On the last day Mother was home, Seo-ah took a dictation test at school.
She got a perfect score. Seo-ah stuffed the test paper into the front pocket of her backpack and ran home. When she opened the front door, Mother's shoes were there. Worn black pumps, their heels rubbed down. Seeing those shoes made Seo-ah feel safe. If the shoes were there, it meant Mother was there.
“Mom, I got a perfect score!”
Mother was in the master bedroom, rummaging through the drawers. When Seo-ah opened the door, Mother turned her head. Her eyes were bloodshot—the eyes of someone who hadn't slept in days.
“Seo-ah, Mom's a little busy. Later.”
Seo-ah held out the test paper. Mother didn't look at it. She took something from the drawer and put it in her bag. It was a savings account passbook. Seo-ah didn't know what a passbook was back then. She learned later. It was a savings account in her grandfather's name—the money her grandmother had saved for ten years.
“Mom, where are you going?”
“I'll be right back.”
Mother put on her shoes. She stroked Seo-ah's hair once. Her hand was cold. The front door closed.
That was the last time.
Three days passed, and Mother still didn't come home.
On the fifth day, Grandfather went to the bank. The savings account had been withdrawn. Grandfather sat in the living room without saying a word for a long time. When Grandmother asked, “What happened?” Grandfather only shook his head.
That night, Seo-ah saw Grandfather cry for the first time. He was the kind of person who knew how to cry without making a sound. Only his shoulders trembled.
On the seventh day, the debt collectors came for the first time.
There were two men in suits. They came politely. At first. They asked if “Han Soon-young” was there, Father said she wasn't home, and the men nodded and left. Seo-ah didn't realize then that they were frightening people. They were wearing suits, after all.
The second time they came, it was different. They wore jackets instead of suits. Their voices were louder. They said the “interest payments were overdue.” When Father asked, “How much?” Seo-ah couldn't understand the number the man gave him. It was too large.
The third time was the raid at two in the morning.
The property-seizure notice from the bank arrived ten days later.
Seo-ah found the paper in front of Father's room. He had dropped it while reading it. She couldn't read all the sentences with their Chinese characters mixed in, but she recognized the words “forced sale of real estate.” She had seen it on television before. Losing your home.
Seo-ah folded the paper and put it inside her schoolbag. She didn't know why. It felt like it wouldn't disappear if she threw it away. If she kept it, she felt like she could control it. That was what control meant to a ten-year-old. Folding a piece of paper and putting it in her bag.
Seo-ah began to change at school.
She stopped chattering during recess. She didn't leave a single side dish on her lunch tray. Not one grain. Even when a friend called, “Seo-ah, come play!” she stayed in her seat and said, “I've got something to do.” She had nothing to do. Playing simply felt like a luxury.
Her homeroom teacher called Seo-ah over.
“Seo-ah, is something going on lately?”
“No.”
“If things are difficult at home, you can tell me.”
“No.”
Seo-ah smiled. She put on the most reassuring expression a ten-year-old could manage. The teacher didn't ask any more questions.
One day, her younger sibling asked,
“When's Mom coming home, Sis?”
It was dinnertime. They were eating the soybean-paste stew Grandmother had made. Grandfather had gone into his room without eating. Father still hadn't come home from work. Seo-ah, her younger sibling, and Grandmother. The three of them were eating together.
“I don't know.”
“Why don't you know? You can just call Mom.”
“The phone doesn't work.”
“Why?”
Seo-ah set down her spoon and looked at her younger sibling. Seven years old. A face with a gap where a front tooth had fallen out, visible whenever they smiled. This child still didn't know. That Mother had taken the money and left. That she had taken Grandfather's savings. That this house could soon belong to someone else.
“Mom's busy.”
Seo-ah picked up her spoon again and took a bite of soybean-paste stew. It had no taste.
Grandmother was watching Seo-ah. Seo-ah felt her gaze but didn't look up. If she looked up, Grandmother might cry. If Grandmother cried, her younger sibling would cry, and if her younger sibling cried, Seo-ah would cry too. So she didn't look up.
After finishing her meal, Seo-ah did the dishes. When Grandmother said, “I'll do it,” Seo-ah pushed her off with, “I'll do it.” The sink was too high, so she set down a step stool and climbed onto it. The water was cold. As she submerged her hands in the cold water and scrubbed the dishes, Seo-ah thought:
Mother isn't coming home.
Not this time.
That was the moment the thought first became certainty. She wasn't sad. Before sadness, another emotion came first. Seo-ah didn't yet know what to call it. She would learn later. It was anger.
Seo-ah washed the dishes. One, two, three. Counting made things less frightening. Numbers had no feelings.
[Coaching Insight]
The bottom you're at may have been created by someone else's mistake. Your parents' debts, your family's failures, the circumstances of your birth. Things you never chose.
But the moment you sit at the bottom asking, “Why me?” you stop being the master of that bottom and become its prisoner.
Tear away your victim mentality. Blaming your circumstances is justified. But what's justified and what's useful are two different things. While you blame, your time keeps passing, and the bottom grows deeper.
Take back control. If there's only one thing you can control right now, control that one thing. All ten-year-old Seo-ah did was fold a piece of paper and put it in her bag. That was the beginning.