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The Hanok loomed in the distance, unchanged by time’s relentless march. The house, weathered and stubborn, stood amidst a sea of sand, animal droppings, and spilled fertilizer. Heat shimmered off the ground, wrapping the dilapidated structure in a suffocating haze. As I approached, the stench intensified, dragging with it a flood of memories I wasn’t sure I wanted to revisit.
Crickets chirped, their relentless song filling the heavy air. I stopped just short of the threshold, my feet hesitating on the shimmering sand. Could I face my father after six years? The icy tension between us was as tangible as the heat that radiated from the ground. The day I refused to work on his melon farm had marked the beginning of our estrangement. I had wanted something different for myself: suits and boardrooms, not sweat-stained shirts and muddy boots. My decision had been the right one, but returning now… It felt like stepping onto a battlefield.
I took a deep breath and moved forward. The stepping stone creaked beneath my weight as I removed my shoes. The wooden floor groaned as I stepped onto it, a sound that echoed like a reproach in the silence.
The door slid open, and there stood my mother, her face breaking into a warm smile. Before I could speak, she pulled me inside, her hands gentle but firm as she guided me into the small, familiar ondol room. The faint smell of herbs and old wood lingered in the air, mingling with the scents of a kitchen long accustomed to hard labor.
“Here you go, my son,” she said, placing a steaming pot on the worn wooden table. The lid released a cloud of fragrant steam as she opened it, revealing the chicken stew within.
The walls around us bore the stains of time: peeling wallpaper, mold creeping in the corners, and faint remnants of my childhood scribbles. I had drawn mansions and sleek cars, dreaming of a future far removed from this house. My father’s scolding hand had always interrupted those dreams.
“Thank you, Mom. This smells amazing,” I said, forcing a smile. The chicken was massive, its plump body floating in the rich broth.
“I’ve been feeding it well for weeks,” she said, shrugging. “It was strong, but I knew it would make a good meal for you.”
I handed her a small skincare gift set and an envelope stuffed with cash. She stared at the envelope, her hands trembling slightly.
“Oh, son, you didn’t have to,” she said, pushing the envelope back toward me. “Why spend your money on us? You should use it for yourself. Old folks like us don’t need fancy things.”
“Mom, take it. You’ve worked hard enough. With my new job, I’ll be able to support you fully soon. No more working on the farm.”
Her eyes glittered with pride and a trace of sadness. Before she could respond, my father’s gruff voice cut through the moment.
“Stop wasting your money on this nonsense,” he said, stepping into the room. He reeked of soju, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed the gift set and flung it onto the floor. “What we need is your hands on the farm, not your money.”
So typical of him.
I clenched my fists, keeping my tone calm. “Sir, is the money I’m sending not enough?”
“Oh, no, son, it’s plenty,” my mother interjected quickly, her eyes darting nervously toward my father.
“Enough?” he barked, tearing into a chicken leg. “You think throwing money at us makes up for abandoning your family?”
“Shush,” my mother said, snatching the other leg and placing it in my bowl. “Eat, son. Eat before it gets cold.”
I obliged, scooping the rich broth into my mouth as my mother began peppering me with questions about my new job. My father, of course, interrupted at every opportunity, his voice dripping with contempt.
“A thirty percent raise,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze. “Enough to send more money if needed.”
“Ha,” he scoffed, bits of chicken flying from his mouth. “Money doesn’t mean anything. What matters is family and hard work. You wouldn’t understand.”
The argument was an old one, worn out from years of repetition. I took a deep breath and focused on my mother’s hopeful expression instead. “I’m doing this for both of you. Please, let me help.”
My father stared at me for a long moment before grunting and turning away. I could feel the weight of his disappointment, but I was determined not to let it drag me down.
For now, the stew was warm, and my mother’s smile was enough. The rest could wait.