ATTEW – Chapter 15

A place where Director Han Seonghui was gone—replaced by the new director, Park Gyedeuk.

“Whew…”

Just thinking of the new director made a sigh slip out on its own. It struck Eunho again that meeting Seonghui had truly been a stroke of luck.

If Seonghui hadn’t come all the way from Incheon to the Night Pass police substation that day—

if she’d gotten sick of the traffic and simply turned back—

“….”

If Eunho had grown up under someone like Director Park Gyedeuk—greedy, calculating, and mean—then her life would’ve been nothing like it was now. She’d have grown up resentful of the world, thinking in bleak, hostile ways, living a life she could never call good.

A person who’d turned Warm Hands Childcare Center cold in barely a month.

Whenever Eunho lifted her head after sensing that sticky gaze, she met those long-slit eyes. Thinking of the way he watched her with that chilling stare, Eunho found herself remembering not what she’d learned from Seonghui, but what she’d learned from Hwajin.

The only saving grace was that Eunho was leaving Warm Hands Childcare Center soon. She’d promised herself she’d stay only through this year—there were barely two weeks left. She’d live in a goshiwon for January and February, then start dorm life as a freshman at K University at the end of February.

“So hang in there. Think of the kids.”

She steadied her heart as it tried to roughen, reminding herself to do her best until the end—for the children who still needed care. Over the past year, as she tried to imitate even a fraction of the sturdy fence Seonghui had once been for her, Eunho had grown, too.

After taking a deep breath, Eunho adjusted her grip on the bag holding the hot dog boxes and squared her shoulders.

Her life had been like winter—sharp wind, biting cold—but from here on out, it would be spring: warm haze, gentle breezes.

As she painted that flower-bright future in her mind, the heavy gray sky above her sprinkled snow without end.

***

“I promise. If Gyueon sleeps here for just one night, I’ll come tomorrow afternoon for sure.”

“No, I wanna go with you. Please?”

“Gyueon-ah, don’t cry. I’ll come. I really will. I’ll buy you a present tomorrow, so wait just one night. You can do it, right? You can wait for me without crying, right?”

The sniffling girl was named Seo Gyueon—nine years old, they said. Eunho watched her, standing in front of the building and stamping her feet as she cried, then started walking over. Someone needed to stay with her. That was clear.

Watching made her chest tighten. This was already the third new child today. The siblings who’d arrived in the morning had lost their parents in a fire and become orphans overnight. They’d be placed under long-term care.

And this third child—Seo Gyueon—

“Gyueon, you know my number, right? If anything happens, you call me. I always pick up when you call, you know that.”

“…Yeah…”

“This place isn’t scary. It’s not a weird place, either. It’s just somewhere you stay for a little while and get help. Look—there are friends, and there’s a playground. Inside, they’ve got books and toys.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. So don’t cry and just wait. Sleep one night, and then we’ll see each other. Okay?”

She’d come in as an emergency, temporary-care child just a little while ago. Originally, Warm Hands Childcare Center had taken in orphaned children and provided long-term protection—but after the new director arrived, it transformed into a combined facility that cared for temporary-protection and foster-placement children as well.

The region didn’t have enough emergency childcare resources, so with administrative support, the center was made to serve as both a temporary shelter and a short-term safe house.

Gyueon was the first child they’d taken under temporary protection.

Eunho didn’t know all the details, but it seemed the man who appeared to be her guardian had some situation that required him to leave his sister somewhere safe for a while.

“I won’t be late. When have I ever lied to you?”

“…you haven’t…”

“Right. So wait for me.”

Not Dad. Oppa.

Eunho watched the man as he stroked the child’s head and repeated his promises. He looked a few years older than Eunho—tall, with a gentle face. He seemed anxious and guilty about leaving his much-younger sister here, and yet he also looked frantic—like someone who had to rush somewhere no matter what.

So Eunho stepped in carefully.

She stood beside the child, gently set a hand on the shoulder that clung to the man’s coat and refused to let go, and lowered her gaze. She didn’t forget to smile—softly.

“Hi. I’m Lee Eunho. What’s your name?”

“Snff… I’m… Seo Gyueon…”

“Wow, that’s a really pretty name. Your name is pretty, your face is pretty—Gyueon, you’re just pretty all over.”

“Hic…”

“Gyueon, your oppa’s right. This place isn’t scary.”

“……”

“There are lots of books, lots of toys. And lots of friends to play with.”

“Hic, sniff…”

“Later, we’re all going to play yutnori after dinner. Do you know how to play?”

“Snff… yutnori…?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you don’t. If you don’t know, I’ll teach you. It’s really fun when you play with a bunch of people.”

Maybe the word yutnori sparked curiosity—Gyueon’s crying slowed.

The man, much taller than Eunho, gave Eunho a silent greeting. Eunho dipped her head slightly in return.

“Do you live here too, Unni?”

“Yeah. I live here too.”

“Did someone tell you to stay here for a few days, too?”

“No. I’ve lived here since I was nine.”

“Huh… really? I’m nine too!”

“Really? Okay, then unni will tell you a secret. But it’s a real, real secret.”

The child’s tears had dried; now she stared up at Eunho with wide, round eyes. Eunho gave the man a small look that said, She’s okay now, then crouched so she could meet Gyueon eye-to-eye.

“See, when you become an adult, you have to leave this place. But Unni liked it here so much, she asked if she could stay just a little longer. That’s why I’m an adult, but I still live here. Because it’s that nice.”

“Ah…?”

“So, Gyueon, let’s do our best together. Your oppa said he’s coming tomorrow, right? If you play with friends and have fun, later you might even cry because you don’t want to leave.”

It was a lie.

Unlike Seonghui, Eunho had learned how to use small, gentle lies to soothe a child.

What kid would leave their family behind and cry because they didn’t want to go?

That never happened. Kids had instincts. That was why the ones who arrived holding someone’s hand tended to cling and whine—grabbing at sleeves, wrapping around legs, begging to be taken along.

No one here said, You’ll never see your mom and dad again. And yet the children still did it—because on some level, they could already feel abandonment coming.

Most of the kids came in through police stations, lost or discarded. But even in the short time between, some grew attached to the police too, and situations like this—achingly tender—still happened.

Still, someone bringing a child in personally, like this—an older brother leaving her here with his own hands—was a first. It was only because the center now functioned as a temporary shelter. And because it wasn’t a third party like a police officer or social worker, but a blood family, leaving the child behind, it felt worse.

“But I like playing with my oppa more.”

“Yeah. Playing with oppa is the most fun, isn’t it? I’m jealous. I wish I had a cool oppa like Gyueon’s.”

“My oppa and I, our names are only one letter different! I’m Seo Gyueon. Oppa is Seo Jae-eon.”

“Whoa, really? Just one letter? That’s so cool. How does that happen?”

Eunho reacted big to the child’s tiny brag, and finally the child smiled.

When Eunho looked up at the man—Seo Jae-eon—he was smiling too, relief soft in his face.

His eyes were sad. His cheeks looked hollow. His expression carried the weight of exhaustion. And yet he was handsome.

For a fleeting moment, Eunho thought: ‘They look so alike. Their parents must’ve been proud.’

His smile, oddly enough, came easily. If Eunho had seen it somewhere other than a childcare center, she might’ve smiled back without thinking.

“Should we say goodbye to oppa and go inside now? Look—your friends are waiting because they want to play.”

“Oppa, then… pinky promise before you go.”

“Okay. I promise.”

The child held out her small hand. The man’s large hand reached down, and their fingers hooked together.