Inheritance 4
Before my regression, I'd go to church for confession, tormented by guilt over losing my father, my mother ending up in the hospital, and abandoning my little brother at an orphanage. The memory of pouring out my woes to the priest who steadied my wandering soul now filled the void left by Mr. Kim.
"Father, why did Dad have to go so soon?"
"Well... because he was such a good man?"
"..."
"Heaven calls the good ones early."
"Then all that's left down here are the bad ones."
"Exactly. Why does Heaven call the good ones so soon? It must know the hell the rest of us endure..."
"If good people die young, then I guess I'll live forever."
"Joo-in..."
I walked away from the priest's pitying call, the sky cruelly clear overhead.
I'm not a good person. I just do what I can.
Am I doing the right thing?
All I wanted was for good people to live a little more comfortably, a little happier. I had no idea what ripples that simple wish might send through their lives. If only someone could tell me the right answer.
But even in this second life, life was something you lived alone. The decisions—and their consequences—were yours to bear.
If only life had a clear right answer...
My maternal grandfather's grave lay above my father's. Mother had agonized over whether to bury him with the Cheon family or here, but in the end, she'd decided this was where our family belonged.
I steadied her as she staggered during the burial rite, her sad eyes watching me. Leaning on me, she stroked the fresh sod over the grave with tear-streaked cheeks.
"Dad, your grandson Joo-in's grown so much."
"The first time we came here, just having him by my side gave me strength..."
"Now he's big enough to support me."
"Father..."
"D... Dad......"
"I thought I'd never have to see you again... I... I..."
"Mom..."
"Sorry, Joo-in. I showed such an ugly side in front of you..."
"No. If you're sad, Mom, you should cry. 'Men don't cry, women don't cry'—that's just selfish nonsense from people who don't want to comfort your pain. What's wrong with admitting you're hurting, you're sad? It's natural. I'm sad too, meeting Grandpa and losing him so soon. But you're even sadder than me. He was your dad."
Mother said nothing, just pulled me into a hug and bowed her head. Her shoulder warmed against mine, but I pretended not to notice, gazing only at the setting sun.
Of course you're sad when you lose your father. If being a mother means you can't even grieve openly, wouldn't that be the cruelest reality?
Supporting Mother down the mountain, we found my maternal uncle waiting by a car I'd never seen before.
"Here, coffee."
I handed him one of the leftover canned coffees I'd prepared for the burial workers. It was still warm enough to feel comforting.
"Take it slow coming down."
"Did you clear out on purpose?"
He looked like he had a lot to say at my question, but after gazing steadily at me, he replied.
"Yeon-mi was always a kid full of affection."
In the car, I took in the sight of Mother sitting dazed, clutching the warm can.
"I..."
"Hm?"
"I thought Mom was just strong, nothing else."
Before the regression, she'd never shown weakness in front of me. Or had I just never seen it?
"The Yeon-mi I remember was quiet, full of heart and consideration."
"And now?"
"To me, she's the same. People don't change easily."
"I see..."
Hearing about Mother's childhood from my uncle painted a picture utterly unlike the woman I knew now. Was that what growing up meant?
Before my regression, had I just aged without truly maturing?
Noticing my expression, my uncle patted my shoulder.
"Let's go. It's getting cold."
"Okay."
He dropped us off in front of our alleyway home and couldn't hide his shock.
"Yeon-mi, you live here?"
"..."
Mother stayed silent; I answered.
"We just moved in not long ago, but yeah, this is home."
"Your grandfather—my big brother—must have several apartments in his name. Let's move right now."
"Brother, a sudden move... the kids' schools..."
"Mom, I think Uncle's right. We should move."
"But we just transferred schools after moving here. I could manage, but the kids..."
"Think about the transfer some more—but positively."
Sensing Mother's reluctance because of me and Joo-shin, Uncle spoke frankly.
"Transfers can be tough on kids, but this place is worse. Think about it. That's my advice as a doctor. Kids' health matters too. It's late—go in and rest. Joo-in, hang back a sec."
I sent a worried Mother inside, then found Uncle sighing heavily in his car.
"I figured things soured with Big Brother and money got tight, but this is beyond imagination. How..."
"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard, but we were happy anyway. After Dad passed..."
"Ah... I've been too thoughtless. I'm sorry."
"No. Just knowing there's an adult worrying about Mom makes me happy."
"You're growing up too fast, Joo-in—it worries me. Even if I tell Yeon-mi to think about it, she's stubborn."
"Mom is?"
"You wouldn't know, but living this tough without once seeking out Big Brother? That's no ordinary stubbornness."
"Ah..."
I found myself nodding.
"You said she was affectionate and considerate?"
"She is—considerate and full of heart. But her stubbornness is fierce. She got it straight from Big Brother."
"..."
"Anyway, here's the address of the apartment Big Brother owned in Dun-bang. I hear most are vacant since there were so many unsold units. I'll check it out first, convince Yeon-mi, and we can move. This place... it worries me too much."
"Everyone in the neighborhood's nice. Still, like you said, we should move. Joo-shin's got weak lungs."
Thinking of how the basement had weakened mine and Joo-shin's lungs before the regression, moving if possible was best.
"Alright, I'll text you the address."
"Huh? I don't have a phone."
Only now, with the funeral haze clearing, did I notice the paper bag holding a phone.
"It's a phone. Give one to Yeon-mi, and you use this black one."
"This is..."
"You're in high school now—time for one. We'll get Joo-shin one for middle school."
"Uncle..."
"I haven't done much for my nephews till now, and it was frustrating without a way to reach you. I just prepared them without overthinking. If Yeon-mi refuses, say you'll toss it—she'll use it then, since it'd be a waste."
"Thank you."
"Thanks for growing up so well despite everything. Go on in—it's late. Joo-shin's still at his friend's, right? Let's all go eat something tasty soon."
"Sure. Drive safe."
Watching his taillights fade, I thought.
Grandpa left me so much.
Do I deserve it all?
It had only been three days since I'd stood vigil at the funeral hall, but home felt strangely unfamiliar.
Because Joo-shin's not here?
As I drifted off in the alien house, Dae-baek-gong appeared as if waiting, addressing my bedtime doubts.
"It can feel burdensome, heavy. That's what inheritance is. Not limited to mere wealth."
"Do I deserve to accept it?"
"No qualification needed—inheritance goes to blood kin. Family alone suffices. But how one who receives it without merit wields it shapes their life. They might build a solid foundation with newfound affluence. Or squander sudden riches, living aimlessly. The outcome is theirs to bear."
"I..."
"Watching friends like you grapple with it brings me great fulfillment."
"..."
"Pondering life's direction young isn't bad, but obsession that paralyzes action at crucial moments turns ends to means. In that vein, your latest singularity reward—the house from your grandfather you plan to visit tomorrow—go alone."
"Pardon? Uncle said he only has the address, no key, so we'd go through a realtor together."
"He prepared it for his beloved daughter. Knowing that, no need for company. Others bring too many words."
"You mean..."
"Many mouths invite calamity."
You must be exhausted, right? I've called the school, so rest today. You were sleeping so deeply I couldn't wake you. I sent Joo-shin to school, so just help with pickup this afternoon.
— Mom
I slipped the new note beside the last one in my diary from before, tidying the table as I thought.
If Dae-baek-gong insists, visiting alone once won't hurt. I'll go before picking up Joo-shin.