CLOSURE

“You’re Areum’s son?” Sawol’s voice broke the quiet like a ripple across still water. She blinked, as if the name alone had pulled her into another time. Her eyes lingered on Jungkook’s face. “You really do look like her.”

Jungkook lifted his head slightly. “You knew my mother?”

“Not well, no,” she said, shaking her head softly. She leaned forward, pouring tea into two cups with careful hands. The sound of liquid against porcelain was the only thing filling the space between them. “She was close to my sister. Yoonah and Areum… they were inseparable. Like two halves of the same heart.”

She slid a cup toward him and lowered herself onto the couch across from him, fingers curling around her own cup for warmth.

“To be honest, your mother felt more like a sister to Yoonah than I ever did.”

Her lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile, like something remembered too long. Her eyes wandered, not seeing him now, but someplace far behind them. “They didn’t need words. They just… knew each other so well.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. But he was listening attentively. Something in his posture softened. He knew he’d come to the right place.

Then, Sawol’s gaze returned to him, sharper now, tinged with something between concern and curiosity.

“But tell me,” she asked quietly, “what brought you back to Yoonah after all this time?”

A pause.

“And… Why are you alone? Where’s Areum?”

Jungkook hesitated, his unease written clearly across his face.

“Is she sick?” Sawol guessed, her voice more careful now.

He exhaled slowly, then shook his head once. His shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the answer had hollowed him out. “She doesn’t walk this world anymore,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He blinked and brushed a tear from the corner of his eye.

Her grip on the cup tightened. Sawol hadn’t liked Areum, but something cracked inside her anyway. The tea tasted bitter now, despite the sugar she’d stirred in.

She faltered for a moment, then let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The words poured out before she could stop them, like floodwater breaking through a long-weakened dam. “Let me guess. You’re here because your mother never told you who your father was. Am I correct?”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The quiet shake of his shoulders, the way he stared through her—she had her answer.

Sawol scoffed, more out of disbelief than cruelty.

“I should’ve known. Your mother always thought she was doing the right thing. Yoonah backed her, of course. But Areum should’ve told you. She owed you that much. She had no right to take the truth from you like that. No wonder I never liked her much.”

She could still see it: Areum, barely five months pregnant, saying she was leaving. Starting over. Yoonah had stood by her as always. But Sawol couldn’t keep quiet. Not this time.

It wasn’t fair. Not to the child, not to anyone. The man who got her into this had a right to know. A responsibility to carry. Married or not, he should have thought about the consequences before crossing that line.

Sawol had tried to reason with her once. And for a moment, Areum had almost listened. Almost.

She still left. She went to Busan, not to disappear, but to make things right—to give her child a name, a story, a truth.

But none of it went the way she imagined.

Fate didn’t hesitate to play its cruel hand. The first person she met in Busan was Ji-ho, the wife of the man who had broken her. Areum hadn’t expected her to be so kind. So generous. Ji-ho helped her settle in, offered her a place to stay, and found her a job at the city’s school. She was even there when Jungkook was born.

She did all of that without knowing the truth: that her husband had once betrayed her with the very woman she was helping.

And the more Areum saw of Ji-ho—the patience, the quiet sadness, the unshaken decency—the harder it became to speak.

How could she ruin her? How could she break the heart of someone who had done nothing but offer hers?

So Areum stayed quiet.

And in that silence, she gave up her chance to set things right.

She left behind nothing but questions.

Questions she never answered.

When the news came, Sawol hadn’t expected it to hurt. She hadn’t liked Areum—true—but she hadn’t hated her either. Areum had always treated her like a sister, even when Sawol couldn’t return the warmth. And though she never said it aloud, she’d been quietly grateful for that.

Sawol sniffed and rubbed at her nose.

Jungkook didn’t speak. He just watched her, silent and patient.

“Yoonah moved to Canada years ago,” she said. “Even if she were here, she couldn’t have told you anything. She has dementia now. Half the time she doesn’t even know who I am.” Her voice faltered on the last words.

Jungkook sat still, unsure of what to say.  The hope he’d carried—to see Yoonah, to find answers—had quietly unraveled. And yet, here was Sawol. Someone who had known his mother, someone who had wished her well. Someone who had been hurting, too.

She didn’t need to explain it. He saw it in the way her eyes shifted from his, in the tremble of her fingers as she stood and carried her unfinished tea to the kitchen.

Her silence said everything. And maybe that was enough.

Like Seokjin had once told him—not every question had an answer. Maybe he didn’t need to know everything—about himself, about his mother, or the man who had fathered him.

Some things could stay where they were. Unresolved. Unfinished. And that didn’t have to mean he was stuck. He had a future now. One he chose for himself. He had allowed himself to want things. Simple, human things.

So maybe this… this one missing piece didn’t have to undo him. Right?

With this thought in his head, Jungkook rose to his feet and cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed slowly, like he was still trying to take it all in.

This chapter was over. It was time to return to Seoul. Time to start from wherever he had left off.

Slowly, Jungkook stood up from his place.

“Mrs. Ahn…” he began, just as Sawol stepped back into the living room. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she saw him reaching for his coat.

“Don’t go yet,” she said firmly. “There’s something you should know.”

Jungkook’s fingers hovered midair, uncertain. He had told himself to walk away, to leave the past untouched. Part of him believed it was the right choice. But the moment Sawol spoke, something stirred. A flicker of hope—small but persistent—rose in his chest. Whatever she had to offer, he would listen. He owed himself that much.

His hand fell back to his side.

He drew in a slow breath, steadying his voice, back straight. “What is it?”

“Your mother never told anyone who the man was—she was too ashamed.” Sawol’s voice softened. “But Yoonah knew. She was there when Areum first met him. She remembered.”

She looked off for a moment, searching her thoughts.

“Even after her mind began slipping, she’d still say things—broken pieces, names, murmurs that didn’t always make sense. But one thing kept coming back.”

She met Jungkook’s eyes.

“She’d whisper his name—Seo Joon. And every time, she’d say he shouldn’t have done that to her.”

A beat.

“Maybe she meant Areum. Maybe she was trying to tell us the truth in the only way she still could.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He stood still as the name rang through his mind. Seo Joon. The man with the heart tattoo on his wrist. That one detail could lead him straight there.

He let out a breathless sigh.

At last, he had a thread to pull. A lead to follow.

He blinked slowly, as if waking from a trance. “Where did you say my mom worked in Daegu?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his composure.

“Park Corporations,” she answered.

Unbelievably, he had been closer to the truth than he realized. He just hadn’t expected it to be the very company he was partnering with. The irony nearly made him scoff.

Park Seo Joon. Former CEO of Park Corporations. His father.

And Jimin—Jimin, who fell in love with the same girl as him—was his half brother.

The thought was surreal. Jungkook could hardly wrap his head around it.

He felt lightheaded. The weight of everything he’d just learned pressed against his temples, crowding his thoughts. There was so much flooding his head that he barely remembered the train ride from Daegu. One blink and he was here—standing at the gates of the Park estate.

He’d passed this place before. As a kid, he used to run down the lane on his way to the convenience store, sparing only a glance at the mansion from a distance. Back then, it had just been a grand house at the end of the street. Now, it was the root of everything.

Rage simmered in his chest.

Seo Joon had been here all along. And he’d done nothing. Not when Jungkook’s mother died the same night he approached her. Not even to check if he existed. How heartless could someone be?

Were those kind words from that night just a lie? Was Seo Joon really the cold, selfish man the articles painted him to be?

Jungkook’s fists curled at his sides.

He needed answers. And he wasn’t leaving without them.

Jungkook burst through the entrance, chest rising and falling with each breath. Someone shouted behind him, but he didn’t turn back. His shoes slammed against the floor, each step echoing through the house like a war drum.

He scoured the ground floor, eyes sharp, head snapping from room to room.

Nothing.

Without hesitating, he took the stairs two at a time.

Someone was chasing after him—he could hear the footsteps closing in—but he didn’t stop. Not until a flash of black hair and pale skin darted past him in the hallway.

He froze.

Jungkook stepped back—then stilled.

There he was.

Seo Joon sat comfortably in a chair, dressed in a pale shirt and dark slacks, flipping through a book like he hadn’t destroyed someone’s life. Like none of it mattered.

Something about the way he leaned back, so at ease, so untouched, sent a hot pulse of rage through Jungkook’s chest.

Without thinking, he charged up the steps. His fist clenched. Seo Joon looked up.

Too late.

The punch landed square on his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The book slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Jungkook didn’t stop. He grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, their faces inches apart.

“Why?” Jungkook growled, his voice low and ragged. His chest rose sharply with each breath, jaw locked so tight it throbbed. “Why didn’t you help my mother?”

He yanked Seo Joon’s collar closer, eyes blazing.

“You were here. You knew. And you still did nothing. Not even when she died in that car accident.” His voice cracked at the edges, but the anger kept him steady. “I saw you that day.”

Jungkook grabbed Seo Joon’s wrist and jerked it up between them.

“This,” Jungkook hissed, pointing to the ink etched into his skin. “You think a tattoo makes up for what you did? You think carving regret into your flesh is enough?”

His fingers curled tighter around Seo Joon’s hand, his rage hot and shaking now. “It doesn’t fix anything at all. It never will.”

A breath, a moment of silence.

“Unless you pay for it,” Jungkook muttered, tone low and bitter.

Seo Joon looked down at him—no fear in his eyes, no denial. Just quiet resignation. He didn’t need to ask what he was being accused of. He already knew.

He loved Areum, didn’t he? Not with grand gestures, but in the quiet, clumsy way he’d always known.

If he’d known she would die that night—after all that silence—he might’ve stopped her. Might’ve held on instead of standing there, frozen, when he realized she’d been in Busan all along.

Maybe she’d still be alive if she hadn’t run. If she’d just held on a little longer.

But her absence lived in him now, sharp and constant. She was the closest he’d ever come to love—too bright, too unguarded for a world that had already hardened him.

No wonder life felt emptier now, with her gone. No wonder he could barely stand the weight of it.

“Aren’t I paying for it?” he asked, his words calm but worn. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Jungkook laughed, cold and hollow. “Suffering isn’t the same as taking responsibility.”

That silenced him.

He hadn’t been able to stop fate from taking Areum. But he could’ve done right by Jungkook. Could’ve stepped in. Tried, at least. It was never a secret he was his son. Areum had told him the truth before she disappeared. He hadn’t answered then. He couldn’t now.

Still wordless, Jungkook stepped forward, jaw clenched.

“Even if you were hurting, do you think you were the only one? My mother lived in silence, in shame—and I grew up with her absence.”

Silence wasn’t working. The longer Seo Joon said nothing, the more desperate Jungkook became.

Now, looking at him, he understood why his mother had chosen to raise him alone, why people turned away from this man.

Seo Joon wasn’t misunderstood. He was exactly what they said he was: hopeless.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Does your family even know?” he questioned, his words tight. “That you had an affair with my mother? That you left her when she got pregnant with me?”

A sharp gasp cut through the air behind him.

He didn’t need to turn. Seo Joon hadn’t told them. Not a word.

Pathetic. A disappointment through and through.

The realization didn’t just land; it lodged in his chest, heavy and cold. This had never been just about him. Even in school, Jimin never spoke of his father with affection. When he did, it was all sharp edges: contempt, distance, silence.

That had always been enough to know.

Seo Joon had been loved—by his wife, his parents, even by Areum, once. And yet, he’d taken that love and turned it to ash. He didn’t know how to hold something good—only how to break it.

To ruin what was beautiful.

Jungkook’s hand clenched tightener around his collar. His pulse roared in his ears, surging down to his fingertips. This—this wasn’t enough. Not for the years lost. Not for the woman buried in winter.

He wanted to see him gasp. Break. Beg.

The devil in him kept whispering. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Let him feel what it’s like to lose something that mattered.

Seo Joon had taken everything. Why shouldn’t he take something back?

But that wasn’t justice. That was revenge. And revenge wouldn’t bring his mother back. It wouldn’t give him back the years he had lost. It wouldn’t turn all that pain into peace. No. Seo Joon didn’t deserve death. He deserved to live with the weight of what he’d done, to face it from someone who had once trusted him.

Slowly, Jungkook drew in a deep breath, then—he let go. His fingers unclenched from Seo Joon’s collar.

“You’re pathetic,” he whispered under his breath, flat and cold—emptied of fire, yet full of finality.

He turned slowly—and saw her, as if for the first time.

Ji-ho stood in the doorway, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, chest trembling with the effort of holding herself together. Instantly, Jungkook’s shoulders slackened, the guilt hitting him hard. He hadn’t wanted her to witness this, not like this. But maybe she needed to. Maybe she deserved the truth more than anyone.

She had spent years clinging to the hope that Seo Joon would change. That love might fix what was broken. But broken things didn’t heal without effort. And Seo Joon had never made any. She had been chasing a dream that would never wake into reality.

Jungkook approached her slowly, his gaze steady. There was something quiet and unwavering about her—the kind of strength that reminded him of Areum, choosing solitude over surrender.

“He never deserved you,” he said, voice low. “Maybe if you’d walked away, like my mother did... you wouldn’t be here now, carrying all this. We were alone, yes, but we were happy.”

He reached for her hands and held them gently.

“Thank you,” he added. “For giving her a place. For the kindness when it mattered most.”

Tears slid down her cheeks then, Ji-ho’s voice trembling. “I’m so sorry you had to endure all of that. I wish I could turn back time and make it alright.”

He offered a faint, bittersweet smile, then placed his hand over hers with quiet care.

“You still can.”

She nodded silently, still crying.

And without another word, he stepped past her—leaving behind the grief, the history, and everything neither of them had dared to change.

The weight he’d carried for so long had finally lifted. He didn’t realize how heavy it was until it was gone—until his chest opened up and breath came easier. The ground beneath his feet no longer felt like quicksand but something solid, forgiving. The sky above Busan was clear, sunlight breaking through like a quiet promise.

For the first time in a long time, he felt light.

He wasn’t under any illusion. His life was still a wreck in places, still stitched with grief and ruin. But like the last thing left in Pandora’s box, hope remained—small, steady, alive.

Not the kind of hope that waits for miracles. He wasn’t waiting anymore. He’d stopped looking back, stopped wishing things had been different. Pain didn’t disappear, but he no longer let it define him. That changed everything.

There would still be hard days. He’d still stumble. But he’d keep going, with the weight of his past behind him and the will to carry it, not escape it.

And this time, he’d walk forward without regret.

“I hope you’re at peace now, Mom,” he said, placing flowers at the base of her headstone. “Your son’s finally letting go.”

A quiet breeze moved through the trees, lifting his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled.

Somehow, he knew she was smiling too.