The doorbell chimed, a sudden, sharp "Ding Dong, Ding Dong" cutting through the silence of my apartment. I put down the document I was working on, stood up, and walked toward the door, feeling a mild sense of annoyance. Who would be showing up this late?
"WHO IS IT—?" I pulled the door open to find a blank, brown envelope waiting for me. I picked it up, feeling its weight, and frowned as I looked it over. There was no name, no return address.
"I wonder who this is from," I murmured, stepping back inside and closing the door.
Before I could even set the envelope down, my phone buzzed insistently in my hand. BZZZZ BZZZZ. I looked at the caller ID—it was a number I didn't immediately recognize, but I answered it anyway.
"Hey, Ajin..." A familiar, slightly breathless voice came through the line.
"What's up? It's quite late."
"You're at home, right? I sent a document to your place."
My eyes widened slightly as I looked down at the anonymous envelope in my hand. "Oh, so you're the one who sent this... I was wondering—there wasn't a name or address on it."
A Shocking Revelation
I still held the envelope, but the conversation had immediately grown serious.
"If there's no rush, I'll take a look at it at another time. It's my dad's annual memorial today. I have to leave now to get there by tomorrow afternoon—"
The voice on the other end cut me off, the tone now sharp and demanding. "That's why you have to look at it right now." A moment of silence passed before the devastating words landed. "I can't stand that you have to mourn the death of a man who isn't even your real father."
"What are you talking about...?" I asked, the blood draining from my face. I instinctively looked toward the suit jacket hanging ready for the memorial. This couldn't be right.
"Your mother told me to keep my mouth shut until the day I die... But you're not a kid anymore and you have a right to know."
I gripped the phone tighter, my heart beginning to race. "Ajin, what are you talking about—? Do you remember Mr. Kang? He was your father's driver."
"Yeah, but why are you bringing him up all of a sudden...?"
"That's because... that man, Jiho Kang, is your real dad."
The world tilted. My breath hitched. I ripped open the envelope I was holding, papers scattering everywhere. I didn't even register the title on the first page—Paternity Test—as the sheer shock washed over me.
"What...? SCATTER"
The voice on the phone was solemn now. "Listen carefully. Your real father passed away from cancer two years ago."
I stood there, surrounded by the devastating documents, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. The man I mourned wasn't my father, and my true father—a man named Jiho Kang—was already gone.
I wonder what I'll do with this information. Should I confront my mother, or will I choose to keep this secret for now?
I sank to the floor, papers scattered around me. The realization was both physically and emotionally sickening. I picked up one of the documents—a Paternity Test Result. It read: "The probability of paternity between Jiho Kang and Junseo Yun is 99.85%... Based on the samples provided, it can be confirmed that Jiho Kang is the biological father of Junseo Yun."
"He was overseas for a long time and returned to Korea out of the blue because he was diagnosed with cancer," the voice explained. "I only met with him a few times so I don't know the whole story either... But he said he didn't want to meet you."
I clenched my fists, the paper crumpling in my hand. "...Serious right now?"
"He said it would be too cruel to tell you the truth on his death bed... only to hurt and confuse you."
A memory flashed in my mind—a childhood photo. "You once showed me a photo of your family when we were kids. Even as a child, I could see that you were the splitting image of Mr. Kang."
The caller continued to reveal the devastating, silent history. "You probably only ever thought of him as your family driver, so you never saw it... But I think everyone around you noticed and had a feeling... including Mr. Yun, the man you believed to be your father." I could feel the truth of that statement; it explained so many things about my 'father's' emotional distance. The man I had loved and respected had known.
"He probably kept quiet and treated you as his real son to avoid hurting you. It must be why he didn't leave a cent in your mother's name and left everything to you."
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, forming a dark, undeniable picture. All of it—the inheritance, the silence, the strained looks—it was all because of this lie.
"If you don't believe me, you should ask your mother yourself. She's the one who's been behind all this, after all."
The Confrontation
I stood up, the anger and betrayal surging through me, overriding the shock. I had to go. I had to face her. I grabbed my car keys, the need for answers a burning urgency.
I sped through the city, the roar of my engine (VROOOOM) drowning out my racing thoughts. The moment I arrived at the house, I could hear it—a frantic "DING DONG BANG BANG BANG BANG" as someone hammered on the door.
"WHO'S MAKING THAT RUCKUS?" I heard the low voice of the housekeeper through the door, followed by the sound of the lock sliding.
"Well, it's your son, ma'am..." the housekeeper said, his voice hesitant. "I let him in, but he seems..."
My mother, dressed in black for the memorial, rushed toward the door. "MY SON? JUNSEO IS HERE?"
I burst past the housekeeper, my chest heaving, the crumpled paternity test result now clutched like a weapon. My eyes locked onto hers, and I saw a flicker of fear in her expression that confirmed everything the caller had told me. There would be no memorial today. Only the shattering of a lifetime of lies.
What will I say to my mother now that I know the truth?
You burst past the housekeeper, your shadow stretching long and dark across the entryway. Your mother stopped dead, her face a mask of concern that quickly morphed into fear as she saw the sheer fury in your eyes and the crumpled paper in your hand.
"Junseo, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be—"
You cut her off, the words tearing out of you, raw and shaking.
"Don't. Don't you dare say his name." You took a step toward her, forcing her to back up. "I know, Mother. I know everything."
You thrust the balled-up paternity test result toward her face.
"I am not his son. My father was the driver. Jiho Kang. The man I am supposed to be mourning today, the man who raised me, knew I wasn't his. And you—" Your voice cracked with betrayal. "You let him live a lie, you let me live a lie, and you kept silent even after my real father died two years ago! He died thinking I never wanted to know him because you kept us apart!"
You dropped the paper and it landed silently at her feet, a white flag of surrender on your mother's part, or a gauntlet thrown by you.
"Tell me," you demanded, your chest heaving, "Is the only reason you waited this long because you thought you could keep the inheritance? Did you think you could just mourn a ghost and keep the secret buried forever? Who are you, really?"
The housekeeper was gone, leaving the two of you alone in the devastating silence of the grand house. Now that the truth is out, what is your next move?
Demand a full explanation: Force your mother to tell you every detail about her relationship with Jiho Kang and why she kept the secret.
Turn and leave: Walk out immediately, unable to be in the same room with her, needing time to process this seismic shift in your reality.
Find Mr. Yun's will: Confirm the caller's claim about the inheritance being left entirely to you and confront her with the evidence that your 'father' protected you even in death.
The initial shock of the paternity lie faded, replaced by a colder, more devastating realization as my gaze fixed on my mother. She collapsed, sinking to the floor next to the crumpled paper.
"SAY SOMETHING. AT LEAST GIVE ME AN EXCUSE," I pleaded, dropping to my knees. "TELL ME I'M WRONG, EVEN IF IT'S JUST A LIE...!"
Her chest heaved with silent sobs. I stared at her, the woman who had caused all this pain, and the memory of my sister, Ajin, flooded my mind. The old wounds ripped open.
"SOB... I... I'M SORRY..." she finally choked out, tears streaming down her face.
"You know, I never understood why you were so cruel to Ajin... when she was just a kid," I said, my own tears starting to fall. "But I think I finally get it. She knew what you had done..."
I remembered the whispers, the strange looks, the tension that always surrounded my sister.
"...AND YOU COULDN'T STAND THAT, COULD YOU?"
My mother looked up, her face twisted with a desperate, frantic terror. "NO! THAT'S NOT TRUE...! S-SHE BLACKMAILED ME FIRST...!! SHE WAS TRYING TO USE THE TRUTH TO—"
"DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW OLD AJIN WAS BACK THEN...?" I shouted, the thought of her fragile childhood pain overwhelming me. "ARE YOU REALLY SUGGESTING THAT SHE WAS A THREAT TO YOU?"
The horrifying truth, the one I had always suppressed, burst into the open.
"YOU SHOVED HER HEAD IN A BATH TUB AND TRIED TO DROWN HER!!!" I screamed, the sound echoing in the silent house. "I CARRIED AROUND THE GUILT YOU SHOULD HAVE FELT FOR WHAT YOU DID... and watched as Ajin became more and more broken..."
My voice dropped to a tormented whisper. "WAS IT REALLY SO HARD TO OFFER HER A SIMPLE APOLOGY? Ajin is the way she is now because of you... and the trauma from the things you did to her..."
A Betrayed Brother
My guilt, a heavy chain I'd worn for years, finally found its source. I collapsed fully onto the floor, trembling.
"...IT'S ALL BECAUSE I COULDN'T SAVE HER THAT DAY IN THE BATHROOM... I BETRAYED HER..."
I looked at my mother, the architect of our misery, and the final piece of the devastating puzzle clicked into place.
"I was always convinced that I had to rescue Ajin from the cycle of misery and... AND TO LEARN THAT... YOU DID THOSE THINGS TO HER BECAUSE I'M THE CHILD OF AN AFFAIR..."
It was all connected. Her abuse of Ajin, the secret of my paternity, the death of my real father—it was all rooted in her infidelity and the trauma she inflicted to cover it up.
From the floor, my mother's voice was barely audible, a hollow echo of remorse. "...That was the only way to pay for my crimes... But it turned out that I was the source of her misery." She looked up at me, a desperate plea in her eyes.
"WHAT WOULD AJIN HAVE THOUGHT WHILE LOOKING AT ME, THE PERSON WHO WAS THE SOURCE OF ALL HER PAIN?"
She didn't miss Ajin for the loss of a daughter, but for the loss of a scapegoat. The rage in me went cold.
"I MISS AJIN SO MUCH..." she cried, a broken sound.
I stood up, backing away from her. The house, the money, the 'father' I had mourned—it was all built on a foundation of lies and abuse.
"I have no family left," I stated flatly, not as a cry for sympathy, but as a statement of fact. She had destroyed the only family I thought I had.
The narrative shifts to a different scene, a flashback, or perhaps another part of the story happening concurrently.
I was at a fancy restaurant, sitting across from a woman. The ambiance was rich, the table set with fine food and wine.
"An acquaintance of mine strongly recommended this restaurant," she said, raising her glass.
"What do you think of the food?" I asked.
"It's great. I especially like the wine... But I'm starting to feel really tipsy from that one glass."
I chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through me that wasn't just the wine. "You've been working really hard lately. It must be because you're tired."
I rubbed my head. "I feel really off today. My head feels so heavy."
"You're right, it must be because I haven't been sleeping much," I agreed, trying to shrug off the sudden fatigue.
The woman smiled sweetly. "How about we call it a night? We can say hello to the chef next time."
"Yeah, let's do that," I replied, my words feeling thick.
A short time later, I was in a car. The woman sat close to me, and the man driving—Mr. Lee—was looking back.
VROOOOM
"It looks like he completely passed out," the driver commented.
The woman, Ms. Baek, replied, "I don't know... I put in a little more than the recommended dose, but...."
The driver offered a reassurance: "Perhaps it hit him stronger than expected. He won't feel anything once he wakes up, right?"
"Of course not," Ms. Baek said, leaning into my unconscious form. "You won't have to worry about that."
The Bell and the Aftermath
My phone buzzed: BZZZZ BZZZZ. Ms. Baek glanced at the screen, then spoke to the driver.
"Mr. Lee, could you drop me off in front of my place?"
"Yes, Ms. Baek."
They exchanged a few final words before she got out of the car.
"I'll message you. Please take care of the rest."
"SURE. WHAT TIME SHOULD I COME BY TO PICK YOU UP TOMORROW?"
Later, the doorbell of an apartment rang: DING DONG DING DONG.
A man opened the door to me. I was swaying slightly, wearing only slippers.
"You're late. Did you walk here?" he asked.
"Yeah, I had a few drinks so I took a little walk," I mumbled, wobbling past him into the apartment.
"I know how much you hate the smell of alcohol," he said, looking at the bottle I'd brought.
"It's okay. I had something to drink too. Let's turn on a little music," I slurred, reaching for the stereo.
"Why don't you come sit down instead of wobbling around like that?" he suggested, concern coloring his voice.
I stumbled toward the bed and sat down, my head in my hands. The music began to play, a melancholic German piece: "Du meine Seele, du mein Herz, du mein Wonn' O du mein Schmerz..."
The man stood over me. "Did you drink because you were upset?"
He knelt beside the bed, his voice soft. "Did the truth hurt you so badly that drinking didn't help you forget...?"
I looked up at him, my eyes bloodshot, the alcohol failing to numb the crushing reality of my life. "I don't think this is something..." My voice trailed off. The truth was too big for any amount of alcohol to drown.
The image sequence suggests that Ms. Baek may have drugged me for some purpose, while the last image shows me trying to drink away the pain of the revelation. What is my next move in this complicated web of secrets and betrayal?
I sat on the edge of the bed, my head heavy, the bitter taste of alcohol and betrayal stinging my throat. The man who lived with me—the same man who let me in the door earlier—knelt beside me, concern etched on his face.
"Did you drink because you were upset?" he asked softly. "Did the truth hurt you so badly that drinking didn't help you forget...?"
I looked up, tears welling in my eyes. "I don't think this is something that can be forgotten..." I trailed off, the weight of the last few hours crushing me. I had just found out my entire life was a lie, my father wasn't my father, and my mother was an abuser.
He leaned in, his voice a low, seductive plea. "Can I help you take your mind off of it for a little while?"
I could only look at him, confused, and managed to whisper, "WHY—?"
He moved closer, his gaze intense. "I'll help you forget it all... So you just hold onto me." He reached out, his hand cupping my face. "JUST FOCUS ON ME TONIGHT."
I was broken, desperate for any distraction, any kind of numbing embrace to escape the harsh reality. As he leaned in, his eyes full of a strange mix of desire and pity, I closed mine.
"CLOSE YOUR EYES, JUNSEO..."
He kissed me, a desperate, consuming act that promised oblivion, if only for a few hours. The German song played on in the background, a mournful dirge echoing the death of the life I once knew.