*Time skip of three years had passed*
The apartment was quieter than usual that night. The usual clatter of dishes, the hum of the television, or the distant sound of Yejun's heels clicking against the floor were absent. Jihoon, now ten years old, sat at the small kitchen table, his homework spread out before him. The dim light from the overhead bulb cast long shadows on the walls, emphasizing the emptiness of the space.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearing midnight. Yejun was typically home by now, often stumbling through the door with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. But tonight, there was nothing. No messages, no calls, no signs of her impending arrival.
Jihoon tried to focus on his math problems, but his mind wandered. He thought about the last conversation they had—a brief exchange about groceries and bills. She had seemed distant, more so than usual. There was a look in her eyes, a mix of determination and detachment, that unsettled him.
As the hours ticked by, Jihoon's concern grew. He checked her room, finding it unusually tidy. Her clothes were gone, the closet empty. The bathroom lacked her usual array of cosmetics and toiletries. Panic set in as he realized the implications.
He searched the apartment for any note, any clue, but found nothing. The silence was deafening.
The next morning, Jihoon awoke on the couch, having dozed off waiting for her return. The apartment remained silent. Days passed, and there was still no sign of Yejun. The refrigerator emptied, and Jihoon resorted to rationing what little food remained.
Neighbors began to notice. Mrs. Kim from next door knocked, offering a meal and inquiring about Yejun. Jihoon, unsure of what to say, simply shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Word spread, and soon, authorities were involved.
A social worker arrived, her demeanor a mix of professionalism and sympathy. She asked Jihoon in questions about his mother whereabouts, their living situation, and his daily routines. Jihoon answered as best he could, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eventually, it became clear that Yejun had abandoned him. The social worker explained that he would be placed in an orphanage until a more permanent solution could be found. Jihoon nodded, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders.
The orphanage was a stark contrast to his apartment. The building was old, with peeling paint and creaky floors. The other children were a mix of ages, each carrying their own stories of loss and abandonment. Jihoon kept to himself, his trust in adults shattered.
He missed the familiarity of his old life, even with its hardships. The orphanage staff were overworked but unkind, unable to provide the individual attention each child needed. Jihoon often found solace in books, escaping into fictional worlds where children were loved and cared for.
Nights were the hardest. The darkness brought memories of Yejun, both good and bad. He remembered the times she held him close, singing lullabies, and the times she lashed out in anger. The conflicting emotions left him confused and heartbroken.
As weeks turned into months, Jihoon adapted to his new environment. He learned the routines, made acquaintances, and found small joys in daily life. Yet, the void left by his mother's departure remained, a constant ache in his heart.
He often wondered why she left, what he had done to drive her away. The questions haunted him, but answers never came. Over time, he began to accept the reality of his situation, focusing on the present and the possibilities the future might hold.
Despite the pain, Jihoon held onto hope. He believed that one day, he would find a place where he truly belonged, where he would be loved and cherished. Until then, he continued to persevere, drawing strength from within.