Her father always told her that someday they would have to say goodbye, but Seulgi never imagined that it would come for her at the young age of fifteen.

Her father’s face stared back at her, smiling, while Seulgi let tears fall down hers. She had his eyes and nose—the people in town would always , asking when Mr. Kang shrunk in size and grew out his hair. Her mother would ruffle Seulgi’s bangs and say that it must have been all the beer he drank instead of milk.

And her father would laugh boisterously, telling the shop ladies that height didn’t matter anyway, because he snatched up Mrs. Kang and managed to keep her.

Seulgi wished she was a few inches taller in the moment, because she hated seeing the incense sticks in front of her eyes, the numerous white flowers scattered around his face; she hated smelling the alcohol he loved so much.

“Hey, Seulgi.”

Seulgi turned around and saw her maternal uncle wave weakly at her, eyes swollen and red. The brother-in-laws had been close: Seulgi’s mother was his only sibling, so her uncle was ecstatic to have a hyung at last.

“Hi, samchon.”

The man and child stared at each other silently, assessing the other, wondering if the person standing opposite them was feeling the same violent turmoil of emotions that comes with an early death. Seulgi’s uncle sighed and pulled Seulgi aside gently by the elbow to sit down against the wall as others filed in to pay their respects.

“How are you doing, kiddo?”

He looked at the ceiling as he asked her the question. Seulgi looked up as well, wondering if he had perhaps seen the ghost of her father up there before he ascended, but there was only the bleak pattern of white tiles of the ceiling. She looked back at the people bowing in front of her father’s picture and leaned her head on her uncle’s slumped shoulder.

“I miss him.”

Her uncle let out a sad laugh.

“Oh God, I miss him too, Seulgi.”

She felt him lean his head on hers and then the warm wetness of his tears as they leaked onto her temple. It was comforting, this shared grief. It reminded her that her father, even in death, was loved, that although he grew up with no one, in the end everyone loved him.

Seulgi shifted her body and tightly hugged her uncle, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck. He sniffled and patted her back, trying to be the strong adult for her. Feeling the gentle taps on her back and hearing the soft murmurs of her neighbours as they spoke about her father, Seulgi finally let herself sob freely, clutching onto her uncle’s black blazer as he smoothed the back of her head and told her it was okay to cry. A couple of the voices came closer and whispered assurances to the pair as Seulgi continued to wet her uncle’s blazer with her tears. Another hand started to rub her back, and someone else pulled the two into a hug.

“I miss him so much, samchon, I don’t want to let him go, he hasn’t even seen me graduate high school, I need to tell him that I love him…”

“I’m so sorry, Seulgi. I’m so sorry.”

He pulled back and held her face in his hands. The others stood nearby, letting the two have their moment but ready to comfort as needed.

“I wish I could bring him back too. I—”

“I hate her.”

Her uncle’s eyes widened. “Seulgi…”

Seulgi stared defiantly at him, daring him to tell her she was being childish. His eyes softened, and he wiped her tears with his sleeves.

“You know it’s more than what you think it is.”

Another tear slid down her cheek.

“But we’re the ones who are suffering. What about her?”

Her uncle looked away.

“Honey, your father wouldn’t want you to hate her. Let’s just remember him and forget anything about her, alright?”

Seulgi stayed silent before looking back to see her father’s face again. His smile seemed so bright, too bright for a place with dim lights and people in black. Her uncle ruffled her hair lightly before standing up and offering a hand to her. She let him pull her to her feet and walked back to the picture. Her uncle was right. This was the end, and just had to remember her father lived on in her memories.

---

“How’s he doing?”

Seulgi’s mother didn’t look at her as she entered the small hospital room. Seulgi glanced at the bed and saw the different machines hooked up around the frail-looking body blocked by her mother’s head.

“They say he should be waking up soon.”

Seulgi walked to the other side o