You're My Dad!
You're my dad, right?!
……………
After that, Kim Bom started calling me "Dad" as a "mistake." I didn't just let it slide. Every time she did it, I kept correcting her.
"It's Yeoreum."
"My name is Yeoreum."
"Bom-ssi, you did it again."
And every time, Kim Bom apologized to me.
"Oh right! Sorry about that."
"I did it again. My bad!"
"Ah, why do I keep doing this?"
"……."
The same apology. The same expression. The same smile. It never improved, no matter how many times I pointed it out.
Is she doing this on purpose?
I started to suspect. The first couple times could be mistakes. But this constant repetition? Hard to call it an accident.
…I'm so tired. For real.
Correcting her every time, insisting I'm not her dad, that I'm Yeoreum—repeating it dozens of times. It was more exhausting than I'd imagined.
Dad. That word clung stubbornly between me and Kim Bom. No, maybe it was the glue holding us together. The kind that made it impossible to pull away, even if you wanted to.
Is this okay as it is?
Anxiety began to sprout quietly in my heart.
Days like that dragged on until one evening. After dinner, around 8 p.m., in Kim Bom's living room.
On my laptop screen was a half-finished SD character: a little girl with dragon tail and wings. Her name was Half Dragon. I'd been tweaking the "dumb and cute" concept the client requested for over an hour now, stuck on the same spot.
Kim Bom was knitting beside me. The only sound in the quiet living room was the soft click of her needles keeping the yarn from tangling.
It was a peaceful evening. At least on the surface. Until Kim Bom dropped her bombshell.
"Dad, you'll get turtle neck like that. Take a break."
Thud.
My fingers froze.
How many times now…?
I already knew the count. I'd been keeping track in my head. Kim Bom's "mistakes" today alone: five times. Twice at breakfast, once at lunch, once while prepping dinner earlier, and now.
I took a slow deep breath. One, two, three. Then exhaled.
This… isn't something I can just let slide anymore.
Until now, I'd chalked it up to mistakes. Slip-ups born from missing her father. Of course, I wasn't an idiot—I'd guessed her "mistakes" were somewhat intentional. But I'd tried to see them as genuine errors. So I'd corrected her gently, and when she apologized, I'd let it go.
That had happened over a hundred times, easy. But I couldn't dodge reality anymore. Kim Bom's "mistakes" weren't mistakes at all. They were deliberate.
I didn't want to believe it. But she wouldn't leave me alone.
I closed my laptop. Swiveled my chair to face her directly.
She was still focused on her knitting, seemingly oblivious to the word she'd just used for me.
"…Bom-ssi."
My voice came out a tone lower than usual.
"Yes?"
Kim Bom paused her knitting and looked up.
"Let's talk. Seriously."
Her needles dropped to her lap.
"What's up?"
"Why do you keep calling me Dad?"
Silence fell.
Kim Bom fiddled with her yarn, avoiding my eyes.
"It's a mistake… I told you. I just get confused sometimes—"
"No. It's not."
I cut her off firmly.
"It's not a mistake. I know that. Several times a day, every day. It can't be accidents when it's this consistent. What's the real reason?"
"It's nothing. I really do get confused…."
"No. Confusing me with your father doesn't make sense. I want the honest reason. No more 'oops, sorry.' I'm not letting it slide. Tell me the truth."
Kim Bom set her knitting tools aside. She clasped her hands neatly on her lap and sat straight. After a long pause, she finally spoke.
"Yeoreum-ssi… is my dad."
The answer I'd expected. But hearing it still made my chest tighten.
"Bom-ssi, we talked about this before—"
"Yeoreum-ssi lost your memories through reincarnation."
Her voice was calm. Utterly steady, like she was stating an eternal truth.
"Your soul is the same, but the memories are gone. You don't remember, but I know. That Yeoreum-ssi is my dad."
This is really…
The reincarnation story I'd heard from her before—the one I'd deliberately avoided thinking about. She recited it word for word, unchanged.
Her delusion hadn't budged an inch. It was just hidden under a thin veneer, same as when she'd strangled my neck.
"And besides."
Kim Bom continued.
"Yeoreum-ssi knows too. Deep down in your subconscious."
"What… do you mean?"
"When I strangled your neck… that incident. A normal person wouldn't forgive that. It was attempted murder."
She smiled. A smile brimming with unshakable conviction.
"But Yeoreum-ssi forgave me. Took me back. Why?"
"That was because I—"
"Because you're my dad."
She didn't wait for my response.
"Even without memories, it's still there, deep in your soul! Like a father's instinct. That's what made you forgive your daughter. Nothing else explains it."
A chill ran down my spine.
Kim Bom's delusion was more advanced and systematic than I'd thought. It wasn't just "same soul." She interpreted every action of mine through her worldview. My kindness toward her, forgiving her wrongs—all twisted into "things only a father could do."
I can't let this go on.
If I backed down here, tolerated the "Dad" label? She'd take it as proof, validation for her fantasy.
I could already hear her: [See? Yeoreum-ssi doesn't reject it. You accept it deep down! That you're my dad!]
But deny it harshly like last time? …That nightmare could repeat. Her hands on my throat, nearly stopping my heart.
I need another way.
But how? Forceful denial was out. Gentle words? She wouldn't even listen. Ignore it? The delusion hardens.
Only one path: Balance firm denial and soft persuasion. No emotional clashes, no provoking her. Slowly dismantle her logic, step by rational step.
"Bom-ssi, hear me out."
I tried for the gentlest tone possible.
"Even if… just suppose, for argument's sake, that I really am your father's reincarnation."
Her shoulders twitched slightly. Anticipation?
"But I have zero memories of any past life. You admit that, right? I don't know what happened when you were little, what your dad liked, how he talked. Nothing."
I pressed on.
"A person's personality is built from memories. Our experiences, what we learn, the emotions we feel—they stack up to make the 'me' we are now. Right?"
"………."
Kim Bom listened quietly. No rebuttal, no agreement. Just smiling.
"So without those memories, the current me is completely different from the father you remember. Same soul or not, no memories means a different being. Like making totally different dishes from the same pork ingredient."
Pretty logical, I thought. No emotional appeals, just calm facts.
"I know."
Then Kim Bom spoke.
"…What?"
"I know all that. That Yeoreum-ssi went through reincarnation and lost memories, that your personality now is different from before."
Mimicking my persuasive tone, she explained patiently. Her voice was eerily serene.
"But Dad is still Dad."
"What does that…."
"No memories, different personality—none of that matters. The soul is the same. That's what counts. That's everything."
Kim Bom picked up her knitting again. As if we were chatting about everyday nonsense.
Should I push harder?
That logic was solid. But it hadn't even scratched her delusion.
More direct, more firm….
But the moment I considered a stronger tone, that day's memory grabbed my ankle.
Choi Seori's naked dogeza was absurd and awkward. But it never physically harmed me. Her outburst turned inward.
Kim Bom was different. Her madness was physically dangerous. When her worldview was challenged, she used brute force to defend it.
I couldn't risk more. Stronger push, and who knows what happens next.
Yeoreum's body was frail. With my congenital heart condition, I couldn't survive a second explosion from Kim Bom.
Stuck—can't retreat, can't advance.
"………."
"………."
Silence stretched.
With me saying nothing for a while, Kim Bom returned to her knitting.
I couldn't say a word to her.
Strong denial? Failed. Logical approach? Useless.
Her delusion-built worldview was too solid. I wasn't strong enough to shatter it.
"Wanna sleep over tonight?"
Kim Bom asked, in her usual bright, kind tone.
"I got a pillow since Dad said the neck pillow was uncomfortable. Try it out."
Dad again.
This time, I didn't correct her.