Please Help Me.
The corridor of the funeral home was thick with the scent of chrysanthemums. White petals crowded both sides of the entrance to the mourning hall. Under the fluorescent lights, their shadows stretched long across the floor.
"Aigoo, what are they gonna do?"
"Leaving two kids behind."
The mourners' voices drifted down the hallway. No one said it to Jinhee directly. They muttered as they passed, glancing sideways or behind her back—pity that sounded more like spectacle than sympathy. The words were always the same, no matter who said them. How will those poor kids survive?
Jinhee stood before the portrait. She was fifteen. Her black mourning clothes hung loose on her shoulders, and though exhaustion begged her to cry, she forced strength into her legs and stood firm. There was no luxury for tears. She still had guests to greet.
Sujin's hand was clasped in her right one. Six-year-old fingers gripped her sister's tightly. Slick with sweat, but unyielding. She hadn't let go once since entering the hall.
"Bow your head."
Whenever a mourner approached, Jinhee bowed first. Sujin followed. They received the condolence envelopes with both hands, then met the giver's eyes straight on upon rising. Jinhee, at fifteen, already knew that a wavering gaze would make them seem pitifully childish.
Inside the hall, two relatives huddled together. Their eyes flicked to Jinhee, then down to some papers. The word insurance payout leaked through the wall. The tap of a calculator echoed across the floor.
Sujin tugged at Jinhee's hand.
"Unnie."
"Yeah."
"We can't see Mom and Dad anymore?"
Jinhee's chin trembled once. She bit her lip hard, then released it. Sujin stared up at the faces in the portrait, fingering the petals of the chrysanthemums placed before it as if they were pretty. When the flowers swayed, she giggled.
Jinhee knelt to meet her eye level.
"Sujin-ah."
"Yeah?"
"Unnie will make you happy. I promise."
Sujin tilted her head. She sensed it wasn't an answer to her question, but she beamed anyway, liking how her sister looked deep into her eyes. That smile lodged in Jinhee's chest—unbudging, untarnished. She vowed to remember this moment forever, no matter what came.
After the funeral, the relatives gathered around an empty table. Uncle spoke first, offering to take the kids. Aunt echoed him. Then came the proposal to split them up, one each.
Jinhee sat among them, watching their mouths move. Sujin slept in her lap, her limp body featherlight. This child's weight was all Jinhee had left.
"Thank you, but we'll be fine."
All eyes turned to her. A fifteen-year-old had no business speaking up.
"I'll take care of her."
Uncle's eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"
"I don't, but I can do it."
Aunt cut in. Did she know what running a house entailed? Where would school fees come from?
Jinhee didn't answer. She brushed Sujin's hair aside with her fingers, gazing at her sleeping face.
"Sujin will grow up with me."
She repeated it for the third time. Uncle shoved back his chair, its legs screeching across the floor. The door slammed, and Aunt followed. Cold soup and untouched rice remained on the table.
In the quiet room, Sujin stirred, clutching Jinhee's hem. Jinhee patted her back. The steady rise and fall under her palm. While the child slept, her slightly open mouth suggested nothing in the world could scare her. Drool spread in a circle on Jinhee's knee.
The funeral home lights flickered out one by one. The chrysanthemum scent in the corridor faded. Only Jinhee and Sujin remained in the emptied hall. Gazing at that sleeping face, Jinhee thought: I'll make my little sister happy. No matter what it takes.
Jinhee was smart and beautiful. Top of her class every exam, striking even in uniform. She balanced scholarships for tuition and living expenses with housework and study. Up at dawn to pack Sujin's lunch, reviewing and previewing lessons after the girl slept.
Sujin was average. Mid-tier grades, mid-tier looks, no standout talents. She knew it best of all.
Whispers carved a rift between the sisters.
"Even without parents, her sister's doing so well."
"Pretty face, top grades. If only you'd taken after unnie."
At family gatherings, among neighborhood ajummas, in front of teachers. Praise all went to Jinhee; the more it piled up, the smaller Sujin's place became. No one meant to belittle her. Comparisons just became routine.
Sujin was grateful. To the sister raising her alone, never calling her a burden. The gratitude was real. But darkness slowly crept beneath it. Whatever she did fell short of unnie, yet she had no right to resent someone who'd sacrificed everything for her. Unable to resent outward, the arrow turned inward.
Sujin spoke less and less.
Jinhee entered university on full scholarship. Math. Rankings meant scholarships; scholarships meant Sujin's living costs. No breaks. Puberty was a luxury she couldn't afford. No time for her own emotions.
Sujin's puberty was different. Emotions she swallowed alone started spilling into actions.
"Sujin-ah, how's school?"
"It's okay."
"Must be tough."
"You must be the tough one, unnie."
"I'm fine."
Always I'm fine. Jinhee never wavered. Whatever festered behind those words stayed buried. Sujin knew it. Knew she wasn't fine, knew she hid it for her sake. That knowledge made facing her impossible. Before someone sacrificing so much, she felt like nothing. Guilt and inferiority tangled until indistinguishable—then people run.
Sujin started staying out.
Jinhee chalked it up to teenage rebellion. It'll pass. Her first misjudgment.
Sujin made friends. Kids who treated her well despite having nothing. Swapping bags, gifting makeup, buying meals. Sujin thought they were just friends. Being chosen felt good.
One day, a strange bag lay on Sujin's floor. Pricey—Jinhee could tell at a glance.
"Where'd this come from?"
"A friend gave it."
"This expensive?"
"Rich friend."
Jinhee's eyes narrowed. "Sujin-ah, you can't just accept things like this."
"What do you know!"
Sujin's shout surprised even her. Not anger—an outburst of long-suppressed pain.
Jinhee fell silent. Didn't know what to say. She'd never heard that tone from Sujin.
"...Sorry."
Jinhee bowed first. As the big sister.
Sujin couldn't bear seeing that head. She'd yelled, yet received apology again. Biting her lip, she slammed her door.
Under the covers, Sujin cursed her foolish self. Clenched and unclenched her fists on the pillow, eyes shut. In the living room, Jinhee leaned against the closed door, waiting silently for her to emerge.
But conversation faded into assumption. Late nights, the front door opened to Sujin's dark room. Mornings Jinhee left first, Sujin's shoes were gone. Leftover rice on the table cooled untouched.
Texts got replies. Short.
Each time, Jinhee set her phone down and ate alone.
Grad school integrated program: every day war. Research output meant scholarships; no scholarships, no Sujin's fees. She shaved sleep between deadlines and seminars.
That late night too. Opening the door, she met Sujin lacing shoes. Heavy makeup. Red lips, glitter on eyelids. Not her usual face.
"Where to?"
"Meeting friends."
"This late?"
Sujin grabbed the knob, silent. Jinhee seized her arm—instinct.
"What the hell are you doing out there?"
"Butt out."
"Why are you like this? You're in high school now."
Sujin didn't yank free. Turned to meet her eyes. Hostility flickered there for the first time.
Jinhee stared down too. Sisters glaring in the narrow entryway.
Dammed-up frustration burst. Paper chokepoints, sleep deprivation, empty-house solo dinners—all surged.
"Can't do shit without me, but you got time to run around?"
Jinhee wanted to clap her hand over her mouth the instant it left. Too late. Light died in Sujin's eyes. She pulled free silently, door shutting behind her. Footsteps faded down the stairs.
No words after. Same house, closed doors. Hallway encounters: averted eyes. She knew she should apologize. But her mouth wouldn't open. Never said sorry before. Only it's fine, I can handle it, don't worry.
Prepping seminar. Desk strewn with draft paper, slides. Midterm presentation in two days. Flipping revised slides all night.
Phone rang. School number. Sujin's school. Homeroom teacher.
School violence hearing held. Sujin listed as perpetrator.
"Perpetrator?"
Her echo sounded alien.
"Yes, Kim Sujin assaulted the victim..."
Rest unheard. Phone slipped in slack hand. Slides blurred into view—due in two days. Snapped laptop shut. Left lab without bag.
Bus to school: hearing over. Admin office: results. Suspension. Written apology, no contact. Perpetrator: Kim Sujin. Sister's name stamped on paper.
Sujin sat before school gate, knees together, head down. Heard footsteps, glanced then away. No eye contact.
"Sujin-ah."
Shoulders flinched. Didn't rise. Jinhee stood over her; gaze dodged.
"Let's go."
Silent home. Door shut; Jinhee spoke.
"School violence? Who'd you hit?"
Sujin unlaced shoes, mute.
"Talk. What happened?"
"...Not telling."
"Sujin-ah!"
Voice ricocheted off narrow walls. Sujin's back stiffened. Jinhee knew: shouldn't push. Knew it'd close her more. Couldn't stop. Perpetrator clawed her mind.
"Doing things you can't tell me?"
"..."
"Those kids put you up to it? Right?"
Sujin turned. Met eyes squarely first time. No rage, no defiance. Just exhaustion. Empty.
"What can you do?"
Quiet voice. No shout, no outburst. Flat, like to a wall.
Jinhee silenced. Sujin entered room, door click-locked.
It stayed shut. Next day, next: rice left on table. Returned untouched. Spoon moved: proof of life.
Should apologize. Say sorry. Whatever you did, unnie's here. But before words came, Sujin died.
No chance for sorry.
Hospital morgue end of hall. Face under white sheet: coldly rigid. Lips pale. Jinhee gazed down. No tears. Couldn't cry at parents' funeral either. What changes if the one who promised protection fails?
"Why."
Soundless leak from lips.
"Why'd you do this?"
Suicide. Jinhee rejected it. Bullying hearing perpetrator overwhelmed by conscience. Neat tale world craved. She didn't believe. Sujin no perpetrator. Dragged, used, scapegoated. Hearing record's label no truth.
Requested autopsy. Denied. No evidence. One relative's claim insufficient. Cremation rushed. Left: urn, questions.
Jinhee finished master's integrated. Dropped PhD. Bigger priority. Chased Sujin's death. Dug school records, traced friends, hunted hearing originals. Walls high: deleted files, tight lips, graduated perps. Too dark, vast alone.
Got teaching cert. Entered their school. Hunt from inside. Years passed at podium, grasping revenge threads—evidence slipped away.
Now, paper in hand changed all. Medical record. Drug prescriptions. Nurse's secret testimony. Treatment start matched their fight time exactly.
Bag-buying, makeup-gifting "friends." What was Sujin doing?
Fingers whitened on paper. Text shook. Not eyes. Hands trembled.
Jinhee looked up. Man opposite: arms crossed, leaning back casually. Cold, smug smile at her.
His deeds flashed: crushed pride, ravaged body, toyed with. Devil's hands from start. Yet only he offered truth.
Info beyond her reach, laid out like table setting. Three years' desperation tossed as "prepayment."
Set papers down. Fists clenched, released on lap.
Finally, Jinhee spoke.
"Please."
Bowed head pleading. To sole ally.
"Help me. Please."
