The wind whispered through the yard, carrying the dry straw scent and ready to harvest earth. Soo Young stood still, holding the letter in her hands though her fingers had become cold. The photograph felt heavier than paper ever should. Her father's face was clearly recognizable, younger, yet with the same calm and focused gaze, and beside him was the unknown lady holding the baby with such tenderness that it wasn't maternal pride, but something quieter. Something hidden.
Her mother had returned to folding laundry, as if nothing had happened. The moment felt too delicate to disturb. Soo Young kept the letter and photograph inside her jacket's pocket and left the porch.
The hills waited, still and expansive.
She had no idea where she was going, it's just that her feet refused to stay still. She kept moving and reached the edge of the village, where the land formed into step-like levels and dry grasses rustled in the breeze. Behind her, the voices of her siblings vanished into silence that let her thoughts echo too loudly.
Was it betrayal? A second life? Or just a chapter never told?
Jun Ho spotted her in the middle of the uphill climb, breathless from running. "I thought you might've gone this way."
She turned, startled. "How did you—?"
"You always go uphill when you're thinking too hard," he said, offering a half-smile.
Soo Young didn't smile in return. Instead, she took out the photo from her pocket and handed it to him silently.
He stared at it for a long time.
"This is your father," he said. "But… that's not your mother."
"No." Her voice was dull. "And that baby… it might be me. Or it might not."
Jun Ho, squinting his eyes. "It's hard to tell."
"There's no date. No clue. Just that message."
They sat on a low stone wall, wind sweeping through the grass.
"You think it's real?" he asked gently.
"I don't know," she muttered. "But if it is… then everything I thought I knew about him, about us, might change."
Jun Ho paused, then said, "Do you want to find out?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "I want the truth, but I'm afraid of what it might take away."
He nodded. "Sometimes the truth is heavier than the lie that kept us safe. But you're strong enough."
Her fingers were wriggling on the edge of the photo. "I keep thinking of my mother. What if she knew? Or what if she didn't?"
Jun Ho stood and extended his hand to her. "Let's ask."
The walk back home was slower. The late afternoon sunlight shone through the trees, but Soo Young barely noticed. Her heartbeat was faster than her steps.
Inside, her mother was kneeling beside the hearthstone, carefully brewing a small pot of herbal tea. The room was filled with the smell of ginger and jujube.
Soo Young came inside, voice softer than usual. "Eomma… can I ask you something?"
Her mother looked up, surprised. "Of course."
Soo Young hesitantly handed her the photo.
For a moment, everything froze. Her mother held the photo like it was as fragile as glass and would shatter if she blinked. Her face had no expression, but something in her eyes slightly darkened.
"Do you know this woman?" Soo Young asked.
Her mother tightened her lips, then slowly stood. "Where did you get this?"
"It came in a letter. No name. Just this picture. And a message."
Her mother turned away, hands clenched at her sides. "Your father… he had a past before we met. I knew that. He never spoke of it much. But one winter night, long before you were born, a woman came to our door."
Soo Young's heart was pounding.
"She said nothing," her mother continued in a weak voice. "Just handed me a small parcel. Inside was a scarf and a note I couldn't read. Chinese, maybe. Or Japanese. I don't know. Your father burned it without a word. That night, he stayed up until dawn, sitting outside. I didn't ask again."
"Why not?" Soo Young whispered.
"Because I loved him," her mother said, turning back. "And because I believed the life we built mattered more than the pieces he left behind."
The silence became profound.
Jun Ho moved near Soo Young but said nothing.
Her mother put the photograph gently on the table. "Whatever story this is, it's not mine to finish. But if someone has reached out to you now… maybe it's yours."
That evening, Soo Young sat alone in the shed, surrounded by tools and old fishing nets. She had placed the photograph, the envelope, and the letter on the workbench. Under the lantern's glow, the handwriting on the back seemed too careful, like someone afraid to say too much.
She turned it over again.
The woman in the photo had a calm face, but sharp eyes, almost like she knew this photo might have to speak for her one day.
"You don't know me. But I think we share the same story."
These words were traced on her mind.
She needed to reply.
By morning, she had made a decision. She borrowed paper and pen from the schoolhouse and sat under the persimmon tree near the village edge. Her hands trembled a little as she wrote.
"To whoever sent the photograph, I received your message. I don't know what you're trying to tell me yet, but I want to know. If we share a story, then tell me. Tell me who you are."
—Yoon Soo Young
She didn't sign it with love or trust. But she left a return address: the general store, care of her name.
Right after writing the letter, she returned the pen and headed straight to the post office. She handed the letter to the clerk with firm hands.
"Expecting something big?" he joked.
"Maybe," she said. "Maybe something old."
The rest of the day was quite suspenseful. Soo Young helped prepare dried squid for market day with her mother, the smell so strong that it stung her eyes. While doing so, she watched Tae Soo and her siblings play near the creek, and listen to Uncle Dae Sik humming an old song as he repaired a broken basket.
But her thoughts never left that photograph.
After the sun went down, Jun Ho showed up with a small bundle of late pears from his uncle's grove for Soo Young.
"I've been thinking," he said. "Whoever sent that photo… they knew your name. They knew how to reach you. That means they're close enough to watch."
Soo Young asked. "You think they're in the village?"
"Maybe not now. But once. Or someone here knows them."
She nodded. The idea was chilling and grounding.
Jun Ho observed her face. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know," she said. "But I want to know more. And I think I can handle it."
He smiled. "That's the Soo Young I know."
She then looked at him, closely, the curve of his mouth, the concern in his eyes, the calmness in his presence. And for the first time, she reached for his hand.
"I'm glad you're here," she said.
"I always will be," he replied.
In that moment, with the stars becoming visible and the air growing colder with the promise of winter, Soo Young realized something:
The story is not about her father any longer.
It is about her now to follow, confront, and shape.
Whatever lies ahead, she is ready to face it.
Not as a daughter chasing ghosts.
But as a woman walking forward.