It's been a year since I last wrote a fanfic, so here's to a year of not writing fanfic. My crowdfunder-only stories will be open to all for a week from now. The following are parts that should have been part 2 and 3 of the 2013-2024 period. To some extent, I'm thankful that Wendy has Youngstreet now. She's private and doesn't owe me any information whatsoever, but because of Youngstreet each day I get to know the human Wendy, one with family history and personal trajectory. And what better inspiration that that to a writer in becoming, as Alexander Che said, "a thief of lives?"

Thank you, readers and crowdfunders. Stay safe. Do what hurt you less. Stay alive.

2013 to 2024

I am a part of all that I have met.

—Tennyson, Ulysses

The big something started when the three of them—her husband, her firstborn, and herself—were together for a dinner in New York, which was a stark comparison to the last one they had in Ithaca. It was a fall break. It was in a Greek restaurant. Her husband was trying to move half of his souvlaki onto Seunghee’s plate when Seunghee’s phone rang. She watched: her firstborn get the call, leave their table to stand outside the restaurant, come back with her face pale and lips drawn into a tight line. I’m gonna tell you something, and I need you to listen carefully, her firstborn said, part of her medical training now kicking that a sense of authority seeped into her articulation.

In the next three hours, she felt like she was not breathing. There was a car accident. Seungwan was in that accident. There was a frantic search for tickets to Seoul, a flight to catch at JFK, a hospital to visit, and her baby daughter to see. She didn’t sleep for the next thirty hours, twenty-three of which was spent restlessly on a Trans-Pacific flight. In her mind, Seunghee’s words replayed themselves: a car accident, a sleepy truck driver, an almost T-bone hit, Seungwan and her bandmate Seulgi, and some more medical terms, technical terms—blunt trauma, a possibility of closed pneumothorax, a risk of respiratory arrest. How had things progressed? How much better? How much worse? How much did she not know in that span of twenty-three hours?

She and her husband went straight to the Seoul St. Mary’s. It was only when she was facing Seungwan’s attending physician that she was aware of where she was. Seoul. Banpo-dong. Hospital. ICU. Seungwan.

Are you Ms Shon’s emergency contact?

No, I—that’s my other daughter, Seunghee. I’m Seungwan’s mother. I’m her mother.

The doctor gave her a subdued smile. Your daughter is strong.

What’s that supposed to mean?

She’s not out of the woods yet, no. Not yet. We’re observing her until she’s ready for the second surgery.

Second surgery? What surgery?

It only took the physician three minutes to explain Seungwan’s first emergency surgery, in which a cracked rib that missed Seungwan’s right lung by two centimeters was moved and temporarily stabilized. The second surgery was to see if the team should replace the three dressings with a rib plate. The internal tear in Seungwan’s torso was serious but not life-threatening. What her physicians were more concerned about was the chance of a possible lung infection and whether they needed to perform a rib fracture fixation.

All the terms swam in her brain and refused to sink for her to understand, so she settled with asking if Seungwan would be alright.

Yes.

But?

But we’ll see.

The door at the other end of the hall opened. A group of three approached them. She recognized one of them. The pretty one, she remembered. Bae Joohyun.

Who bowed to her. Two, three times. All the way to the point that she could see the scalp where her hairline split on the top of her dark head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as grim as the two men next to her, who swiftly introduced themselves as Seungwan’s band managers. She’s too numb to answer beyond a quick, perfunctory yes and no. It’s mostly her husband who did the talking, which she was thankful for.

That was, until Bae Joohyun asked if she could see Seungwan.

The attending physician gave the two of them a diplomatic smile. It’s legal requirement, Mrs Shon. We are not to allow non-family individuals to see an admitted patient.

Ah. Yes. I see. She thought for a moment then turned to Bae Joohyun. Joohyun-ssi, you must be tired, too. Thank you for being here.

Bae Joohyun’s face fell, and she wondered if this girl would’ve hidden it better had there been cameras around. Idols, Seungwan told her once, are expected to smile all the time.

Yes, I understand. Maybe I can come back tomorrow?

She wanted to scream. At this girl, at the two managers, at the irresponsible truck driver. At the industry and the country who took her baby daughter from her. At everything and everyone. She didn’t, but she said, I’d rather you don’t, Joohyun-ssi. You need to rest, too.

Oh. Uhm. Okay. Yes, of course.

We will keep you updated, her husband offered. He put a hand on the small of her back, and her need for yelling until her vocal cords ruptured diminished by two centimeters.

Please. Thank you. Thank you so much. Bae Joohyun bowed again. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was—I was supposed to—

We will wait for news from you then, Mr Shon, Mrs Shon, one of the managers cut in.

Good night, she told the three of them.

She didn’t break until she was in Seungwan’s ICU room. My baby, she didn’t say when she found her intubated and covered in bandages. She merely curled around the side of the bed, finding Seungwan’s IV-cannulated hand. My daughter. I’m here. Eomma’s here.

She and her husband didn’t sleep at all for two days in total. The next day, her husband had a mild fainting bout due to exhaustion and stress, and he asked to be admitted in the same hospital. He was back on his feet after a night. She didn’t send news to Seungwan’s band management until Seungwan’s second surgery concluded and the attending physician declared now they just had to wait for her to wake up. God forbid a mother and a wife prioritized her family above all.

On the third day, she went to the Patient Financial Services to check on Seungwan’s bills. Her husband had left for the Services earlier (her insurance would’ve covered everything and her company had reached out with a promise to take care of the rest), and she’d promised to go after him once she took a quick shower. She pulled her coat against her body tighter as the elevator door opened and she took a step into the main hall of the medical office building, alert and wary since Seungwan’s managers had informed her that there might be one or two fans who might lurk around.

Auntie Shon.

Bae Joohyun approached her in large, hurried strides. She looked a bit tired but much better than she did the other night. There’s a large package in her hand, and combined with her calf-length winter jacket, she looked nowhere near her stage name—a goddess.

Good morning, Auntie Shon. Bae Joohyun broke into a smile, exhaling uneven breath that turned into vapors as she spoke.

Good morning, Joohyun-ssi.

How are you? I brought some food for you and Uncle Shon, in case you haven’t had breakfast. She lifted the large package she’s carrying. There’s also some pastries from Seu