That day brimmed with joy.
It was a rare occasion when both parents had the day off together. Sihoo woke up buzzing with excitement at the idea of a family day trip.
Clatter, clatter.
“What’s our boy up to?” his mother called.
“Packing the lunch box,” Sihoo replied, his voice bright with a hum as he bustled around the kitchen.
His mother’s eyes sparkled with pride, watching him stir and chop with cheerful energy.
Sihoo had prepared a small five-tier lunch container, each layer a testament to care. The first tier held kimbap, the classic picnic staple. The second, third, and fourth tiers were filled with everyday dishes, lovingly recreated from his mother’s recipes that always warmed his heart. Golden-yellow scrambled eggs sizzled alongside stir-fried kimchi, dotted with round-cut sausages. Lettuce wraps cradled bite-sized rice balls topped with seasoned pork, a dab of ssamjang, and a slice of cheongyang pepper—a perfect “meat wrap” for a single chopstick scoop. A small foil compartment held tender potato stew and crispy stir-fried anchovies. Beside it sat fluffy white rice, adorned with delicate patterns of black sesame seeds.
In the middle layer, tteokgalbi patties nestled neatly. At the very top, Sihoo arranged a vibrant array of fruits for the family to share. This lunch was his heart poured into food, a gift for his parents.
Snap.
He stacked the tiers and wrapped the container in a golden cloth, tying it with care.
“Phew,” Sihoo exhaled, glancing at the bundle before swiftly washing the dishes.
“Ready?” his father asked.
“Yup!” Sihoo grinned.
The family set off for an amusement park in Gyeonggido, Sihoo’s first trip there with his parents. They soared on rides, laughed through thrills, and basked in shared moments that warmed Sihoo’s heart like a summer breeze.
Soon, their stomachs rumbled in unison.
Growl.
They exchanged smiles, the signal to eat. They found a spot to unpack Sihoo’s lunch box, his father pulling out drinks to share. As the tiers opened, his mother gasped.
“Wow, when did you make all this, son?”
“Try it,” Sihoo said, shyly offering chopsticks.
“Goodness, look at this lunch box—it’s incredible!” his father exclaimed.
“Dad, I want one like that!” a passing child whined.
“Mom, pack me a lunch like that for kindergarten!” another chimed.
Whispers from passersby floated around them, and Sihoo’s parents beamed, proudly lifting the food to their mouths.
Munch, munch.
His father bit into a piece of kimbap, eyes widening. “Sihoo, what magic did you work here?”
Their praise, their attention, their love—it soothed Sihoo’s soul like balm on a wound.
The day wound down with laughter, but as they drove home, a harsh sound shattered the joy.
Screech.
A deafening friction roared from the road as a massive truck barreled toward them.
Crash.
“Uh… ugh…” Sihoo groaned, waking to the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room.
He glanced around, heart sinking. His parents were gone.
Memories flooding back, Sihoo followed a nurse to the morgue, ignoring the ache in his arm. Seeing his parents’ still forms, his legs buckled. Flashes of their joyful day raced through his mind, sharp and fleeting.
He stumbled toward them, pain forgotten.
“Ano…” he choked out. “Ah… aah…”
Words failed him, dissolving into broken sounds as he collapsed. A crushing sense of eternal solitude enveloped Sihoo.
In a dim corner of the funeral hall at Korea University Affiliated Hospital, Sihoo sat in patient clothes, staring at the portrait photos. His face, beyond expressionless, seemed carved from ice.
Tap, tap.
Footsteps echoed, but Sihoo didn’t stir.
“Sihoo,” a voice called.
His neck turned stiffly. Yoon Kanghoon, president of 566>6 Company, stood with Joo Hayoon, a Korea University student, beside him. Sihoo’s gaze remained unchanged, hollow.
A woman approached Kanghoon. “Are you Yoon Kanghoon?”
He nodded, and she introduced herself as Sihoo’s homeroom teacher, explaining his situation. Kanghoon listened, his thoughts drifting to his own mother.
“Phew,” the teacher sighed. “The doctor believes it’s temporary aphasia from severe emotional trauma.”
Kanghoon swallowed hard, scanning the room. Colleagues of Sihoo’s parents came and went, and each time, Sihoo rose, his frail body bowing in greeting.
“Does Sihoo have any relatives?” Kanghoon asked.
The teacher shook her head. “Both parents were orphans, the police said. No family.”
Kanghoon glanced at Sihoo, exhaling heavily. “How… reality feels more dramatic than any story.”
Hayoon murmured, sighing, and Kanghoon nodded in quiet agreement.
“What happens to Sihoo now?” Hayoon asked.
“He’s still a minor,” the teacher replied. “Likely a youth protection center.”
Their eyes widened. Hayoon stammered, “So… an orphanage?”
“I’m not sure,” the teacher admitted.
Kanghoon recalled Sihoo’s birthday—four months away, when he’d turn adult.
Step.
After bowing twice to the deceased, Kanghoon sat beside Sihoo. His icy demeanor felt otherworldly. Kanghoon couldn’t shake the image of Sihoo that day. Colleagues handled the funeral, leaving only pitying glances for the boy whose expression, blind to them, seemed like a frozen doll to Kanghoon and Hayoon.
As the new year approached, Sihoo was discharged.
“How’s the arm?” Hayoon asked, his tone playful to ease the mood.
Sihoo, silent, rotated his arm slightly to show it was fine. Hayoon’s eyes widened. At 184 cm, Sihoo’s frame looked skeletal, barely 50 kg, his face devoid of emotion.
“Let’s go. I’ll get you home,” Hayoon said.
Then, Sihoo’s gaze caught a mother and child entering the hospital, the child clutching a hot dog. His pupils shook, his back hunched like a shrimp, and he retreated to a corner, covering his mouth.
Tap.
“Urk… ugh…” he retched.
Hayoon’s eyes widened. “Phew,” he sighed, understanding. This is why he refused the bus and walked.
The doctor had warned that Sihoo’s trauma could trigger intense reactions to food and transportation. Hayoon watched Sihoo’s heavy steps, sighing repeatedly. The boy who once shared gentle smiles and cooked for him was gone, leaving only pity in Hayoon’s heart.
No close friends at school, I heard. I need to be there for him.
Sihoo’s fragile figure seemed ready to collapse. Passersby stole glances as they walked by.
At Sihoo’s house, up a steep climb, Hayoon muttered, “Why’s it so high up? Exhausting.”
He glanced back at Sihoo, trailing slowly, and frowned with sympathy. “Sihoo, we almost there?”
Sihoo nodded silently.
At the top, Sihoo unlocked the iron gate with a key from his pocket.
Click. Creak.
The courtyard, untouched for months, resembled ruins. Sihoo stood, staring blankly at the house. Hayoon gently nudged him inside, but Sihoo recoiled, shaking his head.
With careful coaxing, Hayoon led him in. Sihoo slipped into his room, where cold air hung heavy. He sat on his bed, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Hey, it’s freezing—you’ll catch a cold,” Hayoon said, searching for the boiler switch. “Found it! Detached houses are always chilly.”
Whoosh.
The boiler hummed to life. Hayoon texted Kanghoon: We’re home.
Buzz. Kanghoon replied: Hang in there. I’ll come after work.
A shadow loomed over Hayoon. Sihoo held out a note: [Hyung, go home. I want to be alone. Thanks for bringing me today.]
Hayoon sighed. “Alright, rest up. I’ll come back later.”
Alone, Sihoo sat in his room, staring at the master bedroom and kitchen. Phantom voices echoed.
“Son, you’re home?”
“Sihoo, we’re out of soy sauce. Grab some?”
His parents’ images flickered like mirages, then vanished.
“Eya…” A broken sound escaped Sihoo’s lips, not a voice. No tears fell.
“Phew.” He closed his eyes, exhaling.
“Sihoo. Ya…”
A frail voice stirred him. He opened his eyes.
“Ah… Atl… Snow ne…” It was his mother’s voice, strained with suppressed grief.
“Son… listen well,” she said, glancing at his father.
Father, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his head, struggled to speak. “Sihoo… we can’t be together anymore… I’m sorry…”
His mother’s labored breaths mingled with the warm touch of her hand smoothing his hair. “Sihoo, Mom and Dad were happiest when you came to us. Even if we can’t stay with you, don’t cry…”
Father’s voice faltered, barely a whisper. “Son… today’s food was… so delicious. Thank you…”
He reached to stroke Sihoo’s head, his bloodied hand trembling. Sihoo watched, body quaking.
“Sihoo… Sihoo…” Father’s hand fell limp.
Mother’s hand took over, grazing his cheek. Her breathing ragged, she spoke slowly, eyes brimming with Sihoo. “Sihoo… Mom and Dad are going far away. But we’ll always watch over you. Thank you for the delicious food…”
Resentment, worry, and pity flashed in her gaze, the pain of leaving her only son. Sihoo, who they loved most, who warmed their lives. He knew, instinctively, this was goodbye.
“Mom… Dad… I love you. Don’t go… please…” Sihoo’s tears spilled.
His mother gripped his hand. “Son… don’t cry…”
Her touch weakened, slipping from his forehead. Sihoo clutched her hand. “Mom! Mom! I won’t cry, open your eyes! Please, Mom!”
Her lips curved faintly, struggling. “Sihoo… Mom will always cheer for you… from afar… your dreams… we love you…”
Her words trailed off, her hand falling with a soft plop.
Gasp.
Sihoo jolted awake, soaked in cold sweat, clutching his blanket tightly.
Squeeze.
A hollow void consumed him, the weight of loss pressing down. Isolation crushed Sihoo, not yet an adult.
Then, piercing the silence, a sound rang out.
Ding-dong.