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I’m crying for Eli, and how suddenly the car crash had taken him away from me. How we’ll never have the life we had started envisioning together when we got engaged.

But I’m also crying for myself and what lies ahead. The threat that looms in the shadows and will likely emerge as soon as Mom boards her plane out of South Korea. The mark seared onto my wrist won’t ever fade, because it’s a mark signifying the violent death awaiting me.

Mom rocks me in her arms and murmurs, “Shhh… it’s okay, Moni baby. Let it all out, baby girl. You’ll find love again, and wherever Eli is, he’ll be smiling. He’d be so happy that you’re happy. Because that’s all he would ever want for you. Just like your father.”

I sniffle and let the last of these emotions out. I take comfort in the fact that, at least for this moment, I can finally be open and let out everything I’m feeling.

Gimhae International Airport is alive with motion and sound. Rolling suitcases against the tile. Announcements that echo overhead on the intercom system. The blur of so many people coming and going at once.

It’s loud, busy, chaotic. Just like the thoughts inside my head.

Mom’s holding my hand as we linger at the security entrance. She’s reluctant to cross the invisible line that’ll soon separate us. I can tell, even as she softly smiles, she still senses something is troubling me.

Something I’ve kept from her.

She squeezes my hand and tries to lighten the mood like she usually does.

“It’s only been a week, but I’m already missing some of the good food you fed me,” she quips with a light laugh. “I swear you need to find a way to mail that mango ice cream back home.”

I laugh too, mine more bittersweet. “I’m not sure it’ll survive the journey across the world.”

“Can’t blame me for wanting to try. That stuff was too tasty for its own good.”

She’s joking, but I notice how her expression falters just a little. It’s in her dark, round eyes too—the same hesitation I’m feeling.

Neither of us wants to say goodbye, but it’s time.

“Come here, baby. One more hug for the road,” she says, pulling me into her arms.

I wrap my own arms around her tightly and bury my face into her shoulders. She’s shorter than me now, but it still feels like a form of safety. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I have to.

I have to face whatever it is that’s coming on my own.

This dark mark I’ve been cursed with.

“I’ll call as soon as I land,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “You promise to text me when you get home?”

“Mom, you’ll be in the air. You won’t even get the text.”

“Still do it, baby. You know I like to know you’ve made it okay.”

I nod, returning her sad smile. “Okay, I promise I will.”

We exchange a few more final words as she waves one last time, then turns toward the security checkpoint. I watch her go until she disappears completely among the sea of travelers.

For the first time in a week, I’m officially alone.

The cab ride back to my apartment in Seomyeon is silent and wistful.

The sky has turned a slate gray, and somewhere in the hills beyond the city, thunder rumbles. Thin droplets of summer rain start to fall, slicking the roads and pattering against the windshield.

I’m lost in thought as I watch the rainy streets and think about what I should do. I feel hollower than ever on the inside, truly going through the motions.

The taxi pulls up outside my apartment building. The driver turns to me and says something that I barely register.

I might as well be in a trance, the way I’m dissociating from the moment. I pay the fare and move on autopilot to the front gate.

It clicks as it swings open and I step through, riding the elevator up to the ninth floor where my apartment is.