Shuhua wanders into the store with a purpose. “I need a card,” she tells the first attendant she sees. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the attendant says with mirth in her eyes. “We are a card shop.” Open palm motioning to the row upon row of card stock, she carries on, “What would you like your card to say?”

“Thank you.” 

“Generically?” 

Brows pinched, features downturned, Shuhua shakes her head. “No. For a mother.” As an afterthought she supplies, “Who loves her daughter. Unconditionally.” 

Lips blossoming into the beginnings of a broad smile, the woman leads Shuhua over to a section along the wall. “While we don’t have a card exactly for that, we do have something that might be a start.” The card stock she pulls out is a soft pastel yellow. In the center is the illustration of a young child offering a dandelion to an older woman. “You can express yourself here,” she points to the blank inside of the card.

Shuhua curtly nods. After paying for the card, she tucks it in her bag for later. 

Later turns out to be in the van ride between a radio show and filming for a television broadcast. The hangul is shaky, childish at best, but the sentiment remains the same. 

“What are you doing?” Soojin asks curiously as she leans over. 

“Writing a letter to your mom.” 

“To my mom?” Her eyes squint to make out the shapes on the page, “Why?” 

Tucking the letter back into her bag, Shuhua burr