TCE 17

Chapter 17

I found out that Ha Yoon-jae had a woman at what was, frankly, a rather unpleasant gathering.

Someone started with, “By the way, did you hear…,” and that alone was enough to make us—the people directly involved—the main course of their gossip.

[What on earth are we going to do with you?]
[How could something like that even happen?]

They looked as though they were offering consolation, but their masks of excitement at fresh gossip made me scoff.
How can they all be exactly the same?

But the truth was, to their eyes, I was no different from them.

To be honest, none of us had any real desire to marry Yoon-jae.
So, when the news came that gave us a convenient way out, it should have been a relief.
But strangely, it didn’t feel entirely good.

It wasn’t that I regretted it. Not at all.
Still, I became curious about the woman who had taken my fiancé.

“Time to find out.”

The new owner of this body she had stolen.

She picked up a tiny key that had been hidden inside a wallet and slid it into the lock of a diary she hadn’t even known was there.

Click.

What she thought was a toy lock turned out to be sturdier than expected—but it opened easily.
Shrugging, she flipped open the diary.

And there she finally came face to face with Joo Ae-jung.

“Every day is the same. Nothing changes. Another beginning to the same dull, empty, tiresome day. I didn’t sleep well again.”

“Today’s weather: cloudy. No different from yesterday. I should go by the bank. How much money is in my account again? I wish I could sleep today.”

“Today’s weather: clear. It rained at dawn. The account is emptier than I thought. How am I supposed to handle this month’s expenses? Oppa will be angry again.”

The diary was filled with neat, cute handwriting—Ae-jung’s private mutterings, unknown to anyone else.

She didn’t write every day, but once or twice a week, she always left behind at least a short entry.

We patiently read through the diary that spanned several years. Around halfway through, the tidy writing began to blur, like smudges left by tears.

Then, as we turned over a particularly crumpled page, she froze.

“Why am I still alive?”

The handwriting, pressed hard and sinking low on the page, was heavy with raw emotion.

From then on, the entries were no longer short diaries, but pleas—without dates, just cries for help.

“It’s strange. Why did I open my eyes again today? I really didn’t want to.”

“I’m scared. Why does morning keep coming? Nothing will change anyway. Why am I still here?”

“Somebody, please, let me rest. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. I just want to rest.”

“Dad, Mom, I miss you. I miss you so much. Please take me with you.”

Even to an untrained eye, it was clearly a record of severe depression.

We turned the page slowly, our eyes drifting down to her wrists.

“……”

No way to know exactly what had caused her despair, but the diary itself told us the pain was real.

As the handwriting grew messier, less controlled, she came across a familiar name.

“Ha Yoon-jae. Ha Yoon-jae. Ha Yoon-jae.
Go Woo-ri. Go Woo-ri. Go Woo-ri.”

Though the date was missing, it was clear these entries weren’t very old.

We lingered for a while on the pages where her own name and Yoon-jae’s were written, carved down with desperate force, then turned to the next page.

“I’m sorry.”

The next.

“I’m really sorry.”

And the next.

“I’m sorry.”

Another page.

“It was my fault.”

The apologies—words I had never even imagined hearing—were written over and over.

The sincere words of a fragile, weak woman who couldn’t endure taking something that belonged to someone else.

Arms folded, I sighed.

“How on earth did it end up like this between you and me?”

Bitter words, too bitter even for a hollow laugh, as I turned to the last page.

There, written briefly, were the last words—after which the diary fell silent.

“I hope tomorrow never comes.”

The final entry, without a date, had been written the day before Ha Yoon-jae and Joo Ae-jung’s wedding.
The day before Go Woo-ri’s death.

“……”

A strange, indescribable feeling washed over her.
Something odd and heavy, without words or proper expression.

She recalled the bankbook she had checked before coming home: a balance of 129,470 won.

The two large deposits she had received were already gone, paid off against debts.

It meant that the price of selling her body—the price she had paid with her guilt—was already used up.

“Idiot.”

The emotions written in that diary, Ae-jung’s feelings, reached me strangely deep.

“Why do something you’ll regret?”

The bitter edge of that scolding lingered.

“I’m sorry.”

The endless apologies seemed almost audible, like a trembling voice.

She closed the diary again, locked it, slipped the key inside, and hid it in the bottom of the desk drawer.

It was the only way to protect Ae-jung’s most personal confessions from other eyes.

Clack.

Closing the drawer and rising from her chair, she went straight to the bathroom and turned on the tap.

Whooshhh.

Cold water gushed forth. Without hesitation, she splashed it onto her face again and again, until at last she gasped for breath and leaned against the sink.

Removing her glasses, she stared at the blurry reflection in the mirror—by now, a face that no longer felt so unfamiliar.

Ironically, these poor eyes made Ae-jung’s face grow more familiar to her, seeping in until it felt like her own.

She leaned close to the mirror.

Of course, she could never truly feel the tortured soul that hadn’t wanted to live.

“……”

Not blinking, she stared straight ahead, recalling the events of the day.
A family no better than her own, just as hopeless—nothing different at all.

And then she’d given her body to me, before disappearing to who-knows-where.

Yes, I knew nothing. But still—

Drip. Drip.

Water trailed from her chin, forming droplets that fell, one by one.

As the drops slowed and finally ceased, she opened her mouth.

“I’m not thinking of anything else.”

To say the turmoil was gone would be a lie, but she felt herself a little steadier now.

She spoke again to the self she now saw clearly.

“I am me.”

Unshaken. Resolute.

With her resolve set straight, she left the bathroom and headed quickly to the kitchen.

Now that the heaviness in her chest had loosened somewhat, and she had decided, ‘I’ll live,’ her stomach growled.

If anyone who knew her situation saw her now, they might call it shameless, carefree even.

“So what? In the end, it’s all for the sake of living.”

Armed with that boldness—who else would know, anyway?—she called out cheerfully to the familiar figure ahead.

“What’s for dinner tonight, ma’am?”

Her voice rang brighter, perhaps thanks to the wash.

Housekeeper Mrs. Kim, standing by the sink, turned with a smile.

“Yes, madam. I’ve just started preparing, so it’ll be a little while. Would you like a snack in the meantime?”

“That’s fine, take your time. I’ll find something to munch on myself. Oh, octopus!”

“I thought you liked seafood, so I bought octopus today. The quality looked good.”

“I love it!”

Pulling a banana from the fridge and nibbling it as she approached, she beamed.

Since she had first arrived at this house and shown herself so openly, she and Mrs. Kim had gotten along quite well.

Her personality—fussy at times but never stuck-up—made the housekeeper feel more at ease with her than with Yoon-jae, whom she had served for years.

Back at the Go family’s house in Hannam-dong too, we had always been closest with the staff.

“Please eat with me. There’s plenty.”

Popping a slice of lightly boiled octopus into her mouth, she offered.

Mrs. Kim looked regretful.

“I’d love to, but I have other work tonight. I’ll tidy up and head home.”

“So soon? Isn’t Yoon-jae coming home tonight?”

In fact, since the wedding, she had hardly ever shared a meal with him.
But Mrs. Kim, who came three times a week, often stayed late, waiting to greet him.

Her eyes went round.

“No, he said he has plans and will be late… You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t. But wow, this is delicious.”

Already on her third slice of octopus, she smiled happily.

Mrs. Kim rolled her eyes.

Whatever the gossip surrounding them, theirs was, at the core, a surprisingly simple relationship—nothing but love.

Truly peculiar people.

She swallowed her thought, forcing a polite smile.

At least the heavy mood from earlier seemed to have lifted.

Pointing to the dining table, she returned to the sink.

“Then please wait just a moment. I’ll set it up right away.”

“Sure, I—oh. No, wait a second.”

About to agree and turn away, she suddenly darted back toward Mrs. Kim, drying the water from her hands with a cloth.

“No need, ma’am. You don’t have to prepare anything.”

“…Pardon?”

“You can go home now.”

“Huh? Go home? But I still need to prepare your dinner—”

Flustered at the unexpected dismissal, Mrs. Kim waved her hands, but by then, she was already cleaning up the sink herself.

“I’ll be fine. You can go.”

Her eyes sparkled brighter than ever.

“Really.”

I need a drink.

She smiled, carefully hiding the wicked thought.