Small and Fragile Things - Chapter 32

Instead of praising Muk-hyun to his face, the neighbors just gossiped behind his back.

“I heard she’s working at a karaoke bar in the city now.”

“Wasn’t she just helping out with chores at the Jung family’s place? Now she’s doing that too?”

“Said she agreed to do housekeeping after that rich lady threatened to sue over a tiny burn. But turns out that Jung guy’s a real creep…”

“Well, no wonder the old lady caved. If my daughter were being used like that, I’d—”

“She looked awful yesterday. Face was all bruised and pale. At this rate, something worse might happen…”

Trailing behind his mother as she went off to work was the best a scrawny eleven-year-old boy could do.

And what he saw that day never left him.

“D-Don’t do that to my mom!”

The moment he saw the man pinning his frail mother to the floor like an animal, biting at her—his mind went blank.

He didn’t even think about how small he was. Or how the man was an adult. The only thought in his head was to get him off her. That’s it.

The man, startled by the interruption, reacted violently.

“No, Hyun—!”

Muk-hyun went flying from the man’s blow. Unfortunately, he landed straight on a glass table. Shards embedded in his face.

The world turned bl00d red.

As he looked at his ghost-pale mother… at the man, grimacing like he’d touched something filthy… for the first time, Muk-hyun thought about what it meant to not have a father.

If he had one—would this still have happened?

Things only got worse from there.

His grandmother, who fainted at the sight of her bloodied grandson, soon developed dementia. It started with her not recognizing the boy she once cherished.

She became moody, irritable, more like a child than Muk-hyun himself. His mother, unable to leave her alone, couldn’t get a proper job.

As anyone could guess, life spiraled into poverty. They barely scraped by. And yet, Muk-hyun never regretted what he did.

After that day, his mother started humming again. She’d stroke his hair while he slept. Sure, she still smoked, but once in a while, she smiled—like before.

“Your father was a good man,” she’d say. “Kind. Warm-hearted.”

And then, more often than not, she’d talk about his father.

“He’d be so proud if he saw you. You’re just like him.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. These eyebrows, your forehead… even your nose. And the way this part of your cheek folds when you smile.”

Whenever she said those things, he wanted to ask—

Then why did he leave me? Why hasn’t he ever tried to find us? But he never said it out loud. He knew the moment he did, her smile would vanish again. He might even see her cry.

“I was really happy when I had you, Hyun.”

Later, he’d come to realize—she must have already known something was wrong with her body by then. They were too poor to afford treatment, so she quietly gave up. Told no one. Began to put her life in order.

That’s why she started telling him about his father. His name. That he ran a big company in Seoul. Even where to find a handkerchief and business card with his initials, tucked deep in the bottom drawer of the bedroom dresser.

She was preparing him to face the world without her.

But young Muk-hyun didn’t realize any of this. Her stories just felt heavy, and hard to care about. So he tuned them out.

Then one day, in the middle of another round of father talk, a scrawny kitten limped into their yard. It had one bad leg, and one eye was swollen shut. Left alone, it probably wouldn’t last long.

“Mom, can I keep it? It’s hurt. I’ll take care of it.”

They could barely feed themselves. There was no milk, no spare food. But Muk-hyun insisted anyway. Maybe it was his last, flickering bit of childhood innocence. Or maybe it was just an excuse to dodge another conversation about Dad.

The kitten died the next day.

He cried for days. It didn’t make sense, really—he’d only had it for one night. But the grief was overwhelming.

Looking back, maybe even back then, some part of him knew. That something even bigger was about to be taken from him. His skinny mother. His childlike grandma. Just a boy, trying to hold everything together—he never stood a chance.

She’d watched quietly as he dug into the frozen winter ground to bury the kitten. Then she held him tight and whispered.

“Hyun-ah. Don’t give your heart to small, fragile things. They break too easily. And they’ll just end up hurting you.”

It was the only kind of protection she could give him—knowing the life ahead would be rough.

Maybe if his heart could stay intact, the road wouldn’t hurt quite as much.

“My Hyun… my precious boy…”

A month later, his mom died too. Just like she was sleeping. Hands folded neatly over her thin chest.

***

“Overestimating me?”

Muk-hyun replied without even glancing at Jung Yoon.

“You think I’ve got feelings for someone like her?”

“…”

“I don’t. Not that kind of thing.”

His tone was cold—like he was talking about someone else’s life.

“Maybe I used to. But I threw that away.”

The words came out flat, casual. But Jung Yoon stiffened at the sound of them.

“Even if I had anything left, it’s all rotted or dried up by now.”

Muk-hyun put a cigarette between his lips but didn’t light it. He just smiled faintly. But Jung Yoon couldn’t return the smile. Because that smile—it looked like someone standing at the edge of a cliff. And it felt real. So he couldn’t bring himself to laugh with him.

“You don’t need to worry.”

Muk-hyun gave Jung Yoon a rough pat on the shoulder and finally lit the cigarette. As he exhaled a puff of smoke, he ran his fingers over the scar on his nose.

“Even if I wanted to give something… I’ve got nothing left.”

***

That’s what he told Jung Yoon.

“Tsk.”

But now, watching Irang scurry barefoot across the floor toward him, Muk-hyun clicked his tongue.

She must’ve grabbed a T-shirt from his closet—wearing it like a dress, her tiny feet padding on the floor.

She ran over excitedly… then hesitated, eyes flicking around like a kitten used to being scolded. Clearly happy to see him, but trying not to show it.

Muk-hyun looked at her with a cold, unreadable face.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you up? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“…Just.”

Too easy to read, he thought. Her feelings were wide open, like a door she didn’t even try to close. So he walked right past them. But then he heard her small footsteps behind him—hurrying. She tugged his sleeve.

“You’re hurt? I smell bl00d…”

It caught him off guard. But that didn’t mean she deserved praise. He pulled his arm free.

“Go to bed.”

“…Okay.”

He wasn’t surprised by any of this. He hadn’t even held her properly, but that night when she fell asleep in his arms—he knew. Now that she’d felt warmth… it was only going to get harder.

He didn’t feel guilty. It was all on him.

So over the past few days, even when thoughts of her popped up, he ignored them. He never asked how she was doing, only accepted the occasional report.

If he thought too much, he might do something stupid. He told himself that night had just been a moment. A slip. But now, seeing her face, starved like she hadn’t been held in days—it twisted something inside him.

Sh1t. So what now? Gonna hold her again?

He didn’t even look her way. Just went into the bedroom and shut the door. Then he moved slowly. Took his time undressing. Took a shower. Even brushed his hair—something he never did.

By the time he came back out to the living room, the clock had ticked forward again. But Irang was still curled up on the sofa.

And Muk-hyun’s eyes hardened the moment he saw her.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, she lifted her head. Slowly set down the legs she’d hugged to her chest. Stood up.