Author’s note:

this is one of the endings of the story. you can read this one instead of the next chapter, or you can read both.

if you would like to read another ending, please add me as your friend and tell me the details of your idea for the next chapter. thank you!

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“Umma, why isn’t appa coming home?”

“Appa…”

I choked on my own tears, as I put on a black scarf over my black dress.

“Umma, where are we going?”

“To visit appa, Hyo Jong-ah…”

“Then why are we wearing black? Appa told me that he liked seeing me in pink…”

“You can wear a pink hat then…”

“Okay…”

She sat on the back of my bike and hugged me tight as I rode it over to the main part of Anyang. It’s better than Seoul, at least. Not so crowded. But even here, where everything is peaceful, many people are laughing, not noticing my pain.

She giggled as the wind blew on her face, and she clutched her pink hat, scared that it would fly away. The thought that she remembers my husband’s words broke my heart.

I parked my bike in front of a funeral home, and my eyes started to tear.

“Is this where appa is working, umma?”

“Not where he’s working, darling.”

“Then?”

I couldn’t answer.

I held her hand and started to walk inside. She kept tugging at my hand, confusion clear on her eyes.

I saw it. A big mahogany coffin, with beautiful carvings on it. But I couldn’t bear looking at what is inside it.

“Umma, what’s inside that?”

I didn’t answer.

“Umma, can I peek?”

My head worked against my heart as I nodded.

“Umma, why is appa sleeping?”

“He…”

My voice croaked, unable to continue.

“Umma, why doesn’t appa reply to what I said?”

“Umma, why won’t appa sing for me?”

“Umma, why won’t appa wake up?”

“Umma… why are you crying?”

I curled myself into a ball on the floor and sobbed. My husband was gone. Gone because of me. Gone because I didn’t come to him despite everything he’s done for me. I betrayed him. He was always there. But I wasn't there when he needed me the most.

But if he was next to me, we would both be mourning for Hyo Jong.

I am the worst wife, but at least I can try being a good mother.

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“Umma…” she whispered, “Is appa… dead?”

And I started crying out loud, sobbing against the cold floor.

I gathered up my strength to stand up and hold his hand, then whisper “I’m sorry, oppa… I’m so sorry… I love you, oppa. Always. Forever.”

I ran across the hallway, muffling my own cries as my daughter chased me.

I know he’s gone.

But I still have my daughter.

A part of him still exists in her.

She is half me, half my husband. I lost half of myself when he died. But I still have my other half in her. And I still have half of him in her.

I will always protect her, no matter what.

Like I will always love my late husband, no matter what.