The Story of Those Left Behind
"Mom, Dad — I'm home!"
Mina felt the familiar presence of Seon-a opening the front door. Overjoyed at the thought of seeing her son after so long, she rushed out into the living room.
That was as far as it went.
Until she woke from that happy dream, the story went no further.
A full month had already passed since Yurin and Seon-a disappeared.
The last trace of the couple who were about to be married had been found at a Gate accident. Yurin's car, discovered inside a Gate near the highway, was the proof that the two of them had been there. But inside the Gate itself, nothing else remained.
Monsters kidnapping humans was common enough — yet she still could not believe it. That her beloved son Seon-a, and even Yurin, who was to become her daughter-in-law, had simply vanished...
"Ugh... sob... My poor Seon-a... what am I going to do..."
Her husband Hyuntae lay beside her, weeping. The couple did not speak of it aloud, but each of them was thinking the same thing about what might have become of their son. They were afraid that if they gave voice to the words in their hearts, Seon-a would never come back.
As a hunter, she knew better than anyone what monsters did to the human men they carried off. By now, Seon-a — dragged away by monsters — was surely enduring something horrific and terrifying.
"Ah..."
Nothing but empty sighs left her lips as the tears kept coming. Deep down she already believed he was dead, yet her heart refused to accept it. But in all of history, not a single human swept into a Gate and kidnapped by monsters had ever returned. For all practical purposes, he was already gone.
That was why people caught in Gates were officially listed as missing. And that was why so many families, clinging to the hope that their loved one might be the first to come home, never held a funeral. Mina and Hyuntae had no choice but to think the same way. Their only son Seon-a could not be dead. That kind, good boy who had never once caused them grief — this whole thing had to be a lie. They were denying reality itself.
Today the couple had arranged to visit the home where their son and future daughter-in-law had lived, inviting Yurin's parents to join them. The living had to go on living. Both couples had resolved to put their hearts in order regarding the two who could never return. Having mutually accepted that Yurin and Seon-a were no longer of this world, they had decided to go sort through their belongings. They were also meeting to comfort each other — parents who had each lost their only child.
Mina prepared to head to Seon-a's house, looking after her husband, who had spent the past month shut inside like a broken man, weeping. Her own eyes were badly swollen; she too had cried without end. Embarrassed to show up at Seon-a and Yurin's home looking so wretched, she pulled herself together and got moving.
Hyuntae had fainted the moment he first heard that Seon-a had been caught in a Gate. Once the news sank in, the shock left him unable to sleep a wink or eat a proper meal. She herself was far from normal. She had requested an extended leave from work, cared for Hyuntae, and gone every single day for a month to the highway where the Gate had opened. Imagining that Seon-a might somehow be hiding somewhere, sheltering from the monsters, she had gone to that highway every day and called out his name.
A month of that...
At last, the couple had managed to settle their hearts. Yurin's parents, the Yura couple, had been going through the exact same ordeal, but through Mina and Hyuntae's persuasion they had agreed to find closure together.
There was a reason this had to be settled. The shock of losing Seon-a was steadily destroying Hyuntae's health. If things continued this way, she feared she would lose not only her son but her husband as well. The living had to live — that was the hard decision she had made.
On the way to their destination, she rekindled memories of Seon-a, thinking about the kind of person her son had been. A son who had grown up showered in his parents' affection from childhood, who had never once caused them trouble. A son who had inherited his father's handsome looks and her own eye shape. A son who had excelled at his studies and found himself a wonderful girlfriend. Before the wedding, her son had seemed a little unsettled — as if something had been weighing on him. But that was already in the past; there was no point dwelling on it now.
Like this, whenever thoughts of Seon-a came to her, tears would blur her vision and she would have to hit the brakes, bringing the car to a stop. Each time, she could not let herself sob out loud. If her husband heard her crying, he might start crying too. Grief was contagious that way.
After a long while, the couple arrived at the house near Hanil University where Seon-a and Yurin had lived. Yurin's parents, the Yura couple, were already waiting out front. The Yuras looked just as terrible. Their faces had wasted away to half their former fullness, and dark shadows spread wide beneath their eyes.
"You've arrived," Yura said carefully.
Though Yura held a higher rank at work as an executive director, they were meeting now as co-parents-in-law, so she used formal speech toward Mina, who was ten years her junior.
"We have. Are the two of you holding up all right?"
They could not possibly be all right — but the words were meant as comfort. What parent could be all right after losing a child? Because both couples bore the same pain, they took Mina's words as the comfort they were intended to be.
"Honestly, I still can't put it behind me. That Yurin and Seon-a just... vanished like that. It feels like a dream. A very bad dream..."
As Yura spoke, her husband's eyes reddened.
"Let's collect ourselves a little before we go in. I don't think I could handle what I'm feeling right now if we just walked straight inside..."
Mina suggested they rest a moment first. If they went in with their emotions this raw, they might well cry themselves into a faint the moment they saw their children's traces.
Neither couple spoke. No matter what they said, the conversation would inevitably turn to Yurin and Seon-a. Those were words they could not afford to speak if they wanted to steady their hearts.
A short while later, the two couples prepared to enter the house where Yurin and Seon-a had lived. Yura tried the front door password, then indicated that it was not working. Even after entering Yurin's birthday numbers, the lock would not release, so she turned to Mina. Mina understood what she meant. She entered Seon-a's birthday. The front door opened. Even now, with both children gone, you could see how much they had thought of each other.
A house that had not welcomed anyone in a month was cold and desolate. The two couples moved through the rooms, feeling the traces of the lives their children had lived there. They had decided not to clear the belongings right away — erasing these traces felt too heartbreaking.
When her husband suddenly broke into choking sobs and staggered, Mina supported him and led him to the bedroom Seon-a and Yurin would have used. Hyuntae's condition was poor, so she stayed by his side, comforting him — saying it was all right, that Seon-a must have been happy. Her husband cried until he seemed to faint, collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep.
The Yura couple sat blankly on the living room sofa. They were probably imagining what Yurin and Seon-a had done in this house.
Then she noticed a camcorder pointed toward the bed. Looking at it, a thought struck her at once. Seon-a and Yurin must have left behind many happy memories from before their married life — it would be good for both couples to watch those videos together and comfort each other. So she took the camcorder. They had already decided both couples would spend the night in this house, so once Hyuntae woke, they could play it that evening and watch together.
She found herself looking forward to whatever videos might be on it. Seon-a and Yurin had always gotten along so well — surely there would be photos and videos of them going places, eating delicious food, having fun. Maybe even memories with friends from their university days. Anticipation for those good memories filled her, even as the realization that she would never see those faces again brought the sadness flooding back.
Still — a parent's heart wanted to see their child's happy moments. If she avoided watching now because it would hurt, she knew she would only regret it later. Even a single photograph, even a few words — carving those memories of her son into her heart now was the only way not to regret it later.
Her husband seemed to be fully asleep. Because of Hyuntae's earlier outburst of grief, they still had not looked through the whole house, so she went through the other rooms and the veranda. Then she returned to the bedroom, took out the clothes her son would have worn, and held them close. The warmth of her son had long since left those clothes — and yet to her, they still seemed to hold a lingering warmth. When Hyuntae woke, she wanted to show him the clothes Seon-a had worn.