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“I’m sorry… I’m truly sorry…”
Tears streamed down the middle-aged man’s face. He was the driver who had cut in front of the taxi without signaling on the day of the accident.
Yeomyung’s dad let out a deep sigh. Yeomyung stood silently beside him.
“I understand. You can go,” his dad said. “It’s not like my mother is going to come back to life because of this. Just don’t drive like that anymore. Someone died because you were trying to save a few seconds.”
His dad rubbed the back of his neck, tension visible in his movements. Yeomyung helped him sit down in the mourner’s seat.
“Tell him to leave. Just let him go…” his dad muttered, waving his hand dismissively.
“You should go now,” Yeomyung said to the man.
“I’m truly ashamed… I’ve committed an unforgivable sin…” The man bowed deeply before slowly leaving the funeral hall. Yeomyung watched him walk away.
“Oh my god… Ahh…”
At his dad’s groan, Yeomyung turned. Despite the painkillers, his dad’s back pain had flared up again.
“Go lie down and rest. I’ll stay here,” Yeomyung said.
His dad rose slowly, holding his back, and made his way to the break room.
People trickled in and out, paying their respects. Most were elderly strangers to Yeomyung. Some offered quiet greetings, others shed tears, but no one broke down sobbing. It wasn’t a death that anyone grieved deeply.
An elderly woman laid a flower and approached Yeomyung.
“Are you Yeomyung?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recognize me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“That’s alright. It’s been so long since I last saw you. I’m your grandaunt.”
“Oh… hello.”
She took both his hands in hers, patting them gently. “I’m sure you’ve had a tough time because of your grandmother. Working day and night to cover her hospital bills. And I heard you took such good care of her, too. How much you must have suffered… And now, after all that, she’s passed away so suddenly. Your heart must be aching.”
His grandaunt reached up to pat Yeomyung’s back, her height barely reaching his shoulders.
“Your grandmother was lucky… I wonder if my grandkids will even blink if I fall ill someday…”
Yeomyung bowed slightly as she left the funeral hall.
He stood still, mind blank. The words of comfort, the comments about his grandmother, the apologies—he merely listened, absorbing nothing.
By evening, Hyeonmyung appeared.
“Go rest for a bit. I’ll stay here.”
It had been a long time since Yeomyung had heard his voice.
“I’ll stay,” Yeomyung replied.
“You’ve been here the whole time. I’ll stay tonight. We have to send her off early tomorrow morning.”
Though Hyeonmyung hadn’t shared the heavy burden of responsibility for their grandmother, he could manage something as simple as keeping watch at the funeral. The thought sparked a surge of emotions in Yeomyung—resentment, perhaps spite.
But now… what was the point?
Yeomyung left the funeral hall. Outside, groups in black clothes stood smoking. On benches beyond the smoke’s reach, others sat quietly. Even in grief, they had the presence of mind to avoid the cigarette smoke.
Yeomyung, who also hated the smell, sat on the steps in front of the hall. He blinked his dry eyes. Not a single tear had fallen.
He wasn’t sad. Just tired.
After wishing so much for her death, it would be absurd to feel grief now that it had finally happened. He was glad he felt nothing. If he had shed tears, Yeomyung would have found himself unbearably disgusting. Better to feel nothing. Better to be wholly bad. At least he didn’t harbor those pathetic thoughts like, I wished for her death, but deep down I loved her.
But was Yeomyung really that bad? Weren’t his dad and Hyeonmyung worse—doing nothing yet benefiting from their grandmother’s death thanks to him?
Now Yeomyung was left with these filthy feelings.
He wanted to scream at his dad, “Why put on such a sad face? Isn’t it good that Grandma died? When that man apologized earlier, shouldn’t you have thanked him? Thanked him for killing her? And what’s with that nonsense about someone dying just to save a few seconds? Who are you to lecture anyone? You couldn’t even live your own life properly…”
Yeomyung’s anger rose inexplicably, disgusting him. Why was this happening? Why was his rage flaring now?
“If only they’d arrived a few minutes earlier...”
Those words had poisoned his mood. Would his grandmother have really survived if he had called 911 right away?
If she had… that might have been worse. If she had lived, wouldn’t he regret it even more now? His dad and Hyeonmyung would probably resent him too, even if they never said it. Idiot, you had a golden opportunity, why did you save her?
If he could go back to that moment, what would he do?
For the first time, Yeomyung felt grateful that time travel was impossible.
He had always believed that when faced with a life-or-death moment, some innate humanity would emerge. That instinct would drive him to choose life. That something inside made him human.
But there wasn’t. When it came to his own well-being, he could choose another’s death. Yeomyung… was someone who could kill.
He felt hollow. Empty.
Even the smallest reason for self-worth had vanished.
“I’m sure you’ve had a tough time because of your grandmother. Working day and night to cover her hospital bills. And I heard you took such good care of her, too.”
His grandmother often spoke with his grandaunt by phone. Her hearing was poor, so she always used speakerphone, forcing everyone at home to listen to their endless conversations.
The topics never varied. Everything hurt. She wanted to die, but couldn’t. They needed to meet, but never did.
For the two elderly women to meet, their children had to make time to drive them. But the children always delayed. The grandmothers, not wanting to be burdens, dropped subtle hints during their calls, hoping they’d be heard.
She must have mentioned it then—how much Yeomyung suffered, how devoted he was in caring for her.
When his grandmother died, he hadn’t felt sad. When her breathing stopped, relief had overshadowed grief. So why did his chest tighten at his grandaunt’s words?
Why did something stir inside him at the thought of his grandmother saying, “Yeomyung takes such good care of me”?
Yeomyung clenched his teeth.
It’s useless. Thinking about that won’t help.
If he just lived without thinking too deeply, the memories would fade. Eventually, he’d convince himself these emotions meant nothing. That his actions—or inactions—during her death didn’t matter. He would think that way. He would just go on living.
“Food.”
A plastic bag swung before his eyes.
“You haven’t eaten, right?”
Yeomyung looked up. Daeun stood there, plastic bag in hand. She sat beside him.
How did she know to come? Maybe the dumpling shop owner had told her. She seemed like someone who would figure things out.
Daeun searched through the bag, filled with convenience store items.
“Kimbap? Sandwich? Bread? What do you want?”
“What’s the point of saving her?”
“Are you going to keep living like this? Wouldn’t it be better to just let her go?”
Daeun probably felt nothing after saying such things. Do people who truly wish for someone’s death avoid this useless guilt? But his grandmother had never wronged her. How could she say these things so easily? Did she really believe it was for his sake? Had she discarded her humanity for him, or had she never had any to begin with?
If someone told her the old lady might have lived if they’d arrived earlier, what would Daeun say? She’d probably reply, “Good thing,” that they’d almost made a mistake by saving her.
Even so…
Yeomyung didn’t think Daeun was evil. Maybe because he believed she was right.
“You have to eat to get through this,” Daeun said. “Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you should skip meals. Your body will wear out quickly.”
“Just go, please. Not today… Please just go.”
“Are you sad, Yeomyung?” Daeun asked, puzzled.
“…”
Why did she always probe like this? As if she knew exactly where he was most vulnerable, where it hurt most.
“You’re not really sad, right? Isn’t that true?”
“Please, let’s talk later. Just don’t ask me anything right now…”
“If you insist, I’ll leave. But I don’t understand why you’d be sad. Now that your grandmother’s passed, you don’t have to work at the logistics center anymore. Since it’ll be considered an accidental death, the insurance payout will be a lot. The driver’s wealthy, so there’ll be big compensation too. You won’t have to worry about rent for a while. Plus, with one less person, you’ll have more space at home…”
“Daeun, are you seriously out of your mind?” Yeomyung cut her off. “Someone just died, and you’re saying it’s good to have more space at home?”
His anger wasn’t because her words were absurd. It was because she was right. Because he had thought the exact same things. He was angry because she had caught him. People get angry when they feel ashamed.
“A nurse told me that if we had gotten there just a few minutes earlier, she could have survived. Do you know what that means?”
Daeun blinked. “Yeomyung… you think she died because of you. That’s why you’re sad.” She nodded as if she had just solved a tricky math problem.
Yeomyung let out a bitter laugh. Was she serious? He couldn’t believe it.
“But think about it,” Daeun continued. “Even if you had called right away, would she have really survived? Sure… if her heart had stopped after she reached the ER, they could have tried CPR or used a defibrillator. But would that have saved her? Maybe for someone younger, the chances would have been decent. But she was nearly 90. Do you think her odds of survival after cardiac arrest were that high? And if you’re going down that road, then the ambulance driver should feel guilty, too. What if he had taken a different route and gotten there a few minutes earlier?”
Daeun spoke as if writing an essay.
“And the person who should feel the most guilt is me, right? I’m the one who told you not to call. You were going to call from the start, and in the end, you did. Anyone in your situation would have hesitated, Yeomyung. You’re not a saint. How could you not have even a moment of doubt in that situation?”
These weren’t new thoughts to Yeomyung. They were the first ones he’d had. But in his own head, they felt like mere excuses. Now, hearing them from someone else, he realized it wasn’t just his twisted logic to avoid guilt. Other people thought the same way.
Of course, that didn’t make the dirty feeling go away. It didn’t mean he could naively believe, “It’s not my fault.”
But at this moment, as Daeun spoke, he could deceive himself for just a little while.
That it wasn’t his fault.

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