Father's Life 4
“Yeah, it's weird how lucky I feel today.”
I flinched inwardly but kept my expression steady as I started devouring the kimbap with big bites.
“This is good. What is it?”
“It's a sandwich, but Mom made it. I don't know much, she just makes it sometimes. Guess she was in a good mood today—put it in with the kimbap.”
“What day is it?”
“Nah, it's just that after you left yesterday...”
Jong-hyuk gave Kyung-soo and me a quick rundown of what happened, and Kyung-soo looked at me with fresh surprise.
“My mom sells insurance, you know.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“Lots of people look down on it. Say she should stay home and take care of the house instead of going out to work and embarrassing the family.”
“What? Isn't it better if you both earn money? Why's that bad?”
Kyung-soo smirked at my reaction and went for the kimbap I'd been eyeing. Jong-hyuk watched our chopstick duel like it was pathetic, then snatched the last piece with his hand.
“Hey!”
Kyung-soo and I shouted at Jong-hyuk in unison, but he just shrugged calmly.
“What?”
He pulled another lunchbox tier out of his bag, and we instantly forgot our anger, diving back into the kimbap like nothing happened.
It was a tightly packed three-tier lunchbox, but way too skimpy for our growing teenage stomachs. Still, we were stuffed, slouched in our chairs staring blankly at the movie playing. Then a cold draft hit as the classroom's front and back doors swung open at once.
The kids pouring in clutched their stomachs at the kimbap smell filling the room and yelled.
“Who ate kimbap in class? Gimme one!”
We burst out laughing playfully—no one waiting to see who spoke first—and slipped out into the hall.
The buzzing corridor told us Hak-joo had rounded everyone up like stray mice and herded them back to class.
“But why'd Hak-joo suddenly crack down today?”
“With that recent incident, maybe he's tightening things up in case someone gets released and causes trouble?”
Seemed like the gym teacher and the Sa-i-go stuff had the school wanting to rein in the kids.
Brushing off the minor chaos, one kid approached me.
I don't know his name, but...
I stared blankly, and he avoided my eyes, muttering that the homeroom teacher wanted me in the office before vanishing.
“Who was that?”
“Class rep from next door. Oh, you might not know.”
“Head to the office now?”
“Yeah.”
I stood, checked my clothes weren't too sloppy for the office, and headed out.
Lucky morning. Maybe the police are giving me a citizen award for the report?
I knocked lightly on the office door and went straight to the homeroom teacher's desk. He sat there with a grim face, waiting.
Before I could sit, he spoke.
“The hospital called. Your grandfather's critical—they want you there right away... Joo-in? Joo-in?”
The word “grandfather” from his mouth had me bolting back to class already.
The kids stared like something was up, but I ignored them, grabbed my wallet from my bag, and turned to Jong-hyuk.
Thought today was lucky.
“Jong-hyuk, after school, can you watch Joo-shin at home? Mom and I won't be able to pick him up.”
“What's going on?”
I wanted to ask the same as Jong-hyuk grabbed my arm. Staring at the cruelly clear scenery outside, I tried to stay calm.
But my voice shook anyway.
Why... we just met yesterday... why now...
“Grandpa's critical...”
“Grandpa? From what I know...”
Before Jong-hyuk finished, I shoved out of the classroom and ran.
I couldn't explain anymore. I just fled from the truth, breathless, directionless, purposeless.
Was yesterday all a dream?
I caught a taxi on the main road far from school and raced to the hospital.
At the familiar ward door, instinct made me catch my breath before easing it open carefully.
Am I just dreaming alone? A bit happy, a bit sad... that kind of dream...
My melancholy shattered coldly against the door—like compensation for my desperate run.
Click.
The icy handle grounded my feverish hand.
Hard and cold.
Like yesterday wasn't a lie, the man called my uncle stood by the bed. Mom sat holding Grandpa's hand and turned to me.
Her face... like a little girl terrified of losing her father.
Resentful, hating, but fearing the loss of the one who'd steadfastly taken it all...
“Joo-in...”
“Mom, Grandpa?”
I asked but didn't wait. One look at her face, and I knew—my sweet dream from the run was bitter reality.
“It's...”
Her strained voice struggled out, but before it finished, the machines' clamor outside fell eerily silent.
I clenched my trembling fists, forcing calm as I peered past Mom at Grandpa on the bed.
No... not yet... not yet...
But against my fears, Grandpa pulled off his oxygen mask himself.
He swatted away my startled uncle's hand and reached for me.
Shocked, I rushed over and took his hand.
It burned terrifyingly hot—like a superhuman pouring out everything in one burst...
“Gran...”
Before I spoke, his phlegmy rasp—proof of his rough life—came first.
“A... ah...”
Gasping hard, he seemed desperate to say one thing. I leaned close.
Faint but clear...
“Fa... ther...”
Father?
I started to correct him—I'm your grandson—but Uncle shook his head, silencing me.
I gripped his hand tight, speechless.
Unlike his initial ragged breaths, as he clasped mine, his voice boomed healthy and firm—like he'd fully recovered—filling the room for all to hear.
“Father... I really did my best.”
That one line from Grandpa... carrying his unknown life... broke me. Tears poured.
But I couldn't give the response he wanted.
Grandpa...
Flashes from his memories: factories, mines, bustling markets, deliveries—his weary but hopeful moments—drowned me in tears.
I wanted to stay the “father” from his memories, but my body shook uncontrollably.
Silent sobs were all I could manage.
“...”
“If... if I'd come just a bit sooner... at least this...”
The boy from his memories, now a middle-aged man callused beyond his wrinkles, arriving home...
Fathers are always late. One step sooner, and they'd hear their wife's warm words, kids' greetings. Always one step late...
Warm, poor conviction and iron will in a cold thatched house.
When Father stood firm by the family, it was warm. Without him, conviction without warmth.
He sold the land, fields, rice paddies to keep his beliefs—but didn't Mom, sister, and he resent the absent father?
My questions lingered unanswered.
What made him forsake the smiles of kids and wife, just one step away, chasing “them” till late?
I swallowed the whirlwind grief, forcing calm.
Tears seeped silently from his wrinkled eyes like from old wood.
Mom looked shocked but held his hand wordlessly.
“I... I really lived hard...”
Watching Grandpa cry in regret, I mulled my words. Only one fit.
To my surprise, my voice stayed steady.
“You did well.”
I stroked his face, repeating it.
I knew only fragments of his grueling life: his mother, sister, hated-yet-missed father.
“You suffered in Father's place.”
“Fa... ther... I...”
“You lived your best. Thank you for being born my son... I'm proud.”
I gave Grandpa the words I'd craved pre-regression.
For my mother, sister, hated-missed father.
You did your best. So...
The words I longed for.
His tears didn't stop, but a smile curved his lips as he quietly breathed his last.