10 years ago

Joy held her newborn baby in her arms, a smile on the mother's face despite the layer of sweat coating her body. Her body felt so weak and tired, but as she stared at the bundle of life in her arms, she knew it was worth it. Her private moment was interrupted by a knock. Without looking away from her child, she said with a weak voice, "Come in."

Yeri stood by the door with tears in her eyes and a heavy heart. The thick, suffocating silence ended as Joy dragged her eyes away from her baby and looked at Yeri. Words were not needed between the two; the younger of the duo silently made her way over to Joy, stopping only when she was close enough to sit on the edge of the hospital bed.

The new mother began to talk, though the struggle was evident. "I want her to know who I was. She should never have to ask 'who was my mother?' or 'what was she like?' She deserves to know. I've written ten letters for her, one for each of her first ten birthdays. She may never get to know me, but I hope she gets to know the memory of me."

Yeri could not speak; felt tight and her eyes stung. Words had failed her, so she simply nodded as a silent promise. Joy gently raised a hand and beckoned her to come closer, Yeri obeying wordlessly.

"Yerim... I have one last request." Joy grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes pleadingly, speaking barely above a whisper. "Never let Seungwan read the letters."

"Sooyoung..."

"Wendy had her time with me. Please let my daughter have her own time as well."

Yeri closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, she observed the pale body of the woman before her. Everywhere Joy went, she was the most beautiful in the room; she was vibrant, loud, and full of life. This image of perfection was shattered, but the girl's beauty remained. Cold, sweaty skin; dark, tired eyes; long black hair matted to her forehead. Despite her sickly appearance, there was beauty in the strength she carried as she spoke to Yeri with confidence; there was beauty in the love directed towards the child she held. Sootoung's words were a dying woman's wish; she had to agree. She nodded with a sense of finality and experienced the last time she would ever see Joy smile—a blindingly white grin weighed down with the magnitude of the situation. The heavy atmosphere surrounded them again as the inevitable goodbye approached them.

As the two women held their last conversation, Wendy sat in another room, waiting for the doctor to come in. As the new mother held her baby earlier, a hand was placed on her shoulder; its weight saying more than enough. She looked into the somber eyes of the doctor and did not say another word as she handed her baby to a nurse and walked with the doctor. The hand of the doctor stayed gently on her the entire walk to the room, but despite its gentleness it felt like an anchor dragging Wendy