It would have been so simple. If Joo Won had ever returned to the orphanage, even once, he would have known. He would have found the trail. In a final, desperate act of hope, Ji Woo had begged the Sisters. He'd given them the address of his new home, his voice thick with a child's tears, making them promise to deliver it if his brother ever came back. The Sisters, their own hearts breaking for him, had accepted the fragile piece of paper - and the even more fragile hope it carried - with immense kindness.
The address left by Ji Woo must have never been collected since Joo Won never visited him- Ji Woo thought. The promise was never called upon. The expected knock on the door never heard. The silence and quiet from the absent Joo Won was actually the loudest. Joo Won never collected his box of belongings from the orphanage. The box remained. For one agonizing month, Ji Woo waited, his hope a fragile flame slowly guttering out with each passing day. When it became clear no one was coming, a profound sorrow settled deep within his bones.
Leaving for his new life with the Kang family, Ji Woo made a decision. He couldn't bear to abandon the physical proof of their brotherhood. With a heart heavy with grief, he carefully packed not only his own box of memories, but Joo Won's as well. The Kangs, in their immense kindness, understood the weight of these cardboard archives and allowed him to bring the boxes, a museum of a lost friendship he carried into his future.
The Kangs had sold the house after Mrs Kang's death. The offer had been more than fair, a small mercy that Mr. Kang clung to. In his prime, he had been a successful man, his wealth built a wonderful house from a lifetime of hard work. But it's a cruel truth of the world that a hospital can drain a life's savings faster than any storm. His wife's brave, years-long battle against breast cancer had cost him everything—first her, then his will to live and finally, this home that held the echo of her laughter.
As he watched Ji Woo begin to sort through his belongings, a profound gratitude washed over Mr. Kang, along with some memories when Ji Woo was only a teenager.
Mr. Kang's mind drifts back to another time.
This boy, now a young man of 22 years of age, was then the one anchor he had left. In the blackest depths of his grief, when the silence of the house threatened to swallow him whole. He retreated from the world, haunted by the skeletal memory of his dying wife, a vision so agonizing he fled from it into a numb silence that threatened to devour him entirely. It was the overtime at the company that kept him sane.
It was Ji Woo who became the tether, the sole connection to the living. The boy was a constant, gentle stream of updates about his mother, a bridge between his father's crushing sorrow and the harsh reality that needed facing. With a maturity that far exceeded his years, Ji Woo would seek him out, his voice a soft but persistent lifeline.
"Appa," he would often ask on the phone, his concern a palpable force in the stale air. "Are you eating well? You have to take care of your health." He never paused for breath, as if afraid his father would slip away in the silence between words. "Did you take your medicine? Your cough is acting up again. I will make porridge for Mom tomorrow; I'll bring a portion to your office."
Mr. Kang would think sometimes about this son that he adopted - this child, now a man - shouldering a burden that was never meant to be his since his wife got diagnosed with breast cancer, and a fractured whisper of guilt would escape him. "Ji Woo-ya... are you okay? You're attending school, working a part-time job, and now all this housework..." Would a son of own flesh and blood have been so caring like this, if he had one? Probably not.
"I'm fine, Appa," Ji Woo would insist, even as a fever burned behind his eyes and his forehead glistened with a sickly heat. But the conversation was already over for him. There was too much to do, no time for rest, and a family that was depending on him to hold the pieces together when everything was falling apart.
Mr Kang knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his core, that had Ji Woo not been there, he would have gladly let the darkness take him, following his beloved wife into whatever came next.
Had Mr. Kang been present in the house more, he would have witnessed the quiet maturity blossoming in Ji Woo. That very sight might have been the strength he needed to care for his wife and son.
JI Woo's POV after the call
The phone call ended, leaving a cold weight in Ji Woo's chest. His father's voice had been thin, strained by a persistent cough and a fatigue that seemed deeper than mere exhaustion. It solidified Ji Woo's silent vow: he would work until his hands were raw to give his parents a life of comfort and luxury, a future free from worry. The cruel irony, unknown to him, was that time was already running out for one of them.
He carried a dinner tray into his mother's room, where she lay waiting for her son. She used to treasure these moments, perhaps, she knew in her mind that Ji Woo needed these memories more than she did. Her heart swelled with pride at the thoughtful young man he'd become, even as it ached with guilt that her illness had robbed him of a carefree youth.
Setting the tray down gently, he unveiled the meal with a quiet tenderness—each healthy dish prepared with meticulous care. He sat beside her, watching intently as she ate, his silent encouragement willing her to gather strength from every bite. Though her appetite was gone, Mrs. Kang ate for him, each mouthful an act of love for the son who showed his in every way he could.
Between slow, careful spoonfuls, she looked at him, her eyes soft with a mother's concern. "Ji Woo-ya," she began, her voice gentle. "What is it you dream of becoming? I see your drawings... you have such a gift. But the world is so hard on artists. Without a degree from a famous school or the right connections..." Her voice wavered, thick with regret. "I'm so sorry your father and I couldn't give you more. If I had never gotten sick.... You gave up so much for me."
Ji Woo's response was immediate; one of soft scolding. "Omma, don't talk like that. Please focus on getting well. Do not worry about me or appa. I am doing really well in studies. Appa is also fine. I will go meet him tomorrow." He assured her. Even with a fever burning through him, Ji Woo forced himself to appear unnaturally jolly. It was a carefully maintained performance, designed to prevent his bed-ridden mother from expending her precious energy fussing over him.
He deftly turned the conversation, feeding her another bite, silently shouldering a burden far too heavy for his young shoulders.
With his high school graduation behind him, Ji Woo had made his decision: he would enlist immediately, fulfilling his mandatory military service. The plans were carefully laid - his father would return home more frequently, and the hours for their hired caretaker were extended. It was a practical solution, yet it felt like a fragile shield against the inevitable.
Now, with only two days remaining, every second in his mother's presence felt irreplaceable. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing, memorized the faint curve of her smile, and hung onto every soft-spoken word as if collecting treasures he could carry with him.
Beneath his calm determination, however, a quiet dread began to coil in the depths of his mind - a fear he dared not voice, scarcely even let himself think. It was the terrifying, unanswerable question: When I say goodbye, will it be the last time I see her?
He pushed the thought away, focusing only on the preciousness of now, silently praying that fate would be kind enough to let him return to her side.
His mother's voice was soft but persistent, pulling him from his thoughts. "Ji Woo-ya," she said, her eyes gentle yet searching. "You never answered my question. What is it you dream of doing?"
Ji Woo offered a faint, evasive smile, looking down as he fidgeted slightly. "Mmm... I haven't really decided yet," he murmured. But then his voice grew a little firmer, a little more earnest as he glanced back at her. "But I want to do something... something where I can make a lot of money. For you and Appa. I want to take care of you both properly. I hate that Appa works so hard, I hate that the Hwang group is so cheap that they can't even give an employee who is working so much for so long a well-deserved promotion. I hate big conglomerates."
A spark of light flickered in Mrs. Kang's weary eyes. "Then you should start a business," she said, her tone lifting with sudden animation. "Open a company. Be your own boss." A warm, imaginative smile touched her lips as a new image filled her mind. "Oh, I can see it... all those people working under you, calling you 'Boss.' My son, the CEO."
Ji Woo couldn't help but smile - a real, heartfelt smile this time - not at the idea itself, but at his mother's sudden burst of joy. In her weakened state, she was painting a future for him filled with respect and success, her love for him shining through even her own pain. He would let her have this dream. For now, that was enough.
The rigid structure of military life fell away as Ji Woo returned to a world that had, against all odds, held still for him. His mother had waited for him; she was still here fulfilling a silent promise that she would let him see her one last time. With the precious time they had been granted, he immediately sought to build a future she could be proud of, dedicating himself to a degree in graphic design.
One-week later Mrs Kang forever left the world.