❝Part three

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1953

Seven months without Myungsoo had passed, though Hyesun dragged on like it had been seven years.

Everything in their home reminded her of him. His pillow next to hers at night, his favorite mug for his coffee, the abandoned papers from cases he couldn’t finish in time, even her precious son’s face.

Junki, now a year old, was her only real comfort.

He would laugh as she played with him, and she took to spending her countless sleepless nights in his room, watching his tiny chest rise and fall as he slept comfortable, completely unaware.

Though, Hyesun though, Junki knew more than people gave babies credit for.

She knew that he could feel what she did as she cradled him to her chest and kissed his little cheeks, as he smiled the same smile as the father he didn’t remember. Junki’s eyes would stare at her for hours, fascinated by the very image of his mother, understanding what being a mother meant despite not being close to knowing the word.

Being a mother meant being strong for your child, despite your own broken heart.

She refused to touch any of Myungsoo’s things. If the war wasn’t over, Myungsoo would return. One thing of his, though, she kept with her at all times.

A single letter, written in his pretty cursive, dated two weeks after he left home. The only letter that he sent her, short and simple, though she could hear the fear in his written tone.

He always played brave for her. It was now her turn to play brave for him, for their son.

She clung to her hope, and she tried to carry on as normally as possible for Junki. He knew something was wrong, but the less he knew made it easier for her. The toddler never asked questions and, for that, she was grateful.

Still, though, her heart ached for her husband. For Junki, she wished he could see their son’s first steps and words, both of which he had missed in those important first months of the baby’s life.

Selfishly, she yearned to be held in his familiar embrace, to kiss his lips again, just to hear his voice or see his eyes again would be enough to soothe her pained heart.

On a night after Junki had fallen asleep, she sit awake in their shared bed – shared only for less than a year – fingers curled around the wooden frame of their wedding photo. The white paint began to wear and chip where her fingers always pressed, and the glass clouded where she’d run the pad of her forefinger over his grinning face.

The feeling of his smooth skin and the memory of his smile began fading to her, as much as she would refuse to admit. Too long without him, and her mind tried to forget in order to preserve her sanity. Though she clung to him, the thoughts slowly became wisps of memories, faint images left behind, only remembered for fleeting moments when they spontaneously crossed her mind.

Seeing the memories in front of her, fleeting images of her husband in his chair at the table, beside her in bed, standing in her son’s room, clawed at her heart. She didn’t know how much longer she could cope with the ghost of her husband haunting her constantly, both awake and asleep.

1955

“Mommy, I don’t want to go to Grandma’s house,” Junki, now three, tugged on her shirt as she collected his clothes, folding them neatly on his bed. The little boy clutched his favorite toy, a worn stuffed dog, close to his chest as he pouted at his mother. Another little whine floated out of his lips, and Hyesun knew that a tantrum was on its way.

She turned from the piles of clothing and knelt before him, taking his tiny hands in her own. She’d aged more than she’d prefer to admit – more than anyone would dare mention – in the past three years, despite her still-young age.

Mother and son shared eye contact for a moment before Hyesun pulled the boy into her arms, cuddling him close and not daring to let go. She lay a peck on his temple and he squealed, both grinning and giggling for just a moment.

“We’ll go to Grandma’s house for just a little while, I promise, “she declared, picking up her son and setting him on the bed. Reaching for a bag to put the piles in, she gave him a playful look. “Then we’ll go on an adventure.”

This sparked Junki’s interests.

“Where?” he questioned immediately, leaning forward and grabbing for his mother’s hand.

She bent to peck his nose, grinning a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a magic land with a big castle, princes and princesses… It’s called California.”

“I don’t want you to—”

Hyesun held up a hand to stop her mother, though she couldn’t meet her eyes. “I have to.”

Though aware of how stubborn Hyesun could be, her mother couldn’t help but feverishly disagree with the choice her daughter decided to make. She would do anything to stop her, however impossible it could turn out to be.

“You’re removing Junki from his homeland, his culture,” she argued, setting her mug of tea down a bit more harshly than intended.

Still not looking at her, Hyesun’s brow furrowed and she fiddled with her hands. “There’s plenty of Korean culture in California. Lots of people are leaving for America now, while the war is dying down.”

“What about Myungsoo?”

The difficult question.

Hyesun should have expected it.

With a sigh, she met her mother’s eyes briefly, then tore them away. She twirled her spoon in her own mug silently, jaw tight and eyes unfocused.

“There hasn’t been word in two years,” she concluded finally, her greatest fear evident in her lifeless tone. “I don’t want Junki to grow up around things he’ll never remember.”

“So you’ll just forget all about your husband?” her mother argued gently. She didn’t have to be harsh with Hyesun – the gentle and almost philosophical tone was enough to nudge her into the “right” way of thinking.

“I won’t remarry,” the girl defended. Another pause, and she sighed again. “I just can’t…”

Softly, her mother finished for her. “…Cope with the memories.”

The women met each other’s gazes, lifeless eyes and memories of lovers lost identical.

Two war heroes and two war widows left behind with families to care for.

“You have my blessing,” her mother concluded finally, hiding a silent tear with a bow of her head until it fell to pool on the wooden table.

“I like school!” Junki shouted through giggles as he skipped along the sidewalk.

Truth be told, Junki adjusted to America better than Hyesun had. The young mother lived paycheck to paycheck, and she began working at a daycare to pay the rent and bills for their little apartment to scrape together what little money she could.

She knew miniscule English, and Junki had taken to the language easier than she had, too. Getting by was easy enough, though, since she’d managed to get in touch with other war widows that lived nearby. Life wasn’t nearly as perfect as it was in Korea, and Hyesun missed her family – and Myungsoo’s – and the place she called home.

That thought was quickly pushed away, though. She never allowed herself to think of Korea as home anymore – home is California, home is America, home is where Junki is. Life changes in brutal instants, so she has to move on, for her son’s sake.

She had to forget.

1956

Hyesun received a phone call from Junki’s preschool halfway through the day, three hours before he should have been picked up. Heart racing in the moments before she answered, she thought of every worst case scenario…

Greetings exchanged, her son’s principal got to the point quickly. “There’s a man here that claims to be Junki’s father? He says his name is Myungsoo Kim?”

With that, the phone slipped right from Hyesun’s fingers.

In front of the door to the preschool, Hyesun did all she could to catch her breath and blink back the icy tears pricking her eyes, frozen to her eyelashes by the frigid January wind.

Taking a deep breath, though she couldn’t swallow it with the lump in , Hyesun pushed the door open.

His hair cut short, messily, as if done by an unprofessional, eyes sagging down in a permanent tiredness, cheeks hallow, thinner than he’d ever been before.

Nonetheless…

Hyesun’s breath caught like it had every time those eyes met hers, and her lips pulled both up and down in an awkward, tearful smile, matching his. Her heart tugged her body forward with her mind on autopilot until she was enveloped in him, his familiar warmth, his chin on the top of her head as she nuzzled his shoulder, breaths and heartbeats matching each other.

Calloused hands cupped her cheeks as he pulled away to stare at her, but only for a moment before their lips met, finally, after three years without each other’s touch.

“Hello, princess,” he choked, voice breaking for the first time in all the years she’s been in love with him.

“I missed you,” she breathed back, hands roaming all over his shoulders, arms, and back, remembering the kinks and curves of skin against bone.

“I know,” he grinned softly, pecking her cheek like he always had. “I never forgot you.”

❝From your author

Aha, so it's finally done! I hope you don't mind that the ending was happy, rather than me killing off poor Myungsoo (believe me, I debated this forever). Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope that you enjoyed reading it. 

Thank you for reading!