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Relatives were over. His bawling mother was the star of the party. Opposite was his father quietly surrounded by men sharing conversation in hushed voices. Concerning themselves about the funds for the funeral. Cremation? Would they be renting a plot to secure a burial ceremony? That would require another decent load of money. Could his parents manage?

Uhm Doyoon had killed their daughter. It was the main talk. There was gossip how it happened. Who in the marriage had been unfilial? Had they been having trouble with money? Looks could defy what went on in one’s home. It seemed to be the more interesting topic among the younger lads and ladies freshly married.

Someone suggested to hold his family responsible. Make them pay for Hayoung’s funeral. His father angrily shot him down. He didn’t want their dirty money. Not from his daughter’s killer.

The next worst part was his face. What the hell had happened to him?

The environment was suffocating.

Only his father talked to him. Not really. He at least led him into the kitchen where the food was. Told him to help himself then disappeared. On the other hand, his mother refused to talk to him.

Sehun lasted until the last guest left. Silence stilled the house. A place trapped with memories. The pictures on the walls all meant nothing now. Both children would never be coming back to recant the stain of their once lovely family.

He found his father in the living room. Sunken into a couch. Head hanging low. Just an old man with no longer anything to uphold. A sad man.

“Are you ok?” Sehun sat down with him.

“Your mother is worse.” He said.

“It doesn’t mean you’re not sad, too, dad.”

“Go home, Sehun. It’s been a long day.”

Sehun debated whether to stay but knew he wouldn’t be the comfort neither mom nor dad wanted. They had always preferred Hayoung to him.

“Call me if you need anything,” Sehun said.

His heart grew heavy when he stopped in the yard and turned to take a look of his childhood home. Not what it once used to be. His eyes cut to the open yard. Empty.

Getting into his car he drove home. Immediately thinking about Namjoo. Kihoon. His two favorite persons. Then it hit him like a block to the head.

He wasn’t going home to them.

The good things were no longer there for him to look forward to at the end of the day.

Arriving to his place he quietly entered his home. Flicking on all the lights. Spotting clutters of dust that had formed in one corner. Stalking over to his fridge he peered inside. Food had gone bad. Namjoo would have fresh food in hers. He could imagine her asking, “Have you eaten?” or “You’re home late.”

Dinner’s in the fridge she would say then go reheat the food for him, because putting food on the table was one of her favorite things to do. He looked forward to it daily.

Shutting the door, he pressed his forehead against it. He was homesick for her. He was sad. He wanted to hold her. He didn’t want to have to replay days past again. Reminiscing memories. Living off old feelings and hoping Namjoo would turn around for him. Wondering when she’d cook a meal for him again.

It felt like ground zero again.

Sehun replayed Namjoo telling him to go home. Felt his heart pang. It hurt horribly.

He didn’t understand.

Why did she ask him to leave?

He missed her so much.

Pulling out his phone he scrolled for her name. Lifting his phone up to his ear he waited for her to pick up. When she didn’t, he assured himself she must be driving from the restaurant home. He waited five minutes then called again.

Namjoo never picked up even when he called the next six times.

He hissed in pain as he took his shirt off. Stepped into the shower and went to bed. Keeping the phone nearby. In case Namjoo happened to call.

When he woke up there was no missed call.

Since there was no food he dressed and returned to his parents’. They were picking up the casket today. Would have it transported to the hospital morgue where Hayoung’s body was being held. The sight of the wooden casket had his mom falling against his father. Covering her face and bawling. Reality sinking in faster than she could prepare for.

That was all he did before he separated from his parents to return home, but first stopped by the store for food. He received curious stares from onlookers. Never minding them he went about his dues. The line at checkout extended three carts out, so Sehun was trapped waiting with his basket of eight items.

Beside him was an impulse counter filled to the brim with candy and popular snacks hanging from pegs. On the opposite side were gossip magazines. The further he moved down the line the closer he came to the newspaper stand. Still in stock because no one had bothered purchasing one. On the front page was something that caught his eyes.

After paying for his items ten minutes later, because a customer had decided to argue with the cashier over an item price, Sehun stepped closer to the newspapers. Grabbing it he flipped it open.

Plastered on the front page in a big colored box was Uhm Doyoon wearing a hat low over his face. Handcuffs around his wrists wrapped in a towel to hide from public scrutiny. It was a picture of him being escorted into a police van. He would be held at a detention center while his trial was pending.

4:45pm a neighbor heard a disturbance and called the cops. They approached the apartment number 916 and asked to be let in. The man inside refused entry, asked them to leave. The nosy neighbor detailed what she’d heard.

Screaming.

Belonging to a woman.

The police rang the doorbell again. Voice raised the man demanded them to leave him alone. This time they got the building security to forcefully unlock the door. A man and a woman were found inside. The woman needed immediate medical assistance. The cops arrested Doyoon for battery and assault.

The article detailed Doyoon’s interrogation as flimsy. He kept changing stories from a cheating wife to her throwing a plate at him. Cops found no injury on his body. In the morning the cops finally drilled a story out of him.

Dissatisfied with his life, worn from stress and pressure at work he took it out on his high school sweetheart, who he’d married early. They’d had a miscarriage some years back, but after that episode, Hayoung was never able to conceive again. Pressure mounted from his family about a child. His stress increased, especially because Hayoung never wanted to sleep with him. So, he beat her when she said no. He nitpicked her for putting the dinner he didn’t want on the table. Then it became the glass of water on his left and not his right. It became a habit. Hurting her whenever he was irritable. And when her family intervened, he snapped.

The article ended with some facts about domestic abuse. Several hotlines for victims to reach out to for help. Advising friends and families to take action if they noticed someone was in trouble.

The article was written by Seol.

Gripping the newspaper, he struggled not to hug it, cry and fall onto his knees. He’d been so sad as of late that the article he’d so wanted published drifted from his mind.

Swiveling around he saw a line had formed again. Finding his way to the back, he waited to buy the newspaper. Excited to head home, show Namjoo. Then remembering she wouldn’t be waiting for him.

Still he clung to the paper as he drove home, like a happy little boy.

Sehun reread the newspaper again and again when he reached home. Ignoring the other sections and pages. Later in the evening he received news from his father they would be cremating Hayoung Friday. Funeral services would start Wednesday. Sehun tried calling Namjoo. She never picked up, so he left a voicemail and sent a text for extra measure. Not forgetting to add for her to call when she had time.

Setting the phone down, he wondered what was going on on her side. She couldn’t be too occupied that she wasn’t able to rest a moment, ponder about him. Wasn’t she worried about his injuries? How he was doing? If he was eating well?

Call me, call, call me he chanted as he took a shower, cooked, ate, and turned the lights out.

Namjoo never called.

Sehun tried not to worry. Get hung over it. Now that he was gone Namjoo probably had more freedom to tend to tasks she couldn’t when he was around. He’d let her be. Then he’d wonder why she wasn’t contacting him.

He missed her.

That was all he could think about.

At the funeral he waited around. Greeted relatives alongside his grieving parents. Helped serve food and drinks in place of his fragile mother. All while stealing a glance around the funeral ward in hopes of catching Namjoo hidden among them. Or, maybe, he wished, secretly helping him.

She was nowhere.

When the sky darkened and the lights dimmed, he sat alone. Staring at the happy picture of Hayoung above the casket. Surrounded by fresh white flowers. Replaying the last time they talked. His sister advising him to try and forgive his parents; take care of Namjoo.

“I’m trying,” he wanted to say but didn’t.

His parents didn’t want his help. It was as if the sight of him reeked something foul and they just wanted to cast him aside. Were they still ashamed about his love for Namjoo?

And Namjoo…what was going on?

One look at his quiet phone obviously told him she hadn’t called. Wouldn’t be calling.

He flipped to his home screen just to see a picture of Namjoo and Kihoon together as his wallpaper. The stars to his darkness.

In times like these he really wanted to hear Kihoon’s giggling. until his son was tired of him and asked for mommy instead. Listen to Namjoo chide him for playing too hard.

The thoughts made him subconsciously smile then ache when he knew he wouldn’t be seeing them soon.

Come back when you’ve dealt with everything Namjoo had said, but he hadn’t dealt with anything yet.

Solving things took time. Putting Hayoung properly to rest. Sending her off. Releasing her ashes back to the earth where she belonged freely. He hoped her spirit would be able to rest in peace. Find the kind of freedom Sehun never found.

Only then could he settle matters with his parents. But…Sehun didn’t want to always wait.

He was done with waiting.

Sighing, he dropped his head into his knees. The loneliness swelled around him like a balloon. Unaware when he drifted off, but when he awoke his neck hurt. Massaging it he groaned. Tilted his head back only to hit the wall. The thump loudly sounded.

Opening his eyes, he peered around. Realizing he’d fallen asleep at the funeral ward. Clamping his eyes shut he released the nth sigh and paused when he discovered something was different. Swiftly turning he spotted a table where guests respectfully left white chrysanthemums in front of Hayoung’s photo. There had been about forty yesterday.

Rising to his feet Sehun adjusted the flower poking out abnormally. Counting the flowers again just because. There were 41 in total. Frowning, confused if he was losing it, he recounted the flowers.

He wasn’t wrong.

Rapidly spinning around, Sehun quickly ran into the hall. The dining area was empty. Something was off again. He noted the tables smelled clean. A walk around and he saw plates organized behind the counters. The soup stained lids covering the pots were wiped clean.

He knew these things because he’d been the one managing the area.

Feeling his heart hike up Sehun ran into the corridor. Morning had struck, so visitors were starting to gather again. He greeted an aunt and uncle as they passed. Brushing his gaze over their shoulders he sought for Namjoo.

There was no sign of her.

Disappointment flanked him really hard.

She had come.

He knew she had come some time last night, and she had cleaned up for him. His chest became sore at the thought of her.

He missed her so bad.

His parents finally arrived. Suddenly an ailing woman, his father led his wife in holding a hand; the other wrapped around her securely as she leaned against him weakly. In the span of several days they appeared eighty.

Unable to return home to freshen up, Sehun hastily served food and drinks. Drowning with loneliness while picturing Namjoo in her restaurant. So far from him. Waiting for him to make his way back to her. Despondency was his only companion right now and he wanted her to leave quickly.

Day 2 of the funeral ended smoothly. Dropping into bed exhausted Sehun fell asleep without calling Namjoo. A shower was the second thing on his mind after waking up. First, he checked his phone. Not surprising. No missed call.

Sehun checked himself out in the mirror before he left the house. The bruises were fading. The cuts starting to heal. Soon he’d be his handsome self again. Smiling at that he fetched his keys and left the house. Joining his parents at the crematory, where Hayoung disappeared into the fire pit.

This was farewell. The final goodbye. He never thought a day like this would come. Imagining that perhaps one day Kihoon would get a cousin to hold and play with. Tears sparked his eyes but he didn’t weep menacingly like his mother. Crumbling against his father. Neither was he like his father silently eroding away. Unable to speak of the pain he didn’t think could compare to the mother who gave birth to their only daughter.

Sehun wasn’t like them. He would hurt, but he would share his feelings. He would let it be known. Loud and clear. He would always profess his love. In his own way, but he would claim it and he would show it. Not be embarrassed or ashamed of it.

Hayoung would have wanted that for him. The sister who stood on his side. Cheering him on always. Chiding him for being so slow and patting his back when he beat the odds.

He would take care of Namjoo. He would look after Kihoon and be there for him. He would allow Kihoon to chase his dreams. Fall in love with whomever he cherished. Sehun would always be there for his family.

They would be happy. Not barred by customs and beliefs passed down from one generation to another.

If Kihoon ever regretted a decision he could retract his commitment and Sehun wouldn’t admonish him for it. People make mistakes. Everyone turns a wrong path once or five times their lives. No shame in that. A new day would rise again and again.

One day when his son started to understand human perceptions, pain, agony, sorrow and joy; then, Sehun would sit him down to have a talk.

He would not follow his parents’ footsteps.

Learning from their mistakes, Sehun wouldn’t let himself become like them. One day he might be filled with regrets, but not as much from decisions he never made.

Namjoo needn’t wait too long for him. As soon as this was over, he wanted her to marry him again.

Sehun would press the restart button with her again. He would tell her things might not be the same, but his love was unchanging.

Namjoo and Kihoon would always be his first priority.

They would always be his.

The way it was meant to be.

From the beginning.

Now and forever.

And he imagined, his sister would sigh, clap his back and say, “Finally.”

“You take care, too.” He quietly thought. Be happy wherever you are.