It was raining again. Collecting a plate with a half-eaten carrot cake Namjoo peered out the window. Rain was dripping down in the dozen splattering noisily against the glass. A downpour coming down in a quick rush appearing like translucent bullets flying into the ground. Mother nature’s raid.

Across the street a man was scurrying to his car, a newspaper held over his head to shield his expensive coat. The headlights of his vehicle glowed orange before he slipped inside for shelter. The young woman who owned the window shop of handmade accessories in the cute yellow building had pulled the open door, because her shop had swelled with heat, close. Peeking out into the street like her.

A long winter of cold white snow just ended. The transition to spring was mucky and the freeze stubbornly lingered. Not even a minute outside and she could see her breath midair. It was still impossible to walk without two layers of clothes, gloves, and a scarf. Rain boots, snow boots, whatever. These days many switched back and forth upon feeling.

The rain had persisted for a long week, as if earth was throwing a tantrum, too, about the long freezing weather. Namjoo was too prepared for a dry day whether she still needed to bundle up or not. Just if it would stop raining that would be nice.

But Namjoo wasn’t staring out the window to check on the weather. Her heart picked up. Smiling as she turned away from her task and headed toward the front door. Pushing open the wooden door to hear, “Mommy!”

“Hi, baby!” Namjoo crouched down to give her son a hug. Releasing him she cupped his red cheeks.

“Look!” he proudly showed off his mismatched gloves.

Namjoo blankly stared at one black Spiderman designed glove. The other a yellow minion mitten. “What happened to your gloves?”

“He misplaced it somewhere. I’ll look for it.” his father explained.

Namjoo glanced up at her ex-husband, nagging, “You should have tucked it into his coat like I told you to. This is already the fifth time.” She shot Kihoon a glance and hoped he didn’t detect the irritation in her tone.

She smiled and placed a hand affectionately atop his knit hat.

“Then I’ll replace them. What’s the big deal?” Oh Sehun, her husband of three and a half years and ex for nearly half a year now, sighed.

“Forget it,” Namjoo blew him off. She didn’t want to tell him not to waste his money, but already knew the answer he would give. He didn’t care about money. If their son wanted new gloves, he would get new gloves.

Touching Kihoon’s scarf she complained, “And you put his scarf on backwards.”

“We were in a hurry. Are you going to whine about that, too?” he nitpicked.

Namjoo opened to retort. Instead she touched Kihoon’s shoulders and turned him around. “Say bye bye to daddy. You’ll see him again next week.”

Their son gazed up at Sehun. Wide eyes b with innocence.

“Come on, buddy.” Sehun called opening his arms and lifted Kihoon up. He appeared two times his size because of his armor against the cold. A thick coat stuffed with duck feathers and big snow boots that allowed him to kick the rock-hard snow for fun without feeling an inch of the cold. They had made sure to get him boots thick enough to keep his tiny feet insulated with warmth. Hearing how many young children ended up in the hospital with severe colds had turned them into paranoid parents.

Kihoon shrieked happily when Sehun swirled him in the air. He whined when Sehun set him down. Clinging onto his legs pleading, “Again! Again, daddy! Pwease!”

“Last time, ok?” he promised before lifting Kihoon up one more time.

When he landed on the ground again Namjoo put her arm securely around her son who happily hugged her.

“I’ll pick him up Sunday.” Sehun said handing her the diaper bag they had used to stuff Kihoon’s clothes and medicine and spare diapers. He was in the process of being potty trained. Had just gotten the hang of asking for the bathroom, but events at night were different. Kihoon went freely when he slept.

“I’ll have him ready for you.” Namjoo said.

“Be good to your mommy, ok?” Sehun rubbed Kihoon’s head. “I’ll see you soon.”

All smiley Kihoon giggled and returned the wave as Sehun turned to leave. Heading back into the warmth of the restaurant Namjoo peeled off his coat and helped him onto a chair in the corner. Retrieving his coloring book and some crayons to keep him busy she returned to work.

She had opened the restaurant not long after she married Sehun. Had saved her entire life for this. She regarded the restaurant her life’s greatest achievement. Everything here was hers. The carefully thought out menu she had spent her high school years planning. Taking all the caution that nothing she served imitated another restaurant’s.

The cute white tables – circular in the center and rectangular by the walls – had been solely arranged by her. She had hired people to paint the pale blue walls for a cozy effect. Aiming to help her customers feel at ease the moment they walked in. She had waxed the pine floorboards twice before opening and mopped often to keep the shine. A white counter consisting of one register to match. Hanging above the counter was her menu – her pride, her blood.

Windows offered fresh light. Views of the streets. Life on the other side so her customers wouldn’t feel suffocated.

It wasn’t an extravagant restaurant. Just a small sized business, but she was doing well and gradually marketing herself out there in the newspaper, offered coupons, flyers, bought spaces in magazines; whatever means possible. From the time of opening Namjoo had gotten regulars whose choice of menu she knew immediately the moment she saw them. Giving them discounts every now and then to keep them coming back. Namjoo had managed to hire a part-timer including a full-time cook. She made up for the rest of the work needed to be done. In a few months she may hire another part-timer.

She handled the bills, the accounting, the hourly wages; everything else economic to keep the restaurant running. Visiting a financial advisor whenever she had questions and needed taxes filed. Namjoo had fought for the restaurant, because when she married Sehun his parents hadn’t wanted her to open the business.

His parents had never liked her ambition.

That was the problem.

In the first place, she had never been Sehun’s regular girlfriend. Never been introduced to them formally. Their son hadn’t committed to a serious relationship. He wasn’t the other good sons who brought his girlfriend over to family dinners. To meet and greet the family. Sit together, get to understand each other in hopes of living together in the future harmoniously. A woman who could become a good daughter-in-law who would help look after her husband’s parents when they grew old; aid them with their medical bills, provide educated knowledge they lacked, relieve them of house chores, cook for and serve them. Raise and nurture the children. Be devoted to the son’s family.

No, she and Sehun never officially dated.

They’d been friends with benefits. Hooked up one night. Went on and off.

She still remembered their first night at the love motel. Not in some romantic hotel with a skyline view of the grand city and twinkling lights. Rolling around in white sheets and a thick, soft bed with fluffy pillows. Their first night had been spent driven by lust and the kind of hunger that only belonged to savage animals. And they had continued that streak. Calling each other up when one needed release or was in the mood. Filling up the void when there were no other options. Even when he forgot his and she promised to take a plan b pill in the morning, which hadn’t worked.

Eventually, she got pregnant. The news coming to them as a devastation. Imagine calling up a friend you only hooked up with for and tell him you were having his baby.

Honestly, she knew several things about Oh Sehun in the few months they spent sleeping together. Though they didn’t meet for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Never growing personal or invading each other’s lives, but she knew some things about him. Like he was a Yonsei graduate with a journalism degree. He was still under his parent’s roof, because a man starting out fresh with a career didn’t have enough income to provide for himself. Oh Sehun was a newbie in his field. Pridefully showing off his business card the first time he acquired it. She had received a copy for fun, still had it. Was in her wallet somewhere.

He liked writing and he liked listening to pop. He was familiar with every idol group. Could list every member of a girl group’s name off the top of his head. He drove a silver Camry. And he was a fashionable man. He liked the attention females gave him. If he ever spent nights with any other woman Namjoo had never inquired.

A young man like Sehun took advantage of his free time whenever he got it. He always slept soundly every time after they had . Curling up on his side like a dead fish. Every time he left he would buy a fresh cup of coffee before driving away.

Sehun proved not to be such a bad case. He took exceptionally good care of her throughout her pregnancy. Heeding every one of her odd cravings. Namjoo still recalled very well the first time he bought her a maternity dress. Telling her not to bother wearing his clothes, because she deserved better than what he had laying around.

The good lasted shortly. His parents ruined every day for her. Murmuring about some girl he should have married instead. Trampling on her parents’ economic status upon their decision to hold off the wedding till a later date. An ocean wide gap seemed to exist between her and his family’s view on life.

Namjoo didn’t need a wedding. She had made her point very clear at the family meeting. To spare her parents the unneeded expenses she just wanted go to the courthouse, sign the marriage registration papers, and be done with it. Simple as done. Why spend thousands on a wedding; a celebration that lasted just one day? It was wasteful.

Sehun’s parents strongly opposed her.

They wanted a wedding to validate their marriage. Their only son should have a ceremony. That was it. They would not accept any other decision. Oh Sehun was their son. He was a man and the woman should follow his family’s wishes. No questions asked.

Namjoo’s blood had boiled. In the end forking out a quarter of her savings for the cake, the venue, the wedding dress they had the wedding. Where his relatives bombarded them with questions about where she came from, why they never heard about her, how she had met Sehun, what university she studied at, what she planned to do; if she would just raise kids in the future. Upon learning she was already pregnant and that it was a shotgun wedding the embarrassment she, her family, and his family faced was impalpable. The curious gazes, the expressions conveying thousands of questions ruined the entire day. How did a responsible good looking son like Sehun manage to make a mistake? Had she tricked him? Had he taken advantage of her?

She felt his parents never forgave her for that.

When they came after her restaurant Namjoo was done. Her parents had urged her to leave the marriage. Her father had sat her down. Talked to her for a long hour. He didn’t think Sehun loved her. His parents did not respect her. When the child came how much harder it would be for her. She would be the one rearing the child, facing the shame while Sehun did the providing clueless about what happened behind the scenes. What kind of life was that?

“Just come home,” her father had persuaded. “We’ll help you raise the child.”

Despite his family’s constant digging into their lives, Sehun never told her to “just listen to them.” He was a good father the moment Kihoon arrived. Waiting with her in the delivery room while she cried during labor. Tightly gripping his hand and saying she couldn’t do it. She wanted to give up, but he held her hand the entire time even when her nails dug into his skin.

Sehun had stayed with her in the hospital room for two days as she healed. Combing her hair, fetching her water and food before taking her home. When she fell asleep nursing infant Kihoon he would take the baby to let her rest. Sehun had cooked for her. Waking in the wee hours to make warm food, leaving behind a note when he left for work telling her to heat up the meal before eating.

Despite the good times, the stress wore them to a point the divorce papers appeared the most attractive solution to a better life. Splitting custody, they walked away from each other.

Three years of marriage ended like that.

“Bye, Kihoon.” The cook, Junhee, waved adjusting his coat on as he passed.

Switching the lights in the kitchen off, Namjoo closed the door. “Good night, Junhee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“’Night, boss,” he called heading out the door. A chilly breeze snuck its way inside.

Slipping into her coat, Namjoo said, “Come on, Kihoon. Lets go home.”

“I want you to carry me.” Kihoon turned sideways in his chair.

“You can walk,” Namjoo said.

“Daddy carry me,” he pointed out, as if what his dad did, she should, too. It was only fair.

“He spoils you too much.” Namjoo muttered. Walking over she zipped up the coat he’d managed to put on himself. Grunting when she lifted him off the chair. Hooking the diaper bag over her shoulder she headed toward the front door. Feeling Kihoon bury his head into her shoulder and wrap his tiny arms snugly around her.

Kicking the door open, Namjoo pulled his coat hat over his head even if he was wearing his knit cap. Scurrying toward the car to switch the heat on, keep her son warm. Kihoon pulled his coat hat off when she tucked him into his booster seat and buckled him in.

“Mommy.” He cutely called.

“Hmm?” Namjoo glanced at him. Adoring the round chubby cheeks, the rosy lips.

“Why can’t daddy come home with us?” he asked.

Cupping her hand around his small face, she smiled. “But you’ll see him soon.”

“I wish daddy come home.” Kihoon’s eyes drifted toward the street.

Pressing her lips against his baby soft cheek, Namjoo avoided his sentiment. “Lets go home.”

⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎

As expected Sehun found Kihoon’s missing Spiderman glove underneath the couch when he returned home. Sitting down he had noticed a colorful item sticking out from the corner of the furniture. Placing it on the center table so he wouldn’t forget next time he turned the television on.

He had moved from the small apartment he had shared with Namjoo. A cramped space he had managed to snatch for them to escape his parents' antics. They hadn’t liked his decision to relocate from home. Hoping he and his wife could coexist with them under one roof until they passed. He was their son. His duty was supposed be looking after them.

Sehun knew they blamed Namjoo for the decision he had made. It wasn’t true. He had moved for her. Namjoo had lost the pregnancy weight fast. Going down two of her regular pant sizes. The bags darker and deeper underneath her eyes a year after Kihoon was born. The fact that his parents did love his son did not match the atrocity they held for Namjoo.

Sehun also knew he never made the smartest decisions in life. His parents were angry with him, but they were even angrier that it had been Namjoo. He didn’t hate her. Sometimes things just happened.

They hadn’t argued when they signed the divorce papers. Deciding that since Kihoon was still young and avid and would soon come to understand his parents no longer lived together, they neither wanted to make the situation difficult for him by fighting over him. Splitting 50-50 custody. Simultaneously spending time with him to ensure him they loved him and grant him a healthy childhood.

It was quiet now that Kihoon wasn’t begging for attention or the snacks he hid above the fridge. Namjoo was angry that he overloaded their son with sugar, but he argued about the cakes she let him eat at her restaurant.

Turning the television off he showered and went to sleep. Heading early into work the following morning. Riding the elevator up to his constantly busy office. Half of the cubes were already occupied by its owner busily typing, editing, speaking into the phones or reading emails. Stacks of paper everywhere. A man speaking in his phone nodded at him before swiftly passing, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, freshly printed paper pinned to his side by an elbow. On his left a lengthy wide window gave a view of the tan, brown, yellow, pale buildings erected throughout the metropolitan city. No one cared for it.

Someone nudged him. Han Seol, the mascot of their team for her curvy and y appeal, grinned at him. Gold hoop earrings hung from her ears prettily. “What are you standing so dazed for? Did your son keep you up all night?”

Everyone knew he was divorced. On a company field day, he had brought Kihoon with him to enjoy the outdoor activities offered. Games, free food, prizes, live music. His twin they had called his son and gave him freebies even if he lost playing their games.

“Morning,” he greeted.

peeled open to reveal white teeth. “The vending machine is fixed now. You owe me soda, remember?”

“Lime flavor, right?” he asked.

Flirtatiously nudging him, she beamed, “You remembered.”

Sehun turned to head toward the snack station with a hand raised. “On it, Miss Han.”

Entering the snack area where a yellow counter connected to the double sink and microwave. A vending machine was crushed in the corner opposite. The cupboards were overloaded with sugar packets, cheap instant coffee, paper cups, straws, and napkins. A bunch of other miscellaneous items other employees stuck up there, like energy bars, ketchup, personal utensils, paper plates, a microwaveable pan.

The vending machine was glowing. Having broken down because a coworker had kicked it out of anger. Funny thing was it was a female worker. Hearing that had been unexpected and amusing. No one had come forward though. The dent in the machine was still visible at the bottom. Caused by a pair of sharp pointed heels.

Pulling his wallet out Sehun peered at a picture of Kihoon in the window slot. Instead of reaching for a dollar bill he touched Kihoon’s picture. Sliding out not his son’s picture but the one tucked behind it. Of the woman he had split from nearly half a year ago.

***so, here's part of it, why they divorced. 

***In traditional asian aspects, even if we're in the 21st century some og's still regard sons as the more important counterpart in the family. You can roll your eyes that damn it's about family being s to each other again? But it's true and it happens. If a husband's family doesn't like his wife, she will have a hard life. Ever hear of how a woman should always follow her husband's lead? Where he goes, she should go. He is the decision maker, his wife should always respect him. The female should help protect the male's reputation. A woman is oppressed into the role of raising up the children while the man is the bread winner - his responsibilities are not the same. And it's passed through generations to think like that. Through this story I want to make light of what values you want in a marriage, between you and whoever you marry. I don't mean to be biased or critical, but I am writing realistically of settings and events I have seen in real life. Half these things are fictious, but also, not. I'm not entirely knowledgeable about worldwide marriage values, so don't rely on what I write. Also, don't forget to enjoy the story for its own dramatic effect.

***Remind me if I've written something like this before???? I don't remember.