ATTEW – Chapter 16

After making her seal as well—press, press—the child made her oppa promise, again and again, that he had to come quickly. Then, as if she’d never been reluctant at all, she flitted off and ran toward the other kids her age who were peeking over.

“…She went.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. For calming Gyueon down.”

“No, it’s part of my job.”

For a few seconds, Eunho’s eyes met the man’s—Seo Jae-eon. He hesitated like someone who still had more to say.

Eunho knew what he wanted to say. It was the same thing she always said in situations like this—steady, but firm.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”

“…Yes.”

“I’ll sleep with her tonight. So please come tomorrow afternoon. For sure.”

“Yes. I will. I already told the director earlier, too… Please take good care of Gyueon.”

“Okay.”

“Um… sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and wanders around. Usually, when she’s tired or nervous. If that happens, just call her name and lay her back down—she falls asleep again quickly.”

“Ah… okay.”

“And this…”

He pulled something from his jumper pocket and held it out: a bag of fruit-flavored candies.

“Gyueon likes sweets. If she cries or gives you trouble…”

“I’m sorry, but snacks have to be shared with all the kids here.”

“Ah…”

“The center has candy too. One per day is the rule…”

Eunho reached out, took the candy, and opened the bag—then only pulled out two pieces and held them in her palm.

“I’ll secretly give her one extra tonight, and one extra tomorrow.”

“…Thank you.”

There wasn’t anything else to say, and yet turning away wasn’t easy.

The man who had to step into this blizzard and leave his sister behind was anxious. The woman watching him wanted—desperately—for him to keep his promise and come back.

Maybe that was why Eunho unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and held it out.

“Um… in this weather, it’ll take at least an hour to walk to the bus terminal.”

With buses and taxis cut off in the heavy snow, she couldn’t help worrying about him having to go on foot. Eunho offered the black scarf she’d bought at a household-goods shop for three thousand won.

“At least keep your neck warm.”

“Ah…”

“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s better than nothing.”

“…Thank you.”

“Then… Gyueon’s oppa, please be careful on your way.”

“Yes. Yes. Really—please. Please take good care of her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eunho bowed. The man turned, her scarf now wrapped around his neck. He walked away, hesitating—looking back more than once as he went. Probably because he could see his sister inside, playing in the living room.

Eunho watched his retreating back and hoped, fiercely, that Gyueon would not become one of those children whose “temporary care” quietly turned into “long-term care.”

She kept her eyes on him as he disappeared into a whiteout so thick it swallowed everything.

All she wanted was to see him again tomorrow afternoon.

***

Eunho startled awake at the sensation of something thunking onto her stomach.

“Ah…”

An arm lay across her belly—Gyueon’s. She must’ve shifted in her sleep and smacked Eunho with it.

Eunho had felt it last night, too, but Gyueon’s sleeping habits were nothing like her pretty face. They were wild. Eunho had been hit by her hands and feet so many times last night that she’d woken up over and over.

The first night, it might’ve been the anxiety of being separated from her oppa for the first time, in a strange place.

But tonight…

Eunho sat up and grabbed her phone. She dimly lit the screen.

Just past midnight.

“….”

Twelve o’clock.

In the end, Gyueon’s oppa hadn’t appeared even on Sunday afternoon—the time he’d promised—came and went. That was why Gyueon was spending her second night at the center.

A few hours earlier, Gyueon had cried, said her oppa broke his promise, and said he wouldn’t answer the phone. She’d sobbed for a long time, hurt and furious that he’d lied to her. It was the kind of crying you couldn’t believe belonged to the brave girl who’d been holding herself together from last night through today.

Maybe she’d sensed it, instinctively. The fear had caught up to her, made her blame him. And still—still—she hadn’t been able to let go of the thin thread of hope that he would come if she just endured one more night.

Eunho was the one who’d woven that hope back into her hands.

She’d lied—said he’d called to say he’d be a little late. Said she should eat this candy and wait. Then she’d given Gyueon the candies she’d gotten from him before and tucked her back into the spot beside her. She’d had to. She had to quiet her crying somehow.

Because even when the kids here looked like they were doing fine, if one child cracked and burst into tears, the whole place often followed. They all understood each other’s pain without needing words.

Like how, at the pediatrician’s office, one baby crying could set every other baby off.

“…It’s better to hurt for a moment than to hurt like this.”

Eunho’s sigh came out deep.

The original request for temporary protection had been for three days. One day was already gone—so if Gyueon’s oppa didn’t show up within the next two, the odds were high Gyueon would be handed off to the local child welfare office and sent to a new long-term facility.

Maybe she’d stay here.

But that didn’t mean she’d see her oppa again.

“He said he’d come…”

He’d promised so firmly. He’d pleaded, said he’d absolutely return, and asked them to take good care of her until then.

If he was going to do this, he shouldn’t have said any of it. If he was going to disappoint her like this, he should’ve been cruel from the start.

Eunho smiled bitterly as she pulled the blanket back up over Gyueon.

Outside the window, there wasn’t even moonlight tonight. The snowstorm that had dragged on for days felt crueler than ever.

“…Unless…”

What if something had happened to him?

What if he’d gotten into an accident on the way to pick her up? What if the blizzard stranded him somewhere?

As Eunho spun those possibilities, a short, hollow laugh slipped from her lips.

Maybe she just wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe he was someone who would come back.

But why?

He wasn’t her oppa. And yet she felt disappointed—as if she’d betrayed herself.

Eunho stared at the snow piling up soundlessly, then lay back down.

Before she closed her eyes, she checked the sleeping figure beside her—Eunshil. She didn’t forget.

Since Seonghui’s death, Eunshil—who’d called Seonghui “Mom”—had struggled terribly. She screamed in panic, rocked her body, and cried. She’d sat at Seonghui’s desk and gotten scolded by the new director. There were days she barely ate, only cried.

Sometimes she’d bolt upright in the night and slam her head against the wall.

So whenever Eunho woke, she always checked whether Eunshil was sleeping safely.

Thankfully, starting last week, Eunshil had begun to get better. Maybe she was finding stability again—she smiled that familiar, dopey smile more often now. She called for Eunho and asked her to tie her hair prettily.

Yesterday, she’d lit up at the sight of Eunho’s lip balm, so Eunho had put it on her… and Eunshil had liked it so much Eunho couldn’t help but give it to her. Eunshil fell asleep clutching it tightly.

For Eunshil, living with an intellectual disability, Seonghui must’ve been precious in a way that was different from the Seonghui who lived in Eunho’s own heart.

Gyueon, crying because her oppa didn’t come.

Eunshil, breaking apart because Seonghui was gone.

A night where everyone was finally asleep.

“….”

Lying still, Eunho thought of Gyueon’s oppa.

Strangely, she couldn’t picture the face she’d thought was handsome—but she remembered the softness of his smile.

Maybe she really was weak to soft things.

Hwajin’s breasts. Seonghui’s voice and way of speaking. A man’s smile.

All of them were things that felt gentle, downy—like you could press your cheek to them.

‘I’m sorry. I got into a car accident on the way to pick Gyueon up, so I’m late.’

Eunho hoped—hoped—that when morning came, and she opened her eyes, she’d see him standing there, saying exactly that.

So Gyueon wouldn’t cry anymore.

So there wouldn’t be any more sad children.