Owen stared at the framed photo of Jungtae in his room. They had just returned from the police station with Mrs. Han, but there was still no information. There were no leads, no calls, nothing. Mrs. Han had gone straight to her room, exhausted from crying and waiting all day.
Owen hadn't slept properly in days. It had been a week since Jungtae disappeared.
His fingers brushed the edge of the frame as memories flooded back. Those times when they were in the flower shop, being at peace, their last conversation that night.
A tear slipped down Owen's cheek.
'I should've gone with him…what happened to you, Jungtae? I feel so useless Jungtae…'
His chest tightened painfully.
Then the memory that surfaced when they were walking last time was like a piece. A blonde man shouting at him, voice raised.
'Was that… My father? I'm remembering bit by bit. But why do I have to remember him first!'
Owen grabbed his jacket and stepped outside.
