The Day Samchon Came
When I first met Samchon, the feeling that washed over me was relief. Mom had always spoken of him with such guilt, convinced her little brother must resent her for betraying him. She and Dad had left everything behind for love, and no one had supported them. So when I heard about the accident at the hospital, even after desperately finding Samchon’s number through my tears, I was terrified. What if he didn’t come? What if he still hated Mom? Then I would truly be alone in this world.
I remember clearly how he called out to me while I sat curled up, waiting. Samchon was much taller than me, handsome, yet somehow cold. I wondered if perhaps it was me he resented. His gaze felt so chilling that I couldn’t help but think maybe he hated me because I was the reason Mom had to leave him. If I had never been born, Mom wouldn’t have had to walk away. No one would have pointed fingers. So of course he looked at me with that coldness—because I was the niece he never wanted.
But the moment we actually spoke, I realized how wrong I’d been. Samchon was simply like that by nature. His eyes were cold, yet his heart was incredibly warm. Watching him stay by my side, trying so hard to comfort his niece, I understood what a good person he was. He kept reaching out to me, even just a little. So then what was that chill I had felt? That inexplicable melancholy?
I found the answer when that woman showed up, making a fuss. Choi Min-a. She gave nothing yet somehow managed to be irritating—an eyesore that made me angry just thinking about her. The moment she saw me, she declared herself my Sungmo. It wasn’t funny. Our Samchon was still a bachelor; they weren’t even married. Apparently she was filthy rich—her bag at the funeral was some luxury brand. How could someone like Samchon end up with a woman like that? A pearl around a pig’s neck. You can already picture her, can’t you? Selfish, spoiled rotten with money, no manners whatsoever. They’re supposedly getting married next year, yet she was already acting like the lady of the house. Why was she making such a scene?
Of course, I knew she was his girlfriend. They’d been together for a while, and I could tell she loved him. But she was still an outsider. Just an outsider. They weren’t anything yet. Sorry—talking about Samchon got me worked up over her again.
Samchon spoke to me in a low voice, sharing memories of Mom. How he used to buy her drinks. How he attended parent-teacher meetings in Grandma’s place. Listening to him chatter on about the past, he didn’t seem like an adult so much older than me. I could almost see the younger Samchon from before Mom left—the one who used to live with her.
In return, I told him stories about Mom too. Since he hadn’t lived with her as long as I had, I wanted him to know what kind of person she was, what our mother-daughter memories were like. We talked whenever there was a moment between greeting mourners. Guest after guest, conversation after conversation. By the time it was finally over, we were both exhausted. Samchon kept dozing off beside me, clutching Mom’s portrait tightly to his chest with a pitiful expression.
I tried to take the photo so he could sleep more comfortably, but he held on so tightly he wouldn’t let go. In the end, I just sat beside him and offered my shoulder. Up close, his eyelashes were surprisingly long. His eyes were large, his nose straight. He resembled Mom, yet also felt different—like he took after our maternal grandfather, who must have been handsome. When I reached out and gently touched the tip of his nose, I felt his soft, steady breathing.
“Come to think of it, Samchon is really old-fashioned.” Even though we’d just met, he kept using formal speech with his own niece. I wondered if I should tell him to speak casually once he woke up. But somehow I knew he’d keep being polite. He’d probably say he’d drop the honorifics when it felt natural for him.
While he slept, I secretly traced his face. There was stubble on his chin. Dark circles under his eyes—maybe he didn’t sleep well. Of course, with that woman always bothering him. It was obvious. Samchon was perfect except for being too kind. If that Sungmo of his made things difficult, he should just leave her. I told him later that what she did wasn’t love, but he probably just thought it was a child’s whining.
I should tell him more clearly next time. As I was gently stroking his face, his lips suddenly twitched. Feeling guilty, I found it awkward to meet his eyes when he woke. It was embarrassing—caught touching my sleeping uncle like that. So the moment he stirred, I quickly pretended to be asleep. Thankfully, he didn’t notice.
Samchon draped his jacket over me and stared blankly out the window. When he spoke to me again, he used casual speech. Seeing him treat me more comfortably made me feel like we’d grown a little closer.
If Samchon hadn’t been there when we went back to our old house, I probably never would have been able to return. The thought of being alone in that house made everything feel impossible. The space where Mom and Dad used to smile, where our family used to laugh together—now it was empty, and I was supposed to live there by myself. Thankfully, Samchon stayed by my side.
The house felt so much bigger than I remembered from when we all lived together. It was vast and hollow, just like the hole in my heart. I clung to Samchon’s arm, held his hand, leaned against him just to keep moving forward. After we looked around, Sungmo called. Something about nourishing food. Looking back, the best tonic would’ve been for her to simply not show her face. But she insisted on playing the role of Sungmo, feeding him, making a fuss. Being rich, she picked an expensive place. The way she casually mentioned staying out overnight made it obvious she wanted to flaunt their relationship. Sadly for her, the moment she said it, Samchon’s face hardened. We rushed through the awkward meal, barely able to digest anything. It was like the crane and the fox—offering hospitality while making everyone miserable.
She seemed annoyed that Samchon was taking care of me. Then she should’ve been born as his niece instead. Why was she making such a scene? She should’ve just played the girlfriend role properly and stayed out of our way. “Because of you, Samchon’s face is shadowed.” My Samchon. The one and only Samchon in the world.
When we returned to Samchon’s place… well, we just talked. Eventually he fell asleep on the bed first, and I stayed beside him. At first I thought I should sleep on the sofa so he could rest comfortably. But after leaving the room, the loneliness hit me so hard I couldn’t stand it. Curled up on the sofa, I felt like I might cry, like I was the only person left in the world. So I went back to his room and finally calmed down. Hearing his breathing made me feel safe again.
Sitting beside him, I traced his face once more—his forehead, his nose, his lips, his jawline. I knew it was strange for a niece to touch her uncle so freely, that it was improper. But somehow it didn’t feel real, like he might disappear into the sky at any moment. We had only just met. This was the first time I’d ever seen my uncle in my life. So I needed to know more about him. Touching him a little while he slept wasn’t such a terrible thing. From now on we’d be living together, so I had to understand him better if we were going to get along.
“He sleeps so well, so why does he always look so tired?” I understand now, but back then it puzzled me endlessly. Samchon couldn’t sleep properly because that woman kept tormenting him—her company, her money, her background, all of it suffocating him. Yet when he was beside me, he seemed fine. That made me so happy. “There’s something I can do for Samchon too.” He said he felt comfortable next to me. That he could only fall asleep when I was there. Something that woman could never do. She only ever made things harder for him.
Samchon sleeps with his head on my lap. I gently stroke his face. Samchon lies beside me and sleeps. I quietly listen to his breathing. Now Samchon sleeps beside me, breathes beside me, thinks of me. And then…
“Samchon… do you love me?”
Little by little, my curiosity about him grew until I finally wanted to hear the answer. Did Samchon… did Samchon love me? Not in that way. Not playfully. Not the way an uncle loves his niece. He probably wouldn’t right now. Samchon was a good person. He’d surely think it was wrong. He’d brush it off as a joke. But… someday, who knows? Right?