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“Yoori-ya,” Halmeoni chastised.

“No!” Jihoon’s mother swung toward Halmeoni. “I am sick of living like this because of him.” She directed an accusing finger toward Jihoon, who had flopped down to cry among the spilled food and broken dishes.

“If he hadn’t come around, I wouldn’t have married that man. I wouldn’t be living like this. I wasn’t born this pathetic!”

She stormed out, leaving Halmeoni to clean up the kitchen and Jihoon. A week later she met her new husband.

The memory left a sour taste in Jihoon’s mouth. It wasn’t one he took out often, but it was one he couldn’t quite erase. For a while, he’d wondered if that was when he’d lost her. Maybe if he hadn’t been so clumsy. If he hadn’t gotten in her way. Then she wouldn’t have left.

Jihoon glanced out the window. The streets became wider, the buildings taller. The bus crossed the Han River, entering the opulence and established wealth of Apgujeong.

Jihoon hated this part of town. Not because it was more developed or cleaner. Not because it flaunted its wealth so blatantly that international hit songs had been written about it. Because it was her part of town. The place she went when she’d abandoned him.

Jihoon stood in front of his mother’s front door for four minutes before he mustered the courage to ring the bell.

The eye of the camera glared at him. It made him feel like an intruder. He averted his face, afraid he’d be rejected before the door even opened.

“Who is it?” The question rang out, cheerful and bright.

“Delivery,” he mumbled.

The door beeped as it opened, a happy trio of chirps.

She wore a bright yellow dress. Her hair was pulled into a short ponytail. A ruffled pink apron decorated her waist. And she held a sleepy toddler in her arms.

“Jihoon-ah.” His mother spoke high with surprise.

He stared at the toddler, who blinked at him with curious eyes, his small hand fisted in the collar of her dress.

“Delivery,” Jihoon repeated, holding up the containers with aching arms.

She glanced between the two giant bundles, then let out a sigh as she held the door open.

“You can put them there.” She pointed at the floor of the foyer. “I’m going to put Doojoon down. It’s nap time.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and disappeared into a side room.

Jihoon stood in the entryway, refusing to step farther without being invited. The apartment was pristine, the living room larger than the small apartment Jihoon shared with his halmeoni. A family portrait hung prominently. A man with a square jaw held Jihoon’s mother from behind, and in her arms lay baby Doojoon.

They looked perfect and happy. The way a young family should. Jihoon had never seen a picture of him with both of his parents. Halmeoni said his mother threw them all out.

His mother emerged and gestured at the containers. “What did she send this time?”

“Kimchi,” Jihoon replied, but her disdain wasn’t lost on him. “Leftovers from the restaurant,” he added. He would die before he told her Halmeoni meticulously seasoned it all day for her.

“Doojoonie’s appa doesn’t like spicy things. Why did she make so much?”

Jihoon clenched his teeth to hold in his frustration. “I delivered it. Don’t forget to tell Halmeoni if she calls you.”

“Your halmeoni let you leave the house like that? It’s about to rain, you don’t even have a jacket.”

Her tone reeked of judgment, yet his traitorous mind overlooked it. She was worried about him going out in the rain. That meant she cared, right?

“I’m fine,” he whispered. If he spoke any louder, his voice would crack.

“Wait there.” She disappeared into the back room and emerged with a bag of clothes. She pulled out a long trench coat. “We were going to donate these, but you can have them.”

Jihoon glared. The clothes were obviously those of a middle-aged man.