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Soldiers swarmed down the tunnel towards them as Seong-kyeong and Su-an stumbled along. Su-an started crying harder, clinging tight to Seong-kyeong’s side. Her singing echoed off the tunnel walls, now joined by the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground and guns shifting as the soldiers ran.
Seong-kyeong’s feet ached. All she wanted to do was lie down, but who knew when they’d be able to rest.
“You need to be quiet!” one of the soldiers commanded, pointing his gun at them as another shone a light in their eyes. “The sound will attract them!”
“Su-an, you can’t sing right now, okay?” Seong-kyeong squeezed her hand and, after a moment, was relieved to feel Su-an squeeze back. The poor child was shaking. Did the soldiers really have to point their guns at them like that? “The noise echoes in here too much. How about you sing for me later, once we’re safe.”
The small flashlight shining in Seong-kyeong’s eyes was replaced by a temperature scanner held near her forehead. Once she was checked, the soldier moved onto Su-an.
“They’re clean!” he said to the others.
“Hurry up behind the barricades, you’ll be safe there,” the first one barked.
Another kindly offered Seong-kyeong his arm, and she took it gratefully. Her feet were swollen enough enough that her shoes dug into her ankles, and every step sent a sharp pang shooting up her legs. She'd worn compression socks for the long train ride, but they only helped some. Even propping her feet up hadn’t done much.
There was a military truck idling behind the barricades, filling up with other evacuees. A small family, an elderly man, a group of high school students. Sniper rifles hidden on the roofs and in nearby buildings glinted in the sunlight.
She took a deep breath, then another. The safety here might not last. The barricades might not hold. It could go the way of Daejeon Station, with zombified soldiers chasing them as they ran. The military hadn’t been enough there. For all they knew, it might not be enough here either. But for the first time since that morning—had it really been that morning?—she felt safe. Now, with a military escort surrounding them and metal walls rising up around to touch the distant sky, they continued onwards.
The time passed in a flurry of motion as they were carted off here and there, to medical centers and registration counters as the soldiers tried to get a handle on the crisis.
First was another medical checkup. Seong-kyeong’s pregnancy pushed her further ahead in the line (they were worried about complications due to stress), but there were too many evacuees and not nearly enough doctors. There wasn’t enough data about the outbreak. No-one knew what was going on. What were symptoms like? How long should people quarantine for? She caught doctors whispering in hurried undertones, nurse practitioners running here and there trying to see to everything.
Finally, the doctors cleared them to leave. They told Seong-kyeong to contact a maternity clinic in a week or so to schedule an appointment, after the rush of patients had hopefully died down. She’d need a proper checkup, but the hospital didn’t have the staff to support everyone who needed help. The most they could do was wait and hope.
Next, they were guided to a registration center to track down who survived and who didn’t, who had family or friends in Busan and who would need to be given housing.
Sang-hwa came from Busan, originally. He had moved to Seoul when he and Seong-kyeong had married, but she didn’t know any of his friends down here. None that still lived in Busan, anyway. All of hers were—had been—up north. Sang-hwa’s parents had passed away years before, and he had no siblings.
Su-an’s mother Na-yeong lived in Busan, but they had no idea if she’d made it. Her home was in the current quarantine area, but the military had spent barely half a day processing everyone and didn’t know how much longer it would take.
Everyone had been told to stay at home if possible until the military could check over their buildings. They couldn’t risk the chance of the infection spreading here, too.
Maybe Na-yeong had survived. Maybe she hadn’t gotten caught in the initial traffic jams. Or maybe if she had, she’d taken some backroads and side streets and had managed to make her way home before martial law set in. Maybe she’d been stuck at work in the hospital when the influx of patients came in and she was holed up there with the rest of the surgical staff, fighting off zombies with scalpels and syringes. Maybe she was still waiting at the train station for Su-an and Seok-woo. Maybe Su-an still had her mother and wouldn’t have another empty grave to cry to.
But for now, Seong-kyeon and Su-an had nowhere else to go.
The two of them were brought to an old conference center that had been transformed into an emergency shelter. Tents and partitions and cots had been erected and laid out across the floor. There must’ve been hundreds upon hundreds of people. Some hurried back and forth with fire in their eyes, some moved stiffly as if someone else pulled their strings, some just sat on the ground and wept. It was noisy, yes, but far less so then it might’ve been. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Su-an pressed herself tight against Seong-kyeong’s side. Seong-kyeong forced herself to not shiver, to keep moving. Don’t let Su-an see your fear, she chanted in her head like a mantra, like a prayer that her assurances alone would provide them safety despite their circumstances. There was time for grief later. But for now the two girls, Su-an at her side and Seo-yeon in her belly, were relying on her to be strong.
The conference center was too open. Too visible, with nowhere to hide. The last time they’d been in such an open space had been back at the train depot in Dongdaegu. Even then, abandoned trains provided shelter. They could weave between them and lose their pursuers between tracks. Here, though, there was nowhere to hide. The thick doors at the entrances could be closed to keep people out, or to keep them in.
Seong-kyeong kept moving. There was nowhere else for them to go but forward.
Two days later, one of the other refugee sites got overrun. The authorities still weren’t sure how the infection got inside. Maybe an animal had bitten someone. Maybe someone had smuggled an infected relative in. Maybe people were turning slower now, hours (or even days) instead of minutes, and everyone would have to be re-quarantined.
All the maybes in the world wouldn’t help the 300 people who were trapped inside the center when the doors slammed shut around them
In a matter of hours, the population of South Korea had gone from tens of millions to tens of thousands . Some had escaped to Taiwan or Russia or Japan. Some brought themselves to one of the quarantine zones, fleeing their homes for safety behind military barricades. Some hunkered down and prayed for rescue.
Maybe there were more people saved then analysts estimated. Maybe more people made it out alive. Maybe in a year, or two, or twenty, they would rebuild their country like new. Seong-kyeong was getting really tired of maybes.
The news came while Seong-kyeong was folding their laundry. They’d spent the past week in the center, and the two of them had settled into a routine. Seong-kyeong was cleaning up their small living space while Su-an played with some of the other children who were living near them. Seong-kyeong had hung a line up in their tent, strung from one side to the other. She’d thought about doubling up the line but there hadn’t been any need. They simply hadn’t had any other clothes to wash.
A man and woman stood just outside the entrance of their tent, both dressed in business wear. “Excuse me, we’re looking for Seo Su-an.”
“Su-an?” Seong-kyeong looked over in surprise. “What do you need her for?”
“We’ve located her mother,” the man said, and gestured to the woman at his side.
“Oh! I’ll get Su-an right away!” Seong-kyeong set her clothing basket down to the side. When Su-an came running, Seong-kyeong stood to the side just outside the tent as mother and daughter held each other tight and sobbed.
The military had gradually started moving people out of the emergency shelters and into other housing. Some hotels had been acquisitioned, their rooms divvied up among the incoming refugees. Friends and family members had been located for some of their neighbors. The young couple in the tent across from them had found their relatives living in a boat in the Port of Busan and had relocated to the ocean.
Seong-kyeong had been waiting on their assignment still, and though it ached her to see Su-an leave, she couldn’t be happier that Su-an could finally reunite with her mother. At least one of them had managed to find some family that still lived.
(It would be quiet without her. Seong-kyeong was trying not to think about that.)
As the tears dried up, Na-yeong stood up and brushed herself off, then walked to the front of the tent and bowed to Seong-kyeong.
”You must be Kim Seong-kyeong. I’m Park Na-yeong.” She smiled pleasantly, and didn’t seem to mind her mussed hair or red-rimmed eyes. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter?”
Park Na-yeong had short, practical, chin-length hair. Her nails were closely trimmed for surgery, and her makeup was plain but flattering. A loose blouse was tucked into her slacks, and the only jewelry she wore was a statement necklace of interlocking metal loops. Su-an’s tears formed a wet-patch on her shoulder that was barely distinguishable from the wine-colored fabric. In short, Na-yeong looked every part the (ex-)wife of a hedge fund manager.
Seong-kyeong had been wearing the same three outfits for eight days and hadn’t had a proper shower in days. Her toiletries had been lost with her luggage. She brushed her skirt discretely and hoped the wrinkles and stains were hidden by the shadow of the tent.
She bowed back. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Su-an and I were on the same train coming out of Seoul. She’s been wonderful to have around.”
Su-an buried her face in her mother’s side at that. It might have been shyness, or joy at seeing her mother, or tears from losing her father. Without seeing her face, it was impossible to tell. For all Seong-kyeong knew, it could have been all three.
Na-yeong chuckled, absentmindedly brushing her daughter’s hair. “I heard you’ve been waiting on your new housing placement?”
“Yes, they’ve been trying to find housing for everyone here, but…” But there were too many evacuees and not enough places for them to move into.
“Why don’t you come live with us? There’s plenty of room in my apartment.”
Seong-kyeong started in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.”
“Nonsense.You’ve been looking after my daughter, the least I can do is offer you a place to sleep.”
“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble, but that’s very kind of you.”
“Please, ahjumma,” Su-an said, finally speaking up. “You can take my room. You should stay with us, it’ll be safer.”
Her eyes shone with more unshed tears. Seong-kyeong could feel her heart breaking. Su-an had already lost everyone else she knew, and now Seong-kyeong was about to leave her too. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t abandon the child.
“Alright, I’ll come stay with you both until I can find my own place.”
“If you stay around until the baby arrives, it’ll be much easier with extra hands to help out,” Na-yeong pointed out.
Su-an was beaming as she pulled Seong-kyeong into the tent to start packing up. “We need to start getting things for the baby! Babies are a lot of work, right? We should start preparing soon so it won’t be as hard later.”
Seong-kyeong met Na-yeong’s eyes over Su-an’s head. After a moment neither could contain it, and the two of them burst out laughing. Su-an’s giddiness that Seong-kyeong would be moving in with them was both obvious and infectious.
“Let me help you pack up here. We can head to my place immediately. I don’t imagine the communal locker rooms are the best for washing up, and you can both sleep in a proper bed again.”
“I suppose I should start packing,” she said, watching Su-an hurry around in a frenzy.
“At least the laundry’s already in a basket.”
“I’ll move it out front—” Seong-kyeong reached out to pick the basket up, but Na-yeong grabbed it before she could.
“You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be lifting heavy things.”
“There’s not enough clothing in there for it to be that heavy,” Seong-kyeong griped, but she obligingly moved to take the clothes line down instead.
“Here we are,” Na-yeong said, gesturing around her apartment. “It’s not much, but it’s what I call home.”
Her “not much” was at least twice the size of Seong-kyeong’s own apartment. (Former apartment.) The difference in lifestyle between a pediatric surgeon and manager compared to that of a sign language interpreter and martial arts instructor had never been more apparent. Seong-kyeong could barely take it all in.
Sang-hwa had been so proud of the apartment the two of them had just moved to. They’d wanted Sleepy—wanted Seo-yeon—to have a good preschool and a safe neighborhood when she was born. He’d already started building things to put in the nursery.
Seong-kyeong forced herself to stop thinking about that. She felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was a guest. She wouldn’t ruin this with her grief. There would be time for that later.
“Feel free to make yourself at home. You can take a shower first. I’m sure it’ll be much better than whatever they had available for you two back in that massive hall. While you’re showering, I’ll clean up Su-an’s bedroom to give you a place to sleep.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that!” Seong-kyeong interrupted. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. I can sleep on the couch.”
“Not that pregnant, you won’t. What are you, seven months? Eight?”
“About seven-and-a-half, actually.”
“Ha!” the other woman laughed, “Pretty good guess, wasn’t it? I remember when I was pregnant with Su-an. I don’t have any clothes left from back then, but I’m sure I have some dresses around that should fit you. I’ll look for one and leave it outside the door. Just call if you need anything!”
“Ahjumma!” Su-an said as she ran up to the two of them. “I have some shampoo and conditioner that you can use if you’d like.”
“Thank you very much, Su-an.” Seong-kyeong bent down to take them from her.
“You can also use anything else that’s in the shower,” offered Na-yeong, walking towards one of the other rooms. “They’re all free to use. There should be spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the drawers, and you can borrow the face wash from the counter if you’d like. We can go tomorrow to get you more supplies if you need anything.”
“Supplies?” Seong-kyeong asked, but Na-yeong had already disappeared behind the door. She hadn’t thought any stores would be open, but she supposed she could always find out later. Maybe the military were still handing out basic supplies. Now, however, was shower time. She’d been looking forward to having a real shower as soon as Na-yeong had mentioned it back at the temporary shelter. The sponge baths she’d been taking had been nowhere near enough.
Opening the door into the bathroom, she just stared at it for a second. Even the toilet was nicer than hers. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could certainly make things easier. She almost felt bad stepping into the bathroom, like the dirt she was covered in would tarnish the pristine surfaces. She’d never been able to keep her house this spotless. There was always some mess, something that needed cleaning.
Carefully, she pulled her clothes off and set them down in the corner, wincing at the pile of dust she left behind. She hadn’t thought there’d been that much, but it was hard to tell when everyone and everything around you was covered in a layer or two of it. It had been impossible to keep the tent clean.
But the second she stepped under the shower spray, she could feel a week’s-worth of dirt and grime slough off in a greyish-brown deluge. With the water went her worries. She let it pour over her shoulders and make her feel human again.
Here it was just her. She had nothing to prove to anyone. She didn’t have to be strong for Su-an, didn’t have to fight every moment of every day to stay alive, didn’t have to worry about what would happen to them next. In the past week, she hadn’t been able to let herself relax. What if something happened to her? To Su-an? To Seo-yeon, kicking in her belly? There was no-one else to keep them safe.
Now, though? Now she could share that burden with someone else. She didn’t have to do it all alone.
But she was alone because Sang-hwa was gone. Gone, not dead. He hadn’t even been given that mercy. She still remembered his face, when he’d said goodbye at the very end. How he’d fought to save them all.
He’d never surprise her with baked sweets again, or show off his strength by carrying all their bags in one trip. They’d never go to competitions together and cheer on his students again. Their child would be without a father, and she’d have to somehow pull their lives together in their wreckage of her homeland and hope they both made it out the other side in one piece.
She let her tears join the water streaming down her face as the sound of the shower covered her choked-off sobs.
Water ran in rivulets down her arms, streaming from her fingertips onto the tiles below. Seong-kyeong couldn’t have said how long she stood there crying. She’d grabbed shower products mechanically, putting them into her hair and then rinsing them out, paying no attention to which ones she used. She scrubbed her body viciously like it would clear away the past week of pain. Shower, conditioner, body wash. There’d been an unused razor in one of the drawers, so she pulled it up her legs and watched the hairs wash down the drain.
Finally, after far too little time, she turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. She grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around herself before rummaging through the drawers for a hair dryer. When her hair was only damp, she turned it off and put it back. Making sure her towel was secure, she opened the door and peered out.
Su-an sat on the ground nearby, playing on a Nintendo DS. Cheerful music played through the speakers, with the occasional sound of smashing pots or an enthusiastic “hiyah!”
“Su-an? Would you like to take a shower next?”
Su-an nodded and stood up. “You can use my room to change,” she said, pointing to a door a little ways down the hall. “Eomma and I cleaned it up a bit for you to sleep in there.”
“That was very kind of you. Do you need any help?”
Su-an shook her head.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay? Me or your mother,” she corrected herself. Seong-kyeong had gotten too much in the habit of thinking of Su-an as her own child. Su-an’s mother was here now.
“I will. Thank you for staying with us.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Just as Na-yeong had promised, there was a dress folded outside the door, along with an unopened package of panties. It was a soft nightdress without a waistband, meant to be worn loose. She put it on gratefully. The dress she’d worn on the train had turned off-white from the stains, and the donated clothes they’d been given hadn’t fared much better. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to do any running in this one.
The room she’d been given was a decent size, but it was clearly the room of a primary school student that had been quickly cleaned up. There were video game posters on the walls of brightly colored characters and family pictures on the dresser. The bed was in the corner, leaving the center of the room empty. A partially-closed closet door revealed toys hastily shoved inside.
With her hair left loose to air dry, she stepped out of the room. The hallway led to a balcony at one end and the living room on the other. The closed door next to hers led to the bathroom, and the one opposite likely led to Na-yeong’s room. It was still light outside, but the sun would set soon.
Seong-kyeong headed back to the living area. Na-yeong was in the kitchen area, filling a glass with filtered water from the fridge. She looked up at Seong-kyeong’s approach and waved. When Seong-kyeong waved back, she turned back to whatever she was doing in the kitchen.
Finally feeling clean for the first time in a week, Seong-kyeong took the opportunity to look around the room. It almost seemed like a still from a magazine, if not for the emergency supplies stacked up in the corners and on the counter. Even then, it was immaculately clean. Maybe it was for an apocalypse-prepper showroom. Modern light fixtures and abstract art decorated the walls and ceiling, the appliances all looked practically new, tasteful throw cushions dotted the couch and chairs, and stacks of non-perishable food items lined the walls. A massive window overlooked downtown Busan. Seong-kyeong turned away. She wasn’t quite ready to take in the view just yet.
Sang-hwa would have taken one look at this place and decided to fill it with more color. He’d move away from the monochromatic color scheme and add some variety to give it more personality. He’d add plants and vases to make it feel lived in. She sniffed and pressed her palms to her eyes.
When she put them down, she saw Na-yeong looking at her again. Na-yeong handed over a glass of water. “Here you go. Did the shower help you feel better?” she asked gently.
“Much. I think I needed that.” She sipped the water gratefully. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d been until it had been placed in front of her.
“I’d imagine, after having no privacy. Sometimes you just need to get away for a bit.”
“It was a week coming,” Seong-kyeong agreed. She didn’t have the energy to smile back just yet. She felt drained. Her tightly coiled grief had unspooled, and now she was left with frayed nerves that she tried to bury deep.
Na-yeong leaned back in her chair. “I was alone here at the beginning. The military wouldn’t let anyone outside at first, so I couldn’t leave. There was no-one to talk to. But I bet the opposite wasn’t much better, was it?”
“Not really.” Seong-kyeong sighed heavily. “They didn’t have anywhere to quarantine all of us, there were just too many people. So you had to hope and pray that no-one got sick.”
“They’ve been going through apartment buildings and hotels to see what can be used for quarantine housing. I’m surprised you weren’t placed already, actually. They’ve been moving people at higher risk first.”
“I think there are just too many of us, so it’s slow going. More are showing up every day.”
“We’ve been running ragged trying to stay on top of all the cases. Anything non-essential is being put on the back burner. I’ve had to postpone a bunch of surgeries that were scheduled for this week, but we don’t know when we can actually perform them.”
“I can only imagine.”
“And the outbreak is just too recent, so it’s difficult to get any information on how it spreads.” Na-yeong gazed out the window at the distant city. “We just don’t know. There isn’t enough PPE for all the healthcare workers as it is. There’s difficulty in getting supplies. We’ve been getting airdrops, but outside aid workers are hesitant to come too close and risk getting infected.”
“I heard they might start evacuating the peninsula entirely.” It was a rumor that had been going around the evacuee camp. There were too many people fleeing and nowhere to put them all.
Na-yeong hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe… They might end up moving some people to boats. The problem with that is that the boats become a perfect breeding ground for infection. It’s a closed system, so if one person turns, it’s very easy for everyone to get bitten and turn.”
“Also refueling and supplies. It’s the same issue here.”
“Worse, perhaps, because they can’t get supplies airdropped in as easily—depending on the ship, of course.”
“And few ports will let them disembark now. Most have closed off entry to all Korean vessels.”
Some refugees had escaped in the beginning, but after the reality of the crisis had set in, other countries closed their borders to stop the outbreak spreading. Apparently, there had been hastily-constructed refugee camps set up by the UN. Convincing workers to man them and risk infection had been another issue entirely.
“The Busan Quarantine Zone can get shipments and deliveries, but anyone who hasn’t made it to one of the safe zones has no way of getting supplies.”
“This whole mess is a logistical nightmare,” Na-yeong said, groaning. “One of the many reasons I’m glad I’m not a politician.”
“I’ve had to interpret for politicians before, and even as I was interpreting, I had a hard time understanding what they were saying.”
“You work as an interpreter?”
Seong-kyeong nodded. “Korean Sign Language. I taught at a school for the Deaf, but working as an interpreter gives more flexibility with the baby, so I’ve been working as an interpreter. They’ve been asking me to help interpret for others living in the shelter. I’ve been studying medical terminology so I can explain what’s been happening.”
“I can help with the medical part, but not the ‘sign language’ part,” Na-yeong said, laughing.
It was nice to just sit there and chat with someone. Seong-kyeong hadn’t been able to do this with anyone at the camp. There were always people around, and it hadn’t seemed like the time or place—not everyone wanted to be constantly reminded of the collective destruction of their lives and livelihoods. And even if she had wanted to talk to Su-an, the girl was far too young. But now, sitting with Na-yeong in the light of the setting sun, she felt some of the weight lift from her chest.
That night, Seong-kyeong stared at her ceiling, unable to fall asleep. It was too quiet. Back at the center, there had been the sound of other refugees around them constantly. There was always something happening. She’d hated it at the time, how it kept her up at night, but the sound proved that other people were alive. The stillness here reminded her of waiting in the train. You were never sure if there’d be a zombie around the corner or behind the door. You just had to take the jump and hope you’d make it.
They were a dozen floors up, and zombies wouldn’t walk that far from ground level. The military was patrolling the streets to make sure nothing happened. All apartments had been checked. All tenants had been cleared by the doctors. But Seong-kyeong couldn’t stop the alarm pounding in her chest.
Su-an was safe. Na-yeong couldn’t have turned, and if anyone had come through the entrance, had made their way through the makeshift barricade, Seong-kyeong certainly would have heard. It was fine. They were all fine.
Maybe if she repeated it enough times, she would start to believe it.
She couldn’t walk over and check if Su-an was still breathing. Su-an and Na-yeong needed their privacy, she couldn’t just intrude on them. She’d already intruded in their lives enough. It would be improper, and impolite, and she was a guest, she couldn’t do that.
What if she did, though? Just took a quick peek. Just to reassure herself that Su-an was still safe.
Carefully, she rolled out of bed. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she padded over to the other door and held out her hand to open it. She took a deep breath, reached out—
And the door opened before she could touch it. Su-an blinked sleepily back at her.
“I heard you in the hallway,” she whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” Seong-kyeong admitted. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Su-an said automatically. “Just sleepy.”
“You should go back to bed, then.” But neither of them made to leave.
There was a rustle of fabric from inside the room, and they both turned to look. Na-yeong looked at them both, bleary-eyed. She was half out of bed, her hair in a messy bun. “Just come to bed. It’s big enough for all of us.”
And that was that.
“You can set the bags anywhere,” Na-yeong said as she closed the door behind them. The two women had gone to collect more supplies from aid workers and see if they could find Seong-kyeong more clothing. Su-an was playing with some of the new friends she’d made and would be back later.
“It’s so organized, I’d feel bad messing it up.”
There were dishes drying by the sink from that morning, but other than that, the room was still spotless. In the warm afternoon lighting, the room looked like a staging area on a showroom floor. Or maybe a movie set, with hints of life but still looking far too clean to be a kitchen that ever saw real use.
Carefully, Seong-kyeong sat her bags down on the counter and began to pull out the new food they’d gotten. Na-yeong picked some boxes up and started putting them away in the cabinets.
“Go right ahead, it’ll make this place actually feel lived in. I’m not usually around much, so it’s a bit… sterile,” Na-yeong laughed. “Unless Su-an’s here, I tend to work long hours and stay at the hospital late. Besides, I make a good doctor because I like to clean things when I’m stressed.”
Na-yeong smiled. She seemed to do that a lot, laugh or smile. It was almost amazing that she’d ended up with someone like Seok-woo. Their attitudes couldn’t be more different. But it was clear who Su-an had inherited her kindness from.
“I didn’t use the kitchen much before,” she continued, “I was too busy at work, but I’ve been getting a lot of practice these days. I don’t have takeout as an excuse not to learn anymore.” She must have seen Seong-kyeong looking around at everything.
“It’s very nice. There’s so much counter space, I’m jealous. In our old apartment, only one of us could be in the kitchen at a time or there wouldn’t be enough room to move around.”
“Do you cook a lot?”
“Some. My husband is—was—much better at it than me.” Seong-kyeong felt a pang in her heart at that. She attempted to smile. Na-yeong smiled back, though, so it must have been passable. Or maybe she just looked that pathetic. “I cook more than bake because there’s more room for error, but my husband loved baking. He said it was like martial arts, because you need to know your body inside and out. You have to keep track of how well you’re taking care of it so you don’t overwork anything, but you also don’t want to ignore your body and let it go.
“You repeat recipes and techniques until you know them by heart, and you slowly try to perfect them. And there’s no perfect dish, just like there’s no perfect match, but through practice and training, you can get closer and closer to it. Sorry,” she cut herself off, “I’m rambling.”
“No, that’s very interesting!” Na-yeong had set a bag of flour down and was leaning forward in interest. “I’d never really thought of martial arts and baking as very similar. Though of course, as you said, they both take a lot of effort and practice to get to a high level. What form of martial arts did he practice?”
“He was a taekwondo instructor, but he also trained in hapkido and jujutsu.”
“Wow,” Na-yeong said, visibly impressed. “I bet he did a great job of taking care of you. Of you both.” She nodded at Seong-kyeong’s belly.
“He did.” Seong-kyeong’s eyes pricked, but no tears fell. She’d already spent all of them.
“Do you like wine?” Na-yeong said, abruptly. “I have a Pinot Grigio, a rosé, a port, and I believe I still have a bottle of champagne lying around somewhere.”
“I quite like rosés,” Seong-kyeong said after a moment.
“Fantastic. I’ll be right back.”
Na-yeong came back with two glasses and a bottle of rosé. She pushed the bags and boxes to the side and cleared a space for the two of them to sit. Popping the cork with a flourish, she poured both glasses and handed one to Seong-kyeong. She then set the bottle down on the table and sat down, nursing her drink. After a moment, she spoke.
“My ex-husband was a selfish bastard. He’d ignore Su-an and I until he couldn’t, claiming he was just too busy with work. He didn’t care about anyone other than himself and was only helpful for his own benefit. He makes so much money but was stingy with child support.
“But I hear he saved your life. Yours and Su-an’s. And he may have been a mediocre father and worse husband, but when it mattered most, he kept my little girl safe.”
Seong-kyeong looked over at the other woman. Despite the harsh words, Na-yeong’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “If not for your ex-husband, I wouldn’t be here. I never would have left that train.”
“I’m glad you did. You brought my daughter back to me.” Na-yeong spoke with a sudden earnestness. "There’s nothing I can do to repay you enough for that.”
“You don’t have to—! You don’t need to pay me back. She helped me out just as much as I helped her. I’m grateful enough for your generosity in letting me stay here.”
“Su-an feels safer with you around. You protected her when she needed it most.”
“She did just as much for me. Really, it was no trouble.”
“I must return the favor,” Na-yeong insisted. “Stay here as long as you need.”
Seong-kyeong took a deep breath. In, and then out. Again. In, and out. She hissed through her teeth. “Fuck!”
“You’re doing great. Now push. Push!” the midwife told her.
In, out. In, out. Just keep breathing.
When it was all over, Seong-kyeong, in a haze of pain and grief and euphoria, held her daughter to her chest and sobbed.
With an ache she hadn’t felt this strongly in almost a month, she wanted—needed—Sang-hwa to be here. This was their baby girl. He’d spent so long preparing, getting everything ready and perfect for her arrival into their lives. They’d been wanting a child for years, and now that they finally had one, he wasn’t even here to appreciate it.
For a moment, she gave herself the luxury of being weak. Na-yeong and Su-an would be there soon. Neighbors and coworkers had given her supplies for the baby, and some of the people she’d been interpreting for had made her a care package. She would make it through this. They both would. But she would give almost anything for Sang-hwa to be here by her side just one last time.
Seong-kyeong woke to the sound of wailing and rolled over to look at the baby lying in the crib next to her. Su-an, on the other side, blinked wearily at them.
“Go back to sleep, I’ve got this.”
Su-an nodded back at her, then turned back around and pulled the covers up over her head.
Stumbling out of bed, Seong-kyeong picked up Seo-yeon and began to rock her daughter gently, carrying her out of the room they all shared into the small living area. “Shh, shh, eomma’s got you. I’m here.” Na-yeong had had to leave early that morning, so for now Seong-kyeong was the only adult around.
None of them had been getting much sleep since Seo-yeon was born. Then again, they hadn’t gotten much sleep when they’d been living in the mass refugee shelters. But they made it through then, they could make it through now.
In a couple of hours, they’d have to get ready for their day. Na-yeong was busy working at the hospital doing some emergency surgery, but if she were here, the four of them would sit around the breakfast table. Na-yeong would make her “world famous eggs,” and Su-an would tell them all about her plans after school.
Seong-kyeong had rice cooking on the counter and soup warming on the stove. She still had a few weeks left before she was scheduled to come back to work. For now, she had all the time in the world.