Chapter 37.2

Chapter 37.2

“You’re now the attending physician for Executive Director Kwon of Jungdo Construction, huh? You’ve grown up so well.”

An elderly orphanage staff member stood in front of a large bookshelf, smiling contentedly.

“Moments like these are honestly the most rewarding part of taking care of the kids. Some people have prejudices about orphans, but since they learn about reality early, they often grit their teeth and work hard to turn their lives around.”

Dust had settled thickly on the bookshelf in the corner.

“When someone makes a point of succeeding and then comes back to the place where they were born and raised, it fills me with pride as someone who helped raise them at the orphanage. After all, for the kids, this place is their hometown, their home.”

The staff member, reading the numbers on the albums, let out a couple of dry coughs.

“For the kids living here now, seeing someone like you is proof they can make it too. It gives them hope. Isn’t that what a virtuous cycle is all about?”

The fingertip scanning the tightly packed albums suddenly stopped midway.

“Ah! Here it is.”

The staff member pulled an old album from the shelf and brought it to the table where Heeju sat.

“Thank you.”

After flipping through a few pages, they soon found a photo of Heeju and Heejin. The staff member, sitting across from her and looking at the album together, exclaimed happily.

“How can both sisters be so pretty? We know we shouldn’t, but honestly, we’re human, our eyes and hands naturally go to the pretty kids more often.”

“…”

“Look at this. Every page has your photos. Human instincts is truly uncontrollable.”

The staff member laughed heartily, wrinkles creasing the corners of their eyes, and gently asked Heeju.

“What does your sister do now?”

Heeju turned the pages calmly and answered.

“She’s dead.”

“Oh my…”

The flustered staff member was speechless for a moment, his mouth agape.

“O-oh dear… how did that happen…”

“…”

“Ah, look at me. Please, take your time. You can leave the album here when you’re done.”

The staff member stood up with an awkward expression. Heeju looked up at the staff member.

“Are these all the albums from that time?”

“Yes, one for each year.”

“I’m looking for someone, but they’re not in the photos. I’m sure they were here at the orphanage that year, and they were always wearing a cap.”

The staff member smiled gently at Heeju’s words.

“They probably had to take the cap off for photos. Pictures last a long time, so we want everyone to look neat and tidy, you know?”

“…Yes, that makes sense.”

Heeju scanned the photos one last time before closing the album with a snap.

“Thank you.”

“Ah, you’re done already?”

“Yes, thank you for your time.”

Heeju bowed her head in gratitude and stood up. Most of the orphanage staff were new, so there was no one left to ask about the past.

With nothing gained but growing doubts, Heeju opened the back door and stepped out. The path from the main building to the prayer room was exactly the same as she remembered.

She pulled the door handle, and the wooden door creaked open. Incense candles flickered at the entrance, and sunlight filtering through the stained-glass that filled one wall, painted colorful patterns on the floor of the prayer room.

Heeju sank onto a pew in the corner. The distinct scent of the prayer room lingered at the tip of her nose, stirring memories buried deep in her mind. With her hands clasped together as if in prayer, Heeju fell into deep thought.

***

Heeju came here one day, not long after she turned eight. They lost both their parents in a car accident on the same day and spent a long time in the hospital. When they were discharged, no relatives stepped forward to take them in.

Still, Heeju was lucky to have her older sister. The orphanage was unfamiliar, and without her mother, the only place where a sad child could cling to, was her only remaining family.

Her memories were fragmented, but she recalled whining about being scared every night. She’d crawl into her sister’s bed, hug her waist, and only then could she fall asleep. The old bed was far too small for the two of them to sleep, and it could’ve been annoying, but Heejin never once frowned at her younger sister. That was the kind of sister Heeju liked.

While other kids were desperate for the adults’ attention, Heeju didn’t care about anything as long as she had her sister.

About a year passed like that. Then, one day, she started waking up to find her sister’s bed empty.