, refusing to admit to the warmth that has clouded her cheeks. “We’ve never had this kind of relationship.”

“What kind of relationship, Jihyo?” Momo prods, voice gaining a serious edge. Jihyo feels a shiver down her spine. It reminds her that, behind Momo’s aloofness and silliness, this Momo exists. Just for her. “A relationship where people tell each other that they miss each other? Don’t be silly. Even friends do that.”

“Are we friends, Momo?” Jihyo can’t help but ask, speaking before she can even think, before she can catch up to the million thoughts running through her head. “Friends don’t do what we do.”

“You’re right.” Momo’s voice is full of laughter, one that pulls at the stubborn strings of Jihyo’s heart. “It’s what lovers do, Jihyo. Does that make us lovers instead?”

“You’re annoying.” Jihyo shakes her head, a light grin crossing her face, the tension in her shoulders melting away at Momo’s joking tone. For a moment, Momo helps her forget. She finds herself turning away, away from Mina, away from everything she’s known. Jihyo presses the phone a little closer to her ear.

“That’s not what you were saying in my bedroom last night.” Momo almost sing-songs on the other line, and it’s enough, enough to lighten the darkness in her chest, earning Momo a quiet laugh. She flushes at the memory, at the smug smile she can picture on Momo’s face, at the marks still etched into her skin by Momo’s burning lips.

“You’re going to get us caught, you know,” Jihyo scolds her, feeling like a giddy teenager for the first time in a long time. She closes her eyes to focus on the sound of Momo’s voice. The steady rhythm of her breaths.

“What is there to catch, Miss Park?” Jihyo can almost hear the smirk in her voice, can almost picture the way Momo must be reclining into her bed, right then. Momo, even with everything going on, was easy. Momo made everything easy. “I thought we weren’t even friends.”

“Shut up!” Jihyo laughs, louder than she intends to, feeling Mina stir on the other side of the bed. A shard of panic stabs through Jihyo’s heart, and it seems Momo can feel it too, the way her own laughter trickles away - like water slipping through her fingers. “I have to go.” She pauses, feeling her heart catch in . “I’ve missed you too, you know. See you soon.”

Jihyo manages to hang up before Mina stirs again, curling in against her back. She feels herself sink into the touch, sink into familiarity and knowing and home. She sets her phone back in its place. Mina presses a small kiss to her shoulder.

“Who was that?” Mina asks her, voice so thick with sleep that Jihyo wonders if she’s truly awake. Jihyo runs a hand over the arm wound around her waist, settling into Mina’s warmth, feeling a shaky breath tremble past her own lips.

“Just my sister.” Jihyo lies as easily as she draws her next breath, lies to Mina, again and again and again. “She said she can only call me at this time of night.”

Mina doesn’t question her, never finds reason to. Sometimes Jihyo wishes she would, wishes she wouldn’t trust her so readily, wishes she wouldn’t give her heart so readily. Mina only presses another kiss to her shoulder, head tucking against the nape of her neck. “Tell her that I miss her too.”

“I will,” Jihyo whispers, even though her voice feels louder than ever - even louder than the way her heart thundered in her chest right then. She laces her fingers through Mina’s, bare. For now. “Goodnight Mina. I love you.”

She feels Mina’s smile against her skin, the unguarded affection in her voice. Her stomach only twists tighter. “I love you too, Jihyo. Goodnight.”)

It’s been a decade since then.

And yet, the memory is stark in her mind, haunting the edges of the happiness she’d worked so hard to build. The sound of Momo’s voice rings in her head. Mina’s, too. They had been so young, then. So much younger than they are now, too young to even dream of where they’d ended up now. 

Her phone flashes incessantly on the bedside table as Momo sleeps beside her, face buried against their pillows, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of Jihyo’s shirt. Jihyo wishes it was all she had to worry about, the inevitable complains Momo would have in the morning for sleeping on her stomach again. She lets herself smile, just for a moment, leaning over to press a light kiss to Momo’s temple, to untangle her girlfriend from her shirt.

Momo could truly sleep through an earthquake if she wanted to.

“We can never really run away, can we?” Jihyo breathes into the dim light of their bedroom, tucking Momo’s hair behind her ear, the same way she had with Mina, so long ago. So, so long ago. “Not even now.”

(“Do you really think I’d let you leave, Jihyo?”

Of course it’s Sana.

A part of Jihyo is grateful, grateful that it hadn’t been anyone else. Hadn’t been Mina. A big part of her had been grateful that it hadn’t been Mina. Jihyo didn’t even want to think about it, how Mina might have looked at her then. What she might have said, what she might have done. What Jihyo might have done. The monotone voice blasts through the speakers again, and Jihyo’s attention is drawn back to the present, to the bundle in her arms, to everything that was waiting for her beyond those gates. 

“What makes you think you actually have a say in this, Sana?” Jihyo inches ever closer to the gates, soothing the child in her arms, making sure to hide her away from Sana’s piercing view. “If you really cared, just let me go, Sana. Let us go.”

“It she ever finds out about this, it would-.” Sana starts, eyes ablaze. Jihyo cuts her off, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket once more. Momo is waiting. 

“Well,” She bites out, hearing the beginnings of a cry on her daughter’s lips, her hands cradling her closer to her chest, her arms a protective shroud over her tiny figure. Jihyo wonders if she can feel it, the tension in Jihyo’s body, the way her heart rampaged in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribs. “She won’t find out, will she?”

Jihyo turns away then, turns away from everything she’s known, from the life she’s always lived. She turns, from Mina, and Sana, and the promises she knew she was breaking. Jihyo turns away, with her daughter in her arms and bleeding heart in her hands, and leaves behind her pasts to start anew.

Away from Sana, and her final pleading call.

Away from Mina, and the hollowness in her eyes.

Away from her family, and her fans, and the dreams she’d strived desperately to achieve. 

“Jihyo.” Momo’s voice is soft, riddled with concern, her hand warm as it cups around her elbow, guiding her onto the plane Jeongyeon has charted for them. It’s only when the door is shut behind them that Momo removes her mask, eyes searching her face, raking over Chaeyoung’s squirming figure. “Did anybody see you?”

“No,” Jihyo murmurs, sinking into Momo’s touch as she’s guided into a seat, Chaeyoung settling into the bassinet before them. Jeongyeon catches her gaze from across the aisle. Jihyo offers a stiff nod, ignoring the stone sinking to the pit of her stomach. She takes Momo’s hand, mustering up a smile and wishing with all her might that Momo will believe her. “Let’s go home.”)

The phone buzzes.

Jihyo’s had enough of it, enough of this old life chasing her, even now. She wonders how it’s caught up to her, when they’ve been so careful, burning bridges before they’ve even gotten to them.

Only Sana, of course. Only Sana would be able to find her, even after all this time.

Jihyo, with her aching bones and aching heart, rises from the warmth of Momo’s loose embrace, careful not to jostle her as she catches the final ring of Sana’s call. Jihyo wonders idly how she can have the time for this, how she can have the time for anything else when she has her hands full with… Jihyo shakes her head, hearing Sana’s frustrated huff on the other line as she slips off the bed, feet slipping into her slippers before she pads out of the room.

“Sana,” Jihyo greets simply as she reaches the door, casting one more glance at Momo, at the woman who has loved her, at the woman she loves, before she turns away, lowering her voice even further. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Of course not,” Sana’s voice is sharper than she’s ever heard, even sharper than it was at the airport when she’d made her escape, barely into her twenties and running, running, running. “I would never give up on Mina like that.”

(“I can’t live like this any longer, Mina.” Her own voice rings in her ears, the half-truths and half-lies she was feeding herself, feeding the woman sitting before her, as broken as she already was. Jihyo steels herself, and wills herself to break Mina a little more. “I can’t stay.”

“What do you mean?” Mina breathes out, her entire body speaking of disbelief, of incredulity. Of heartbreak. The mere sight of her etches itself into the deepest corners of Jihyo’s mind - the way her shoulders dropped, the way her eyes shimmered, the way curved around her words, seemingly as confused as she was, right then. “Jihyo?”

“I’m leaving you, Mina,” Jihyo tells her, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, as if it isn’t tearing apart every fibre of her being. As if her own words aren’t clawing into her own heart. She thinks of Momo, of Chaeyoung, of the life waiting for her beyond this - sure and ready and certain.

“But the papers, they’re…” Mina’s reaction is immediate, the way she takes Jihyo’s hands into her own, the way she tries to catch her gaze, voice trembling as she pleads. “Just give me a little more time-.”

“I’ve been waiting all this time, Mina.” Jihyo swallows down the lump in , tearing her hands away from Mina’s grasp, closing her eyes to the way Mina falls to her knees before her. She refuses to fall victim to the same eyes she’s gotten lost in, again and again and again. “I’m tired. Tired of waiting. Of this. Of us. Of you.”

She goes to leave, then, leaves despite the way Mina’s voice cracks, despite the way her own stomach turns, despite the way her entire body screams for her to stay, to take her words back, to keep waiting - just a little longer. Just a little longer.

“Jihyo, please.”

It’s the last thing she hears from her, for a long, long while.)

Jihyo’s jaw tightens, blinking away the tears that sting at her eyes over memories she thought she’d buried away years and years ago. Her fingers curl tighter around the phone in her hand, one hand pushing open the door to her office. “You know nothing, Sana.”

Sana’s laughter filters through the speakers, but the light that she’s always known is gone - empty. “I know enough.”

(“Is this enough for you?” Jeongyeon greets, in lieu of a hello, a how are you, a how have you been. A what do you need this time?

Mom’s voice is quiet, sincere. “I never wanted for this to happen, Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon laughs, her fingers wrinkling the newspapers strewn across her desk. “But it did.”)

Jeongyeon doesn’t answer Momo’s call.

Momo doesn’t call again.

She supposes it will never be enough for her.

(“Can you stand a little closer together?”

Dahyun complies easily with the photographer’s instructions, but even a person with the barest of their senses could feel the tension hanging over the room. The reluctance, radiating from all three of them. Her Mama, with her barely concealed discomfort. Mina, with her easy practiced smile and her solemn eyes. Herself, tired of the facade, of the image they were trying to keep for the sake of names, of pride.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Mina asks her once the shoot ends, and Dahyun wonders idly how it had all ended up like this. How every waking moment yearning for her mother turned into trying to escape from her, as soon as she could.

“No, Mina.” Dahyun hears the words tumbling from her own mouth as she shrugs into her jacket, ignoring the fiery gaze her aunt sends her. Ignoring the way her own mother’s heart crumbles before her. She casts a glance to her phone, ignoring the pointed sound of her aunt calling her name. “I have a new script to read up on. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Mina answers after a pause that threatens to swallow the entire room whole. Dahyun turns her head away when she steps closer, jaw setting at the light kiss pressed to her temple. “It’s good that you’re always so studious. I know you’re going to do well at your audition.”

Dahyun doesn’t offer much besides a low hum, terrified of the way her own chest tightens, of the lump building in , the tears that were begging to bubble up. She walks away then, her silently seething aunt close behind her, her Mama standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“Dahyun,” Mina calls, just as she steps past the doorway, just as she feels her Mama’s arm around her shoulders. “I love you.”

Dahyun doesn’t answer.)

“Stupid,” Dahyun murmurs, swimming eyes hardly able to make out the way her mother’s face looked in the picture, her own voice choked with guilt, with longing. Her thumb traces over the jagged edges that mar her mother’s smiling face, wrinkled by the tape she’d used to make the photo whole again.

How young she had been then. How naive she had been then.

She thought she had all the time and space in the world for her anger, her hatred.

Dahyun turns in her bed, all too big now for just herself, and yet not big enough for all of the regrets she had in her heart, aching to spill over. She rubs at the tears in her eyes, berates herself for her own faults, and wonders if her mother, her Mom, would even be awake at such a late hour.

Wonders, and hopes, that there is enough time in the world for her Mom to forgive her.

She’s dreaming again.

It’s the same dream, again, the same dream that’s been plaguing Chaeyoung for weeks. The same dream that Chaeyoung wakes from, chest tight and heart racing and breath skipping, half expecting to be floating about in the endless blue of the sea, with no other company but herself and the screams no one would ever hear.

It’s silly, Chaeyoung thinks as she curls her fingers into the fabric of her shirt, drawing shaky breaths to calm her racing heart. She’s too old to be afraid of things like this, right?

Her Mom had been around to soothe her earlier, in the car, holding her hand without question. With her easy smile and tender gaze and steady grip, the rough calluses of her weathered hands a simple reminder that she was still there.

Chaeyoung catches sight of her own hands, damp with sweat and still stained with the specks of blue she couldn’t scrub away, no matter how hard she tried. She clenches her own hands closed, letting out a shuddering breath and letting the warmth of her night light wash over her. 

She couldn’t wake her now, not so late, not when her own Mom had already stayed up with her for weeks and weeks on end, just to finish her winning piece. Not when her Mom had carried her up to bed, even though Chaeyoung was sure she was hardly as light as she used to be when her Mom carried her, all those years ago.

Her favorite strawberry milk would have to do, then.

Chaeyoung’s journey down the hallways of the apartment is quick, soundless, with Chaeyoung knowing every creak and ache in the wood so well she knows how to avoid them by now. Her Mom had been the one to teach her, after all. It was on her journey back that she skids to a stop, hearing the sound of her Mum’s voice, just barely audible through the crack in the doorway to her office. 

“How long has she known?”

Chaeyoung, sipping through the straw of the carton in her hand, knows better than to eavesdrop. Until she hears her name, that is. She presses herself against the wall beside the open doorway, trying to listen as closely as possible as she holds her breath. She wonders if it’s worth it, with the way her heart pounds in her chest. With the way her head spins.

“If she knew about Chaeyoung from the very beginning, why didn’t she do anything? Say anything?” Her Mum’s voice is low, just barely audible for Chaeyoung to hear through the sliver in the doorway. Her eyebrows furrow at the question. Why would her Mum sound so perturbed by someone knowing her when she was younger?

It’s the first time, really, that her Mum sounds afraid about someone finding out about her.

“So that’s her name.” A voice crackles through the speakers of her Mum’s phone and, in a heart stopping breath, Chaeyoung catches a glimpse of her Mum, on a video call with a woman she’s never seen, with a voice she’s never heard. Or at least, she thinks so. “She doesn’t even know if you’re alive, Jihyo.”

Chaeyoung feels her breath catch in at those words, feels as if her knees might give out at any minute, feels as if she might empty out her stomach, right then and there. Just who on earth was this person? Of course her Mum was alive. Why would there be any reason to believe that she wasn’t? The milk in her hands feels frozen, then, settling heavily in her stomach as her Mum speaks again, voice coated in frustration.

“If that’s the case then why, Sana?” The sound of the woman’s name is familiar, but Chaeyoung can hardly place it, not in the storm brewing in her mind. She presses impossibly closer, fingers digging into the painted wood of the doorframe. “Why am I on that damn will if she doesn’t even know I’m alive?”

“The facility informed her, Jihyo.” This woman, this Sana, speaks plainly, but her voice sends trembles shivering down her spine, threatening to destroy the very foundations of everything Chaeyoung has ever known. She hears the curse that falls from her Mum’s lips, hears the way her old computer chair creaks as she turns. Chaeyoung’ a fear skyrockets once more, missing part of Santa’s words as she presses herself back against the wall. “...Used in a procedure. Those are her kids, too, Jihyo. All she knows is that there must have been one that’s survived.”

“Listen, Sana, you have the wrong idea about all of this.” Her Mum is almost laughing, but there is no humor. Only exhaustion, only the icy anger she’d seen once in her life. She hears Sana’s scoff, and it only seems to fuel her Mum’s frustrations, her rising voice seeping clearly through the open doorway. “Mina has no right to call Chaeyoung her daughter.”

Chaeyoung wonders if this was what Dahyun had meant before, about feeling the entire world as she knew it shatter beneath her feet. Mina? Who on Earth was Mina? Who on Earth was Sana? Why on Earth was she looking for her Mum, for her - and why on Earth was she calling her Mina’s daughter for crying out loud. It couldn’t be, right? It absolutely couldn’t be, right?

Chaeyoung can barely stand, can barely even listen to the next words that drift through the door, feeling as if the world might swallow her whole at any minute - and she would be glad for it. It’s the sound of Sana’a voice that brings her back, so venomous that even Chaeyoung flinches at its bite. “I never should have let you get on that plane.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make, Sana,” Her Mum shoots back with barely contained anger, and Chaeyoung’s head only swims further, her breaths growing shallow. Her Mum had run away. Her Mum had run away - from this… this Mina. Her mother? Her real mother?

“It wasn’t yours to cut Mina out of Chaeyoung’s life.” Sana speaks with finality, as if she hadn’t just turned Chaeyoung’s entire life upside down. Had her entire life been a lie? If this Mina, this new mysterious woman from her Mum’s past, was her biological mother… then who was Momo, the Mom she’d known her entire life? Chaeyoung can barely think, barely hear the last few words floating out to reach her. Santa’s voice is softer now, almost pleading. “This isn’t the time to argue about decisions we can’t change anymore. They want to meet her, Jihyo. You can’t hide her forever.”

“I was doing a fine job until you called.” Her Mum’s voice sounds as defeated as Chaeyoung feels, her high from earlier melting away into the sudden storm in her mind. She hears the rattle of her Mum’s nails against her desk, a nervous habit even Chaeyoung has picked up over the years. Chaeyoung looks down at the carton in her hand, warm now. Forgotten. “If I refuse?”

“This isn’t just about you this time, Jihyo.” Sana’s frustration seeps back into her voice. Chaeyoung risks another glance. “You’ve already kept her away for fifteen years, Jihyo. The Myouis are only trying to fulfill their only daughter’s wishes. If not for you, do it for Chaeyoung. They both deserve to know.”

The line seems to cut, then. There is naught but silence, but the click of her Mum’s phone against her desk, the trembling sigh that passes through her lips.

Chaeyoung has heard enough.

She slinks back to her room as quietly as she can, heart racing a mile a minute as she huddles back under the covers, her half-empty carton taunting her from the bedside table. Mina, she repeats in her head as she collapses back against the pillows. Her mother’s name. Myoui Mina.

Jihyo wonders how her life had come to this.

Wonders how, in pursuit of happiness and peace and freedom, she ends up tangled in a web tighter than any spider could ever spin. She feels her knees tremble in the aftermath of her call with Sana, at the fierce look in her eye, at the documents she’d presented - all confidential, redacted. She wonders how Sana had gotten a hold of them in the first place, but she knows better than to question Sana by now. 

Jihyo knows better than to question the niggling doubt in the back of her mind as she stops before Chaeyoung’s bedroom door, unlocked and slightly ajar. She in a soft breath as she peeks inside, catches the sight of her daughter - her daughter - and wishes she could keep her away from this for just a little longer. She slips inside, matching her steps to Chaeyoung’s deep breaths, careful as she sits by her bedside, just like those used to, when Chaeyoung barely reached her hip.

It seems so far away now, as Jihyo combs through Chaeyoung’s light brown hair, as Jihyo traces over the soft skin of her cheek, the light line of her jaw. She leans down to press a trembling kiss to her temple, wills herself to not let her tears spill over. Jihyo wishes, achingly, desperately, for just one more moment. Just one more moment. Just like this.

(“Rise and shine.”

Dahyun stirs at the sound of her Mom’s voice, soft and lilting in song, feeling slender fingers comb through her hair, hearing the smile in her voice. She feels the tender kiss to her forehead as her eyelids flutter open, a brilliant smile spreading across her face.

“Mom!” She exclaims, throwing her arms around her mother’s neck to keep her close, hearing her mother’s tinkling laughter against her ear. Dahyun burrows in  a little closer, wondering if she was really awake, wondering if it was really her Mom right there, holding her in her arms. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sunshine,” Her Mom reassures, voice firm, whole, her arms wrapping warmly around her. “I won’t be leaving any time soon.”)

“Rise and shine!” Dahyun hears again, truly jolting out of her sleep, her head sore and dry. She groans at the familiar weight settled on her hips, the hands pinching her cheeks, her own hand blindly swatting at her intruder. “Finally, I’ve been trying to wake you for 30 minutes now.”

“Who let you in?” Dahyun complains, unable to help her smile as her best friend only settles further against her, warm and smelling sweetly of her shampoo. “Gahyeon, get off.”

“My mother in law did, of course,” Gahyeon drawls happily against her ear before she sits back up, pulling at the strings of the sweatshirt Dahyun is still wearing. Dahyun can’t find the energy to fight her off, not at the easy smirk on her face, at the one slice of normalcy she still has in this whirlwind of events she tries to call her life. “We’re going to be late if you don’t get up soon.”

“Don’t call my mom that,” Dahyun grumbles as she finally nudges Gahyeon off, grinning at her exaggerated fall and crying in response, swatting at her leg. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“That’s all I’m giving you, or I’ll replace you as my on-screen partner,” Gahyeon warns as she rolls off the bed, managing to look even better having rolled around in her sheets than she had, pristine and made up.

“I promise,” Dahyun throws over her shoulder as she shuts the bathroom door behind her, the click of the lock setting her body into autopilot, settling into her usual routine. It’s strange, how the silence seems demanding rather than comforting, how it seems to follow her around more than her own shadow, hiding so much in the absence of sound. Of everything.

Dahyun thinks she should be used to it.

She isn’t.

The car ride to their shoot is quiet, too.

Not even her aunt speaks a word to her, doesn’t offer more than a soft smile and a bag from her mother’s own bakery - a chocolate muffin that feels like ash in . Even her favorite things felt bleak, then, and Dahyun is left to bask in the odd brightness of the girl she’s known her whole life. Left to enjoy the splash of color Gahyeon offers her, even now. Especially now.

They’re like puzzle pieces, Dahyun thinks, as she hums and curls her pinkie around Gahyeon’s, nodding along to her story of a tall girl she’d seen the other day, carrying three - no, five - boxes. Dahyun is happy to pretend that the way they slot together is enough to soothe her aching, weeping heart. 

Dahyun thinks she should be used to that, too.

She never is.

(There hadn’t been much time, then, much time to talk, much time to say anything, the first time Momo calls her again, after everything that had happened.

Momo sits down across from her, trembling hands curled around a cup of coffee that tastes like it had been scraped from the bottom of a barrel. Jeongyeon supposes Momo doesn’t have much time to think about that. Doesn’t have much time to think about anything other than her daughter, small and fragile but alive, for now.

I didn’t know who else to ask, Momo’s voice had been pleading, desperate, shooting a spike of fear down Jeongyeon’s spine. Jihyo and I…

Jihyo, of course. The very woman who had broken her wife’s heart, the very woman who had tested the very limits of their marriage. Alive, and well, and a mother. The mother of Momo's daughter. Jeongyeon would have laughed if her own heart didn’t feel like seizing up in her chest.

“Is it the same as Mina’s?” Jeongyeon’s coffee remains untouched before her, the first sip she took settling heavily in her stomach. She remembers the sleepy look Mina had given her earlier, the lies she had sprouted, the way Dahyun’s hand slipped from her own. She could feel them blossoming, the flowers of her guilt, its roots deep in her heart, its stalks curling around her ribs.

“Not as severe.” Momo sounds nothing like the girl who had tried to push her out of Mina’s treehouse all those years ago, declaring her as some sort of intruder. Nothing like the woman who has protected her wife, her family, fiercely, thanklessly. “But the procedure, Jihyo and I…”

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Jeongyeon murmurs, settling against the stiff plastic of the cafeteria seats, careful not to lower her mask. It would be dangerous for people to recognize her, even in the secluded hospital Momo has dragged her out to, in the middle of the night. To expose everything that they have carefully crafted for over a year, now. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Momo finally lifts her head to meet her gaze, and Jeongyeon sees the same look in her eyes, the same look she’d given Mina, asking her to stay. “All I know is that you saved my daughter’s life. And I can never repay you for it.”)

“It’s almost like you want to get caught.”

Momo sits across from her, a week after Jeongyeon had last rejected her call, bright-faced and sporting shorter hair, framing the sharper corners of her features. She seems to be happier these days, seeming to be free from everything that was happening. Jeongyeon wishes she could escape into the unabashed delight on Momo’s face, the way she leans towards her, sliding a small plaque across the table.

“This is Chaeyoung’s,” Momo tells her with an easy grin. Jeongyeon recognises it, the same pride in her voice, the same pride she has for Dahyun when she performs on stage. When she starred in her first show, her first movie, her first play, musical, music video. Jeongyeon supposes she has her own sets of firsts, too, with a child she’s hardly ever met. A child she’s kept alive for over a decade, now.

“First place,” Jeongyeon reads with an impressed lift of her brows, tracing over the printed characters before her, slowly and reverently. A name that wasn’t Momo’s. Not even Jihyo’s. “Son Chaeyoung.”

“I wanted her to carry my name,” Momo hums softly, tells her like she has a million times before. There is a quiet longing in her voice, even after fifteen years. Especially after fifteen years. The shadows of her darkened bakery seem to creep further over Momo’s skin. “It would have been too obvious.”

They sit for a moment, regarding each other like they always do, left to wonder how they’d gotten here. Left to wonder how far they’d fallen. They’d been on the top of the world, then. They had ruled the world, then. They sit for a moment, regarding each other and their crumbling kingdoms, with their broken daughters left to pick up the pieces. 

“Why did you call me here, Momo?” Jeongyeon asks her, the words resting too heavily on her tongue, begging to leave her. A glance at her watch tells her that she’s already late, late to take her shift with Mina. Momo stays quiet for another moment, sliding the plaque back towards her, repeating the motion Jeongyeon had done only moments ago. Her touch is longing, thoughtful.

“I want to tell her,” Momo finally answers, with words that jolt down her spine, curling dangerously around her lungs and stealing her breath away. “I want to tell Mina about Chaeyoung.”

“Does Jihyo know?” Jeongyeon asks after her own beat, her mind whirring a mile a minute. Her emotions cycle through disbelief, through anger, hardly able to believe that Momo of all people would even consider putting this sort of strain on Mina, especially when she was in this condition. “Have you finally lost your mind?”

“I haven’t discussed it with her yet,” Momo replies pointedly, glaring at the implication of Jeongyeon’s words. Jeongyeon only huffs out a breath, sitting back against the plush leather of the cafe seat behind her. “It’s been long enough, Jeongyeon. How much more does she have to miss of Chaeyoung’s life?”

“You should have considered that before playing dead to make house with the woman she loved, Hirai Momo,” Jeongyeon spits out, her voice echoing in the emptiness of her closed store. She clenches her fists, leveling Momo with an incredulous stare. “How can you actually think about doing this right now? Don’t you think Mina has enough on her plate?”

“What could she possibly have on her plate?” Momo scoffs, running a hand through her hair and daring to look right into Jeongyeon’s eyes, as if she didn’t know. Jeongyeon stares back at the woman that Mina has loved and lost, in a fire that ran deeper and darker than losing even her. Even Jihyo. “...Jeongyeon?”

“You don’t know,” Jeongyeon breathes out, the tension, the anger and frustration draining out of her shoulders. She slumps back against the chair as Momo’s expression grows clueless, fingers tight around the plaque in her hands.

“What don’t I know, Jeongyeon?” Momo presses, sounding even more confused than she looked, her own anger melting away at the way Jeongyeon looks at her then, her hands trembling, eyes solemn.

“Momo,” Jeongyeon starts softly. There is no animosity, then. No pain, no more secrets, nothing more than the deep friendship that has kept her holding onto this secret for so, so long. “Momo… Mina, she’s…”

(“Do you think they’ll like me?”

Chaeyoung’s voice is small, smaller than Jihyo has ever heard, enough to draw her attention away from the gaggle of children walking into the school before them. She gazes into the wide, wide eyes of her beautiful daughter, speaking volumes in her simple, unwavering stare.

 Jihyo offers a gentle smile, crouching down to her height and ignoring the protest her knees make, even after so long. She tucks Chaeyoung’s hair behind her ears, still a little choppy from the impromptu cut she’d given herself, humming as Chaeyoung quiets, hands curled tightly around the straps of her brand-new backpack.

A gift. Jeongyeon’s voice rings in her head, the simple paper bag acting as a shield between them, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. An offering. She and Dahyun can match. 

Jihyo shakes out of her thoughts, focusing on soothing her daughter, on urging a smile back onto her face. “I’m sure they’ll love you, Chaeyoung. What’s not to like?”

“They might make fun of me,” Chaeyoung mumbles, kicking at the loose stones on the path they were on, shrinking under the encouraging looks of the teachers by the doorway. Jihyo watches as she lets go of her bag with one hand, tugging lightly at the thin necklace hanging over her chest, instead. “I don’t have all of my teeth.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re not the only one,” Jihyo breathes out a soft sigh of relief, pulling Chaeyoung’s crisp t-shirt over the beginnings of the scar on her chest. “You kids eat too many sweets these days, after all.”

“Do not!” Chaeyoung exclaims, breaking away from her touch with an indignant huff, cheeks bursting out in the same way Jihyo’s heart just might, right out of her chest.

“Okay, okay.” Jihyo can only laugh, drawing her daughter back in for one more hug, for a dozen more kisses, aching to keep her daughter to herself for another moment longer. She breathes her in, wondering if she’ll feel the same longing for the rest of Chaeyoung’s life, with every step she took forward and slowly away from her. “I love you, Chaeyoung.”

Chaeyoung only hums, wriggling out of her grasp after planting a noisy kiss against her cheek, all of her worries already forgotten. She beams, Jihyo mirroring her smile as Chaeyoung waves over her shoulder. “Love you too!”)

“Mum,” Jihyo finally hears, Chaeyoung’s voice cutting through her thoughts and the heaviness in her mind, still lingering on the call - a week ago, now. “I’m going to be late.”

“Sorry,” Jihyo laughs out, more of a breath than anything, snapping back into the reality of the fact that her daughter was a high school student now. She steps back to take her in again, smiling fondly at the way Chaeyoung squirms, pouting under her scrutiny. She hears the beginnings of a familiar whine, and Jihyo can only laugh again, full and warm, taking Chaeyoung’s hands into her own. “Okay, okay. I just can’t believe it. I feel like I was dropping you off at play school just yesterday.”

“You’re just too sentimental,” Chaeyoung grumbles,  but Jihyo knows her daughter, knows her better than she even knows herself; knows the tiny smile she’s hiding in the collar of her brand new uniform jacket - a deep, dark navy that contrasts with the light of her hair. “I should go.”

“Give me another minute.” Jihyo shakes her head, stepping closer to cup her daughter’s cheeks, to indulge in this moment of quiet with her. She’s surprised when Chaeyoung is the one that presses into an embrace, arms tight around her waist, head burrowing against her neck. Jihyo doesn’t hesitate to wrap her up in her own arms, enveloping her in a tender embrace, fingers carding through soft hair. “Chaeyoung?”

“I love you Mum,” Chaeyoung whispers suddenly, voice as heavy as the secrets that lie in Jihyo’s heart. She presses closer, hiding in the comfort of Jihyo’s arms, and Jihyo is happy to provide it, keeping Chaeyoung away from a world that only took and took and took.

Jihyo holds her closer, and tells whatever higher power that has damned her to this life that it could take anything, anyone - but not this. Never this.

(‘Dear Dahyun,

Isn’t it nice to write letters like this? Doesn’t it feel like the older times, when they didn’t have computers and stuff? Mrs Kang told us that we had to write letters to the person we picked from her pretty hat, and that you guys were from a really high grade in a school all the way across the country! That's a long way, right? Even the walk down to the grocery store with my Mom feels like a really long way sometimes.

Anyway, Mrs Kang told us to put these things about ourselves. My name is Chaeyoung, I’m four years old and I have two mommies. I like to draw and I like to run, and I love strawberries the most. What kind of things do you like? Talk to you again soon!

From, Chaeyoung.

PS. Mrs Kang told me I could draw a picture with my letter, so I did. That’s my Mom, Mum and me!)

“Dearest Dahyun,” Chaeyoung murmurs aloud as she finds a quiet corner in her brand new school, taking a minute to gather her nerves before her brand new classes start, with a brand new set of people she’d never met before. The phone in her hand feels like a lifeline, and the text she sends feels like a cry for help - a message in a bottle. There’s a voice in the back of her head, yelling at her, but Chaeyoung can hardly pay attention to it, huddling closer to herself. “What do you do when your whole world turns upside down? Yours truly, your taller friend Chaeyoung.”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

(“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Dahyun hears through the ringing in her ears and the buzz of her phone, slipping right off the bed and back into her discarded jeans. The touch pressing into the small of her back burns, and yet Dahyun hardly remembers the name of the girl behind her, asking her not to leave.)

“First day today.” Dahyun flashes an apologetic grin, untangling herself from Gahyeon for the last time that day. She squeezes the hands Gahyeon slip into her own, tugging her up from the pathway where they’d been instructed to bump into each other, over and over again, the early hours of the day melting into the late afternoon. “I have a promise to keep, Kim Gahyeon.”

“You owe me lunch, Myoui-Yoo Dahyun,” Gahyeon complains, but shoos her off, already being whisked away to her own solo shots for the day. Dahyun sends a flying kiss her way, laughing at the fake gag Gahyeon offers her in return. Not even the sound of her full name can deter her, not with what was awaiting her. 

It felt strange, having something to look forward to in a time like this, wishing that time would go faster when her entire body had been aching for it to slow down for just another minute.

This was the only exception.

She was the only exception.

“Let’s all get along for the year, okay?”

Jihyo smiles fondly at the level of cheers she receives from her new students, young and bright and lovely - bar one, sitting prim and proper and silent in the back, gazing out the window. She doesn’t pay much mind to it, not yet, not until she’s dismissed every student by name, everyone but this young girl, who hadn’t spoken for anything other than introducing herself.

She makes her way over to her, helping her pack away the last of her new books in a bag that she’s seen one too many times today - one she knows costs more than her previous paycheck in her previous chocolates. The same one Jeongyeon had given Chaeyoung, all those years ago.

“Thank you, Miss Park,” Tzuyu offers, seemingly surprised by her help. Jihyo only smiles gently as she packs the last of her books away, snapping it shut for the girl before her, younger than even Chaeyoung.

“How’s your arm?” Jihyo asks carefully, her gentle smile turning into a concerned one as her eyes sweep over Tzuyu’s face. She’s beautiful, to say the least, with a quiet air about her that reminds her too much of… Jihyo shakes her head, having been pulled aside by the principal herself, to take care in what she said and did with her mysterious new student.

Tzuyu stays silent, but her gaze is thankful as Jihyo helps her shrug her backpack on. Her eyes are wide and full of warmth, one hand straying absently to the shoulder of her casted arm. “I’m fine, Miss Park. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“That’s good.” Jihyo hums, finally keeping her hand to herself, trying not to let her own motherly instincts take over when it came to Tzuyu. She looks incredibly small, then, even at only 8 years old and already almost taller than Jihyo. “Will someone be collecting you?”

“Yes.” Tzuyu’s answers are simple, quick, never offering more than she has to. Jihyo supposes she understands what secrets these children must hide in a school like this - secrets for only those who could afford to keep it. “My driver will be collecting me.”

“Good.” Jihyo smiles warmly, feeling pride blossom in her chest at the first smile she manages to wrangle out of Tzuyu that entire day. She nods towards the door, pleased that Tzuyu was warming up to her, little by little. “I’ll walk you out. I wouldn’t want anyone to bump into you with your arm like that.”

“Thank you,” Tzuyu murmurs again, keeping close as they walk through the barely there chaos of the hallways, the last handful of the older kids laughing as they raced out of the building. Jihyo can’t help but keep an eye on Tzuyu, at the simple cast wrapped around her wrist, decorated with bunnies and dogs and odd shapes Jihyo couldn’t identify. Jihyo can only wonder what potential there is to discover in the young girl before her, wonders about the way her eyes light up as they reach the entrance. Wonders about the sudden uneasiness that settles in her stomach.

“Dahyun unnie!” Tzuyu calls, eyes bright and smile brighter, dimple deep, a far cry from the silent girl sitting in her class earlier. Jihyo barely registers it, the thanks Tzuyu gives to her, not at the sight of the girl standing by the gates. Jihyo barely has time to press herself into the wall beside the heavy doors of the building, escaping Dahyun’s distracted gaze, and the gaze of the woman standing just beyond her - the same gaze she’d seen, just a week ago.

Jihyo breathes, and hides, and wonders at how small this world truly is.