AAE -- For Better For Worse

Part 3 -- Chapter 23

by LoveCR2

edited by All-About-AAE

 

 

The bathroom is a narrow rectangle, barely wide enough for Sun-Mi to stretch her legs. The bare florescent tube above the sink casts a cold, harsh light, it's aged ballast emitting a barely perceptible hum that fills the quiet void. The odor of mildew clings to the air, stubborn and sour, barely masked by the fragrant scent of lavender soap Sun-Mi keeps in a chipped ceramic dish — a small luxury, a reminder of home.

 

She cowers on the floor, spine pressed against the wall tiles yellowed with age and grime. Knees drawn tightly up to her chest, her breath comes in rapid, jagged bursts. The silence is deceptive -- her ears still ring with the echoes of Hyung-Chul's rage. The violent clash of objects hurled against the locked door. The venom laced in his voice. -- She trembles, but it's not fear that grips her.

 

It's fury. And shame.

 

She had defiantly maintained her dignity like a shield as she had danced, exposed to the glaring lights and leering eyes. She had never crossed the line. Never sold herself to the temptation of money -- not in the way he accused. Her heart and soul had remained his alone.

 

But Hyung-Chul's cruel words had sliced through her carefully constructed armor, stripping away every defense, leaving her demeaned even in her own eyes. Not because she was guilty, but because she had hoped. That he would understand. That he would see past the too-revealing costumes, past the choices made in quiet desperation. Hoped he would see her as she saw herself, a woman who had endured, who gave her utmost for both their sakes.

 

 

Long after the barrage is over, Sun-Mi remains curled on the hard tile floor, her body a question mark. Tears flood her cheeks, her face twisted in silent anguish. Her heart aches with the dull throb of rejection, raw, hollow, and bruised. By the absence of love when she needed it most.

 

Eventually she rises, slowly, her limbs protesting, numb and stiff. She somberly turns to the mirror, flinching at the reflection staring back at her -- swollen eyes, tangled hair, streaks of dark mascara tracing her bitter tears. She remembers the face of the successful woman she once was. A popular radio personality. An award-winning primetime television host. Queen of the airwaves, poised and elegant and proud.

 

Now her face is sallow, gaunt, jaded -- the reflection of a survivor who's forgotten how to hope.

 

 

Methodically she wipes away the ruined makeup, stripping off the mask she had put on to survive -- the hardened dancer who had honed her craft, learned to perform without feeling -- each swipe of the cotton pad revealing more of the fragile woman beneath.

 

She turns on the shower, undresses, and steps beneath the stream. The water pummels her scalp, rinsing away the stench of cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol from the VIP lounge. She imagines it washing deeper, scrubbing out the rage, the shame, the ache.

 

The unrelenting stream warms her from the outside in, spreading a balmy peace through her heart, diluting the anger, rinsing away the humiliation. But it can't fill the cold loneliness between her and her beloved Senior, a rift caused by her decision to have an abortion. Wasn't it the practical solution? The only way to survive their financial crisis?

 

She wonders of how one crisis could so easily split them apart, when another had brought them together...

 

Her thoughts fly back to that night -- the panic, the pain, the blood on Hyung-Chul’s hands. The abnormally quiet delivery by the emergency paramedics as she slipped into unconsciousness. The next morning, when her dreams excruciatingly died as she held their tiny, frail, lifeless son to her breast, clutched in her trembling hands, wailing out her grief.

 

Hyung-Chul had stood by her as her whole world had collapsed for six months, his gentle words as he embraced her while she wept bottomless tears. His forbearing nature carrying her through doubt and self-accusation in the valley of her darkness, until the woman she had thought her enemy for life, Yoo Joo-Hee -- his fiancee spurned -- had shared of losing her own child and helped her move forward, forgiving herself.

 

Yet the pangs of guilt still echo deeply in her heart -- the fear that somehow her body was deficient -- that she was not suitable to be a mother -- nor to be a proper wife.

 

She had cherished that child with her whole being. Struggled and prayed for two years through IVF, seeing her hopes bloom, then die, each month. But now, faced with another vulnerable life depending on her, she realizes that she is terrified. Terrified to hope again, to risk another devastating loss. Is that why she had so readily considered disposing of this one like an unwanted bit of trash?

 

Eyes closed, she lets herself dissolve into the rhythm of the water, dreaming of a life untouched by regret. A life without the compromises she made to survive. A life filled with love. With second chances.

 

Refreshed and clean, Sun-Mi sits on the edge of the tub wrapped in a towel, musing that perhaps her dream could become real. Her hand slides under the towel. With her fore finger she traces the slight swell, envisioning the day when she would feel the first kick of her baby against her swollen belly. Maybe this child she had hoped and prayed and waited so long for, is a sign. A promise of something better beyond the horizon.

 

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I never wanted to harm you. But I was afraid. I didn't know what I was thinking. I felt I had no choice. But I'm going to try again, this time to do things right."

 

The baby doesn't respond, but she wants to believe it had heard her apology. She visualizes the innocent face smiling up at her, gurgling approval. Forgiving her. Trusting her.

 

 

Later, cloaked in her long terrycloth robe, a towel coiling her damp hair, Sun-Mi stands before the bathroom door. Her hand hovers over the handle. She inhales slowly, deeply, summoning courage, bracing for the reckoning she has to confront.

 

She opens it.

 

Hyung-Chul is still on the couch, his back to her, staring at the blank TV screen. An unlit cigarette dangles from his lips, the lighter clenched in his fist. Her dance costumes -- glimmering, garish, looking absurd in normalcy of their home -- lie strewn about where he had tossed them in his fury.

 

Hesitantly, Sun-Mi steps out of the bathroom, slippers padding softly on the floor, careful to avoid the clutter of debris outside the door. Though he must hear her, he doesn't speak or move. The silence between them is thick, a chasm of unspoken regrets.

 

She stops a step away, close enough to touch his shoulder. As her fingers stretched, desperate for a physical connection, for an assurance that recovery is still possible, she recalls the proverb from her mother's diary, words she had quoted on her radio program an eternity ago -- 'You can't clap with only one hand.' -- Had her mother felt this same despair? Fear clinches her gut, and she holds back, deciding it is better to not know and keep her hopes alive, than risk rejection again.

 

 

"I'm sorry it came to this," she apologizes softly, her voice barely audible. "All along I watched you suffer, and instead of being the wife you needed, I acted selfishly. I added to your shame. And tonight... I said terrible things I wish I could take back.

 

She pauses, the words catching in her throat, "I hope you can forgive me. But if you can't..."

 

Her voice trails off. She cannot say the words acknowledging that this might be the end.

 

 

Hyung-Chul leans forward and grinds the cigarette into the coffee table ashtray with deliberate finality.

 

"It came to this because of me, not you," he takes full responsibility, his stare fixed on the crushed cigarette, still gripping the unused lighter with white-knuckled fingers.

 

"But, Senior..." she tries to interject, reaching out to him with a trembling hand.

 

"I failed you," he states, ignoring her gesture, his raw voice overriding hers. "Failed to be the husband you deserved. Failed to protect you. Failed to provide for you. And I forced you into choices that no woman should ever have to make. I even blamed you to cover my own failures! What I did... was unforgivable..."

 

His face contorts with the desperation of a man convinced he is beyond redemption. "Go back to Seoul. Save yourself. Forget about me."

 

Sun-Mi pulls her hand back as if he had slapped it away. Her chest tightens as she ponders -- Is this another rejection? Or a cry of agony? -- She swallows hard, her voice wavering as she stammers out a quiet, blunt reply, "Then... you... do you want me to leave you?"

 

"You'll have a better life there. For yourself. For the baby. Without me dragging you down."

 

"I don't want to live alone in Seoul," she states firmly, her voice rock steady now that she is speaking the truth in her heart. "I want us to be a family. Here, with you. Our child needs a father. And I need you."

 

"How can you mean that?" Hyung-Chul scoffs, shaking his head with self-loathing. Hadn't he crushed her dreams? Stripped her of her family, her dignity, by his selfish desire to make her his wife at all costs? "I can't even be a good husband! What child would want a father like me? An unemployed drunk?"

 

 

Sun-Mi sits beside him on the couch, close enough to feel the trembling of his despair.

 

"The best days of my life were shared with you. I can't imagine living without you by my side. Whatever comes, we'll face it together," she promises.

 

"But I ruined everything," he declares. "Why should I think I can do better now?"

 

"You didn't do it alone," she accepts complicity. "We both made mistakes."

 

"But now we have a child. What if we fail again?"

 

"Then we pray," Sun-Mi says with assurance. "Like before, when it seemed impossible for us to marry. God helped us then. Couldn't He help us now?"

 

"Why would God do that?" Hyung-Chul asks bitterly, questioning her confidence. "I can't even remember the last time I went to Mass or Confession."

 

"I can't either," she admits. "But Father Kim always said it's not about being devout. It's about admitting we're broken and need redemption. If we turn back to God, he welcomes us like the father in Jesus' story who embraced his wayward son -- with arms open wide."

 

"I don't know if I can believe that," he doubts. "We prayed for me to find a new job, but it didn't happen. And we prayed for another child, and that didn't happen either. Where was God then?"

 

"I've had those feelings, too," Sun-Mi admits to her own disbelief. "The more we struggled, the more angry I became at God for not helping us when we needed it the most. But I was demanding God give me the life I thought I deserved -- comfort, social status, a child to love. I wasn't willing to accept what He gave me instead."

 

 

Looking up at the small silver crucifix on the wall -- the one she had hung to bless their new home -- Sun-Mi reminds herself that it has always been there, forgotten in the background, a silent witness to God's continual presence. All they had needed to do was hearken to the words of the chorus of a hymn she had learned in her Auntie's church as a child -- 'Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.'

 

She takes Hyung-Chul's hands, her eyes full of quiet hope, bidding him to join with her in prayer. Together, they kneel.

 

"This time, Senior," she urges, her voice a soft but determined whisper, "when we pray for God's help, let's also ask for the wisdom and strength to accept His answers."

 

In response Hyung-Chul squeezes her hand, unable to speak because of the joy welling up in his heart. Together, they bow their heads and fold their hands, joined in their silence before God.

 

A picture, evoked from the thousands of Sun-Mi stored in the vaults of his photographic memory, filters to the top of his conscious mind -- the radiance of her face on their wedding day, as the priest intones the words of Holy Scripture -- 'For the husband shall come together with his wife, and the two become one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.'