C H A P T E R T W E E N T Y - S E V E N:
"You're my strong girl."
Flashback — Yoon Seok-do's disappearance
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The scent of freshly cooked kimchi stew filled the air, but the warmth in their small apartment felt forced. Seok-do sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders slumped slightly as he stirred his rice absentmindedly. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever, his once neatly combed hair now disheveled. Though his lips curved into a smile whenever his wife or daughters spoke, Yi-Seo could tell—it was strained, unnatural.

"Appa, are you okay?" Yi-Seo asked, setting her chopsticks down. Her sharp eyes studied him carefully.

He had been acting strangely for weeks now, coming home later than usual, barely eating, and constantly checking his phone as if waiting for something. Tonight, he looked even worse. There was an edge to his movements, a certain urgency in the way he gulped down his food as if he was in a rush to leave.

Seok-do met his daughter's gaze and let out a chuckle, reaching over to ruffle her hair like he used to when she was little. "Of course, I'm okay. Just tired from work, that's all." His voice was warm, but Yi-Seo saw the lie in his eyes.

"You always say that," she muttered, unconvinced.

"Because it's true," he insisted, though his smile faltered for just a second before he turned to Hwa-Young, who was happily munching on her meal, oblivious to the tension in the room. "How was school, sweetie?"

Hwa-Young beamed. "I got a gold star in art class today! The teacher said my drawing was really good."

Seok-do grinned, the most genuine smile he had shown all night. "That's my little artist. Maybe one day, you'll be famous, and I can tell everyone I knew you before you became rich."

Hwa-Young giggled, and their mother, Hee-Jin, smiled softly, though there was a hint of exhaustion in her eyes as well.

For a brief moment, everything felt normal. But Yi-Seo knew better. She noticed the way her father's knee bounced under the table, his fingers tapping against his thigh. She noticed how he barely touched his food, despite saying he was starving earlier. She saw the way he kept glancing at the clock on the wall, as if counting down to something.

That night, after everyone went to bed, Yi-Seo woke up to the sound of quiet shuffling from the kitchen. Slipping out of her room, she peeked around the corner and saw her father standing at the counter. Under the dim kitchen light, his expression was tense as he carefully placed a thick envelope onto the surface. He hesitated, his fingers lingering on the edges as if second-guessing himself. Then, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, scribbled something quickly, and placed it next to the envelope.

"Appa?"

Seok-do flinched, spinning around so fast that the chair behind him scraped against the floor. His eyes widened when he saw Yi-Seo standing there in her pajamas, her arms crossed as she stared at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice cautious. "Are you leaving?"

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he let out a slow breath and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "No, sweetheart. I'm just... taking care of something."

"You're lying," Yi-Seo whispered. Her father had never been a good liar. "Why are you acting like this? What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Seok-do pulled her into a tight hug. He held her for what felt like forever, his hand cradling the back of her head like he used to when she was a child. "Take care of your mom and sister, okay? You're my strong girl."

Yi-Seo felt a chill run down her spine. His words felt too much like a farewell.

"Appa, tell me the truth," she demanded, pushing back slightly to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

He smiled again—that same tired, forced smile. "Everything's fine. Get some sleep, alright? I'll be back in the morning."

And then, before she could argue, he kissed the top of her head and guided her back toward her room. She hesitated in the doorway, watching as he stood there, waiting for her to go inside.

"...Goodnight, Appa," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Yi-Seo."

It was the last time she ever saw him.

—

   When Yi-Seo woke up the next morning, the house felt eerily quiet. Too quiet.

She padded out of her room, stretching, but stopped in her tracks when she saw her mother standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at the counter. Her hands trembled as she held a piece of paper. Next to her was the thick envelope Yi-Seo had seen her father leave the night before.

"Mom?" Yi-Seo called hesitantly.

Hee-Jin didn't respond. Hwa-Young, still groggy from sleep, yawned as she stumbled out of her room. "Where's Appa?"

That was the question no one could answer.

They searched the entire house—his shoes were gone, but his jacket remained. His car wasn't in its usual spot. They called his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. There was no note explaining where he went, only the one he had left behind:

"I'm sorry."

Nothing more.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Seok-do's car was eventually found abandoned next to an old building on the other side of the city. There were no signs of forced entry, no evidence of foul play. Just an empty vehicle with no clues. The police had little to go on. He had simply vanished.

Their mother stopped eating properly. She barely spoke, barely moved. Yi-Seo would catch her sitting on the couch, staring at the door as if waiting for their father to walk back in. At night, she sometimes heard quiet sobs coming from her mother's room.

Hwa-Young cried almost every night, clinging to Yi-Seo's arm as she whimpered, "When is Appa coming home?"

Yi-Seo didn't know what to say.

So she did the only thing she could—she held her family together.

She woke up early to make breakfast. She walked Hwa-Young to school and picked her up afterward. She cleaned the house, did the laundry, and made dinner. She took care of her mother, forcing her to eat, to get out of bed, to keep going.

And in between it all, she still went to school, still studied, still acted like everything was normal.

But deep down, she was exhausted.

Some nights, when everyone else was asleep, Yi-Seo would sit alone in the living room, staring at the same door her mother did. Wondering if he would ever walk back in. Wondering if he had left them behind on purpose. Wondering if he was even alive.

But no matter how much she wanted to cry, she didn't.

Because someone had to be strong.

—

The days blurred together. Yi-Seo carried on as if she were fine, as if she weren't exhausted, as if she didn't feel like her entire world was crumbling. But no matter how much she tried to keep going, the weight of her father's disappearance pressed down on her shoulders like an unbearable force.

That Monday morning, she put on her uniform as usual, but instead of heading to school, she found herself walking toward her usual spot by an ice-cream shop.

She didn't know why she went there. Maybe it was because it was the only place where she could breathe. Where no one expected anything from her. Where she didn't have to pretend.

And so, every morning that week, she left the house, dressed for school, and went straight to the river instead. She spent hours sitting on the grass, staring out at the water, lost in her thoughts. She wanted to cry, but she had run out of tears.

When she wasn't at the river, she was accompanying her mother to the police station, listening to the same useless words from the officers—"We're doing our best." "We'll let you know if we find anything." But there was never any news. No leads. No trace of her father.

She was tired. She wanted her life to go back to normal.

At school, Sang-Woo and Gi-Hun quickly noticed her absence.

"She missed a day of school?" Gi-Hun asked, frowning as he leaned against the desk. "That's weird."

Sang-Woo nodded, equally concerned. "Not just one day. She hasn't been here all week."

Gi-Hun blinked. "No way. Yi-Seo? She never skips school. Not even when she's sick."

That was what made it alarming. Yi-Seo was the most responsible person they knew. If she was missing school, something had to be seriously wrong.

"Let's check her house after school," Sang-Woo decided.

After school, the two guys went to her house. When they arrived, they knocked on the door several times. No answer.

"Maybe she's still at school and just—" Gi-Hun started to say, but Sang-Woo shot him a look.

"Gi-Hun. She hasn't been at school. Where else could she be?"

Gi-Hun hesitated. Then, realization hit.

"The river," they both said at the same time.

Without wasting another second, they ran.

When they reached the river, it didn't take long to spot her.

Yi-Seo was sitting on the grass, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed. Her shoulders trembled.

Sang-Woo and Gi-Hun exchanged a worried glance before walking up to her.

"Yi-Seo," Sang-Woo called gently, kneeling beside her.

Yi-Seo didn't respond.

Gi-Hun crouched down on her other side. "Hey. What's going on? We've been looking everywhere for you."

For a long moment, she stayed silent. Then, she took a shaky breath and lifted her head slightly.

Her face was pale, her eyes swollen from crying.

"It's... Appa," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "He's gone."

Sang-Woo's expression darkened. "Gone? What do you mean?"

Yi-Seo let out a trembling sigh. "He disappeared. One night, he just... left. No explanation. No call. Nothing. Just an envelope of money and a note saying, 'I'm sorry.'"

Gi-Hun's mouth fell open. "What? When did this happen?"

"Two weeks ago," she admitted.

Gi-Hun gaped. "And you didn't tell us?!"

"I didn't know how," she murmured. "I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to believe it."

Sang-Woo exhaled sharply. "Yi-Seo..." He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's not something you should go through alone."

Gi-Hun's voice softened. "Why didn't you come to us?"

"Because I had to take care of my family," she said, her voice cracking. "Mom barely eats anymore. She just stares at the door, waiting for him to come back. Hwa-Young cries every night, asking where he is. I have to be the one who cooks, who cleans, who picks her up from school, who makes sure we all don't fall apart—" Her voice broke, and a sob escaped her lips. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Without hesitation, Gi-Hun pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, hey," he murmured as she clung to him. "You don't have to do this alone, okay? We're here. Sang-Woo and I... we'll help you. Whatever you need, we're here."

Sang-Woo nodded. "He's right. You're not alone in this, Yi-Seo. You never have to be."

Yi-Seo squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Gi-Hun's jacket as if afraid to let go. "I just want my life to go back to how it was," she whispered brokenly.

Sang-Woo sighed, sitting beside her. "I know. I wish we could make that happen."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the gentle rustling of the wind and the quiet sobs Yi-Seo could no longer hold back.

Gi-Hun finally pulled away slightly, still holding onto her arms. "From now on, don't shut us out. No more disappearing, alright?"

Yi-Seo sniffled and nodded weakly.

"Good," Gi-Hun said, managing a small smile. "Because, honestly? You scared the crap out of us."

Sang-Woo scoffed. "Idiot, that's not what she needs to hear right now."

"But it's true!" Gi-Hun defended. "I was this close to thinking she got kidnapped or something!"

Yi-Seo let out a small, breathy laugh. It was weak, but it was real.

Sang-Woo smirked. "There she is."

She wiped her eyes. "Thanks, guys."

Gi-Hun grinned. "Anytime. Now, let's get you home."

And for the first time in weeks, Yi-Seo didn't feel like she was carrying the burden alone.

words from the author:
For feature references, flashback chapters may be out of order 🫡
But hoped you guys liked this chapter :)