8 Years Ago:
Jimin woke up early, the soft rays of the morning sun slipping through his window. He dragged himself out of bed, feeling a dull heaviness settle over him. He went through the motions of getting ready for school—brushing his teeth, throwing on his uniform, and tying his shoes—but his mind was far from the routine.
When he entered the kitchen, the familiar smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the air. His mother was at the stove, humming a soft tune under her breath as she flipped the eggs. It was the same breakfast she made every morning when his father was home. And as much as Jimin tried to ignore it, the thought of his father was in home hanging over the moment like a dark cloud.
Jimin clenched his jaw and walked to the table, trying to ignore the sick feeling building in his stomach.
"Hey, Jimin," his mother said with a warm smile, looking up from the stove. "Your father came home last night. He was asking about you, but you were already asleep."
Jimin froze, the words sinking into him like stones. His father had asked about him? The same father who had been out with another woman—who had been so distant for so long. His hands curled into fists under the table as he fought the urge to snap. He didn't want to hear about his father's return, didn't want to acknowledge the lie that everything was okay.
"Yeah, Mom," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I was really tired yesterday, so I went to bed early."
His mother nodded, not noticing the tension in his tone. "Anyway, come have breakfast. Your dad will join us in a minute."
Jimin's appetite died instantly. The thought of sitting across from his father, pretending nothing had changed, made his chest feel tight. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to pretend everything was fine when it was clear it wasn't.
But his mother was still looking at him with that gentle smile, unaware of the storm in Jimin's heart.
Without thinking, Jimin stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. "Mom, I—I have some work left over from my project. I need to go early to finish it. Bye, Mom."
His voice broke slightly, and he quickly turned away before she could say anything else. The words were already out, and he couldn't take them back. He didn't wait for her response. He grabbed his bag and ran out of the house, his footsteps pounding in his ears as he raced down the street, his heart beating fast with a mix of confusion and anger.
He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to face the reality of what was happening. Not today. Not ever.
§∆§
After that morning, Jimin pretended everything was fine. For a week, he buried his feelings, forced a smile when his father was around, and tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. He knew his father would go on another business trip soon, and Jimin dreaded it—he knew exactly where he was going, but he couldn't bring himself to confront his mother with the truth. She was fragile already. If he told her, if he shattered the illusion she clung to, it might break her completely.
But each day, the anxiety gnawed at him. He couldn't keep pretending, but he had no other choice. His mother, with her unwavering belief that everything was fine, would collapse if she ever learned what her husband was really doing.
§∆§
It was a Tuesday when Jimin came home from school, exhausted from trying to keep up with the charade. He opened the door to the house, expecting the usual calm. The smell of dinner was still lingering in the air, but something felt off. The silence in the house was suffocating.
As he entered the dining area, he froze.
There, lying on the floor, was his mother. Her body was slumped awkwardly. Papers were scattered around her—some on the floor, some near her outstretched hand. Jimin's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the images among the scattered papers. The unmistakable faces of his father and the woman. Pictures. Of them together. Laughing. Holding hands. Looking far too close.
A chill ran down Jimin's spine, his breath catching in his throat. He stepped forward cautiously, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. But as he neared her, the reality hit him like a hammer. His mother wasn't just lying there—she was unconscious.
"Mom!" Jimin shouted, rushing to her side. His hands trembled as he knelt down, carefully placing her head on his lap. "Mom, please wake up!"
His voice cracked as panic surged through him. His chest felt tight, and his mind was racing with worry. He couldn't lose her—not like this.
He shook her gently, hoping she would respond, but her face remained pale, her eyes closed, and her breathing shallow.
"Mom, please!" Jimin's voice rose in desperation. His thoughts were a chaotic blur. He didn't know what to do—his whole world felt like it was crumbling. He stood up quickly, heart pounding, his breath ragged as he ran to the nearby table, grabbing the glass of water sitting there. His hands shook as he splashed some of the cool liquid on her face.
"Mom!" He tapped her cheek, his voice trembling. "Wake up. Please wake up."
His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he watched her, willing her to respond.
For a moment, there was nothing—just silence, the distant hum of the world continuing on outside, as if nothing had changed. Jimin's stomach twisted in knots, his breath shallow, and just as he was about to panic completely, a small, shallow breath escaped his mother.
Then, her eyelids fluttered, and Jimin exhaled in relief.
"Mom…" He whispered, his voice strained with emotion.
His mother stirred slightly, her hand twitching before slowly lifting to rest on his leg. Her eyes opened halfway, blurry at first, and then focused on him.
"Jimin…?" Her voice was weak, a faint whisper of concern, but Jimin's heart felt lighter than it had in days.
"You're okay, Mom," Jimin whispered, his voice soft, though he was still shaken. He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.
She blinked a few times, disoriented, and then she sighed deeply, her hand weakly clutching at his arm. "I... I don't know what happened," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Jimin's heart ached seeing her like this, vulnerable, so unlike the strong, smiling woman she usually was. "You just fainted, Mom. It's okay now."
She tried to sit up, but Jimin gently stopped her. "Mom , You need to take it easy."
His mother looked around table, her eyes still glazed. "Jimin… i think it's.....it's your dad important documents " She gestured weakly to the papers scattered on the floor, but her voice didn't carry the usual warmth of concern. Instead, there was a fear.
Jimin stared at the photos, the faces of his father and the woman grinning back at him. His stomach twisted, and for a brief second, he considered telling her everything—telling her what he had seen. The truth was right there. But as he looked at her pale face, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"Nothing, Mom. Nothing important," Jimin said, his voice tight with restraint. "Just... just some old papers, I guess."
She didn't question him further, nodding slightly. "I must have been misplaced his files," she said faintly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jimin could see the strain in her eyes, the way she tried to convince herself that everything was fine, that her husband wasn't betraying her. It broke his heart even more to see her clinging to that lie.
"Don't worry, Mom,i handle this" Jimin said, his voice steady though his insides were churning. "Come, you can rest." He helped her lie down on the sofa.
She nodded again,Jimin stayed by her side, watching her closely as she drifted back into a light sleep. His fingers brushed through her hair softly, trying to comfort her. But as he stared at her, his heart felt torn. The weight of the truth was unbearable, and yet, for her sake, he couldn't bring himself to speak it.
Not yet.