I didn't even finish relating everything that happened last night to Kyung Ah before reaching my house.

"So basically, my parents are going through a divorce right now. It's tomorrow, according to my father," I concluded, sighing and shaking my head. When you tried to avoid reality, it always hit you hard.

But I still couldn't believe what was going to happen in one day's time. I tried to live the remaining two days of my life as ordinarily as possible, but it was hard. Especially when you knew that what would happen in a day would change your future forever, for the better or for worse.

The problem was, who would I go with? My mother or my father? That was pretty simple. If I wanted to live my life carefreely, I'd have to go with my mother. My father was too oppressive. I wasn't saying my mother was the best mother in the world, but at least she was understanding. Unlike my father.

Also, I couldn't just leave my mother to be a widow. I mean, she already was one, having went through a divorce, but I couldn't bear to make her live her life alone. She was still a woman, after all. She wasn't exactly old. There was still a future for her.

My mother had lived more than seventeen years of her life together with my aloof father, who wasn't the least caring to her. After putting up with all his work nonsense and ignorance, she was well-deserving of a more easy-going life.

"Well, uh, I'll get going," Kyung Ah said, giving me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "If you need someone to spill all your stuff, just say the word, okay?"

I nodded gratefully. I was thankful for  friend like Kyung Ah. Sure, she wasn't a very good person for reassurances, but at least she was of some help.

***

During dinner, I could tell my parents were trying to act as regular as possible. Probably for my sake, but you never know. My father might just be acting the way he was.

There was tension in the air, however. We ate in silence. The only sound were the occasional clinking of chopsticks on cutlery and the chewing of food.

I figured if our life were going to get horrible because of a divorce, we must as well enjoy it now and make the best of it, shouldn't we? "So, uh," I started, unsure what to talk about. "how's work?"

The question was directed at my father. I almost called him appa, but remembered that he didn't consider me as his daughter anymore, so neither should I consider him as my father. I mean, what was the point anyway? I didn't love him anymore. My mother was much more easy to love than him.

My father fed himself a mouthful of bibimbap. "Nothing unusual," he replied vaguely, not even looking at me in the eye. He was always vague like that.

My mother gave a glance at us, then buried her head in her food.

I shrugged. "Alright, then."

"I have a question to ask you too, Chaewon, since you also asked me a question," my father said after a few moments of silence. "How's your best friend, Kyung Ah?"

I was surprised that he knew anything about school, but I guessed it was good news. At least he wasn't being that unaware of my affairs in school. Perhaps the seriousness of the divorce had finally come to hit him hard.

"She's a good friend," I said simply. If my father was going to answer with minimal elaboration, then why would I want to say too much? Anyways, he was the one who started all this fiasco. Our family would be much more peaceful without him. I was sure my grandparents would approve.

Speaking of my grandparents, I wondered if my parents had already filled them in about their divorce, or if they were going to carry it out with that much carelessness. My grandparents weren't that lovable either, but I still loved them. I mean, what choice have I got?

They didn't approve of my parents' marriage at all, as I'd heard so many times, the complaints from them. They were my maternal grandparents, which meant they usually sided with my mother.

My father, being really sneaky, would put up a good face when they frequently came to visit us to please them. He was all up to redeeming himself as a capable husband to my mother, and when he made the occasional disgusting remark, I'd make vomiting sounds to show how much I was sick of the pretence, much to my father's displeasure.

I remembered fully well once when I was eight, when my grandparents came for a family visit. They stayed for a week. At night, I was in my room, lying in bed, when I heard shouting outside. My father was (once again) having