Date: September 5, 2018

Jisoo’s POV

                With clammy hands, I gently pushed inward on the door knob. My heart was beating so hard I was sure that if anyone was here with me, they would be able to hear it too. Slowly, the room came into view–although my eyes were useless now that I was immersed in darkness. An overpowering musty smell filled my lungs, sending me coughing several times before learning not to inhale so deeply in such a filthy environment. In the corner was a large window covered with translucent white curtains–moonlight struggled to shine through, casting only a bleak glow on the cold hardwood floor. Unable to work with just that, I fumbled around for another source of light.


                Reaching in front of me, my hands felt in front of me while I took small steps forward. Eventually, a large solid object obstructed my way; I grazed it, grimacing at the feeling of dust collecting on my hands. After running my fingers across a few scratches on what seemed to be authentic cherry wood, it was safe to assume that I had found my father’s desk. Feeling my way upward, my hands led me to a small table lamp that I managed to turn on–gasping at how much light it emitted for something so small and flimsy. The room was now substantially lit, showcasing a full view of the space my dad used to work in. Everything was now covered in a thick layer of dust–the desk, the leather chair behind it, the huge bookshelves that lined the peeling walls, the crooked paintings that occupied what would have been dead space, the love seat and coffee table on the other side of the room, and the hefty wardrobe in another corner.


                I frowned. This space seemed like typical study, so I wasn’t sure why Namjoon and I were banned from coming in. But disappointment wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I kept searching for something to hypothesize about. Holding my breath to prevent myself from inhaling more dust, I briefly circled my father’s desk hoping to find drawers of some kind. There were, although the most that they held were dust bunnies, a dried up fountain pen, and shriveled up spiders.


                Gross...

                Turning my attention elsewhere, I observed the wall shelves that were completely occupied with books and read through a few of the spines.

                Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst, The Double Helix, Molecular Biology of the Cell…

                Nothing stood out to me; my father was a molecular biologist, so these books were perfectly appropriate for him to read. Back to the drawing board.An Unnatural History, Cancer Research Secrets, My Love, Kang JiHyo… My Love, Kang JiHyo…?

                Curious, I grabbed the book with the peculiar title and gently dusted the cover. The jacket was missing, so there were no pictures or graphics–just the title handwritten on red buckram that were coming apart at the corners. I checked the spine again and realized that the words there were handwritten too. Parting the book right down the middle, dozens of neatly printed lines filled with scruffy penmanship came into view. It wasn’t a book, it was a journal.


                I quickly read through the pages I was on:

------

November 13, 1992

My dear JiHyo,

It has been four years since you have left me. Not a single day goes by where I don’t think of you or miss you. You departed for God, and He is now watching over you. I wish He could take me too, but I cannot leave yet. I am working hard to figure out a solution. Please just give me time…

Yours Only,
Yang Jae Kwang

------

                My mind was spinning. Who was JiHyo, and why was my father writing about her in such an affectionate manner? What about mom? Did she know about this?

                I kept on reading through the pages.

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January 23, 1995

JiHyo,

I am getting married to you again today. I think you have come back to me, right? You are making your delicious homemade kimchi for me like you always do. You look so beautiful with your hair tucked behind your ears. I am the luckiest man alive. Thank you for coming back to me.

Yours,
Yang Jae Kwang

------

March 5, 1996

JiHyo,

We gave birth to our first son today. I named him Namjoon because I know how much you love that name. Thank you for bearing me a handsome son. I hope that our next child will be a girl. Let’s raise her to become a beautiful and strong woman like you.

Yours truly,
Yang Jae Kwang

------

July 8, 2000

JiHyo,

I don’t know what’s happening. Why don’t you like it when I call you by your name? I thought you were back with me. We have our daughter Jisoo now, but I am no longer happy. Everything about her is different. You get angry at me and tell me that I am insane for loving you, for missing you. JiHyo, it’s not you, is it? I am just wishful thinking.

Yours truly,
Yang Jae Kwang

------

June 17, 2005

JiHyo,

I am leaving this place. I have faced the reality that you are gone. No one else on this earth can replace you or be you, and that is fine. I tried so hard to ask that woman for help, but she wouldn’t help me. She keeps screaming and crying all day and night, talking about how messed up I am, but she doesn’t understand a single thing. I will do whatever I can to be with you again. I promise.

Yours truly,
Yang Jae Kwang

                Resentful, I slammed the book shut and threw it down on the table, unable to read any further. Hot tears streamed down my face, and the sob that would have accompanied them was stifled from the immense pain and confusion I felt. Guards down, I wasn’t cognizant that someone had been in the room with me until a familiar voice blurted out no louder than a whisper, “J-Jisoo.”


                Nausea overcame me as my heart dropped down to my stomach. I could recognize that voice from anywhere–that soft, gentle, loving voice that could lift any sadness or anger off your chest. The voice that crooned me to sleep when I woke up trembling from a nightmare. The voice that once protected me from the cold world. Turning around, I found my mother in her wheelchair looking at me with terror in her eyes; tears were too trickling down her cheeks as she caught her breath The knit vest that once rested on her shoulders to keep her warm was now hanging off the side of her arm, as if it had fallen off from the intense wheeling she had done to come in here and stop me from opening that damned door.


                “U-Umma… I–I,” I said in a murmur that slowly grew into a loud incomprehensible cry of words that even I couldn’t understand. “I am so sor… I don’t – I just…”


                She looked at me, then at the wretched journal that seemed to be mocking the both of us. Her eyes widened in panic.


                “Jisoo, did… Did you read it?” she stammered, her voice cracking along with every word she spoke.


                Nodding, I continued to bawl.


                “Oh my G–,” my mother whispered, her last word trailing off into complete silence as her neck went limp and her head fell back on the wheelchair. Eyes rolling backwards, I caught a glimpse of their whites before they shut.


                “Umma!” I shrieked as I ran over to her. Gripping onto her arms, I gently shook her–desperately hoping that she would wake again, but to no avail. She remained unconscious.


                With no time to stand there crying, I hurried into my room, grabbed my phone, and dialed 119 for help. In the meantime, I called for Helen, who jolted awake and rushed into my father’s study. Guilt washed over me as I watched her face turn white when she found my mother senseless in her chair; she checked for her pulse then affirmatively nodded at me to sign that she was still alive. Together, we rolled my mother out to the front door where the ambulance would be coming shortly. Seeing how many constrictive layers she was wearing, I ed my mother’s vest to allow her more breathing room. Just a few minutes later, the ambulance arrived; several team members hurried down with a stretcher and transferred my mother onto the truck.  A professional checked her vitals before Helen and I hopped onto the seats beside her, both of us holding onto her hands as the vehicle began making its way towards the hospital.