Old Wounds, New Vows

Twice a month, Mu-young went to visit Tae-seung. The official pretext was reporting on the state of the party, which was currently running under an interim leadership, but in truth it was also a matter of conscience.

Still, every time she left the detention center after seeing him, her heart felt lighter. He was holding up better than she had expected. Whatever else it was, visiting Tae-seung had become her duty.

"Well, if it isn't Mu-young."

Tae-seung, dressed in his gray prison uniform, greeted her warmly as he entered the visiting room.

The charge that had ultimately sealed his prison sentence dated back to the founding of the Citizens' Party, when he was still a first-term lawmaker — an accusation that he had accepted bribes in exchange for favors from a certain charitable organization.

It was an incident from more than a decade ago, yet it had surfaced without warning. The prosecution's investigation was clearly targeted, and he had been arrested from the outset on fears that he might destroy evidence. Those on Tae-seung's side protested loudly that it was political persecution — a move to cut him down the moment his name began circulating as a presidential contender.

But according to the evidence the prosecution presented, the sender's name and the exact amount had been traced, plain as day, directly into Tae-seung's account. Whether that money was a bribe or a simple donation became the subject of endless back-and-forth across every media outlet.

To sift the truth from the noise, a witness was needed. The person who had sent that money — none other than Mu-young's mother.

It had to be her testimony that brought the truth to light, but that was impossible. She was no longer among the living.

Mu-young's mother, a charity worker, had left for a volunteer mission in a conflict zone around that time, only to succumb to a virulent outbreak of infectious disease.

Mu-young was twenty-four. She fought desperately to at least see her mother's body one last time, but what came back to her instead was a cold urn of finely sifted ashes.

As she scattered them into the sea off her hometown, Mu-young seemed to cast away even her resentment toward her mother. Her mother had always said the same thing. Born with nothing, she wanted to leave this world the same way — light as the wind. In a sense, her wish had been granted.

Her mother, the eternal wanderer. Her mother, who pitied every poor soul in the world. Her mother, who could only feel alive when she was cradling some unfortunate child in her own two hands. Perhaps what Mu-young could never quite accept was the knowledge that the person who craved that kind of love most of all was her own flesh and blood — and that her mother had known it and looked away anyway.

Born without a father, Mu-young was the scarlet letter her mother carried. Her mother could never bring herself to erase her, but neither could she take on the responsibility of raising her. Once every few years she would appear, just to confirm with her own eyes that the girl was growing up well, and at night she would sit at the sleeping child's bedside and weep her apologies, over and over.

And yet — even that was enough for Mu-young. She was content knowing her mother lived somewhere, being a mother to children whose faces she would never know. Precocious from so early an age, Mu-young took the small urn that was all that remained of her mother into her arms and did not shed a single tear. No — it would be more accurate to say she couldn't cry.

It was simply beyond belief that a woman who had left nothing in this world but a single urn would have wired a fortune to Tae-seung under an old baptismal name that only she herself knew. This was a woman who was perpetually short of funds for her volunteer group, forever visiting sponsor companies to borrow and borrow again.

There had to be something beneath the surface. A hidden truth and purpose lurking behind what the world believed. Someone behind the scenes who had engineered for this case to surface when it did. Only by digging all of it out, she felt, could this suffocating sense of injustice ever be relieved. Maybe that was why she was clinging to Tae-seung so tenaciously now.

"Your face looks a bit rough."

Concerned by her unusually somber expression, Tae-seung asked carefully. Mu-young answered him with a bright smile, instantly.

"Who exactly are you worried about right now?"

She meant it wasn't the sort of thing a man inside a prison had any business saying. At her retort, Tae-seung could only let out an embarrassed laugh. She hadn't noticed it outside, but seeing his hair turned nearly white as snow, she was struck anew by how old he had grown.

"So... any good news?"

Tae-seung asked, trying to shift the mood. Though Mu-young came twice a month just to put her face against the glass, she had never once brought up the bribery case.

At some point the subject had become taboo for them both, and understandably so. Proving Tae-seung's innocence meant ripping open Mu-young's oldest wound, and neither of them knew what kind of scar that might leave. Which was why, even as Tae-seung contemplated giving up his appeal, Mu-young had resolved to get him out of prison by any means necessary.

It was the best way to extend his political life — and, she believed, her one chance to uncover the truth about her mother.

"As it happens, I do have something to tell you."

Mu-young began. In fact, she had requested today's visit precisely to deliver this news. At the sight of her looking as though she had something on her mind, a subtle change came over Tae-seung's eyes.

"What is it? Nothing's happened to your uncle's family, has it?"

He assumed that was the only thing that would ever make her hesitate like this before speaking, and worry crept back into his gaze.

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I'm... getting married."

Mu-young stated it plainly. After all, as that man had said, it was less a marriage than a business arrangement. If anything, it was Tae-seung who reacted as though it were something far more extraordinary.

"Huh...? What, I mean... wait, you were seeing someone?"

He looked genuinely bewildered that he had missed something so significant. They were close enough that he had always assumed he knew everything about her.

"Someone you know too, Representative."

"Me? Who?"

"Assemblyman Baek Kang-ho."

The moment that man's name left her lips, Tae-seung's face darkened visibly. There was even a flicker of reproach in his eyes — of all the men in the world, why did it have to be him? Mu-young had anticipated the reaction to some degree.

"No, overnight... how can this be?"

"I know."

She smiled as if discussing someone else's affair.

"I don't know what reasons you might have, but—"

"We both want the same things, so we agreed to it."

Mu-young deflected, glossing over the situation with a vague explanation. Even that much was enough to make Tae-seung's gaze shift, as though something had caught in his mind.

"Mu-young. Don't tell me..."

"For now, just believe that."

He had read her reasons — deduced the very terms of her choice — and Tae-seung couldn't help but try to talk her out of it. But the instant he opened his mouth, the guard's announcement cut through: visiting hours were over.

"I'll be going. I might not be able to come as often now. Take care of yourself."

Ignoring the tangled look on Tae-seung's face, Mu-young slipped out of the visiting room. She had expected to feel lighter, but she didn't, particularly. Could it be that even freeing Tae-seung was just an excuse — that what weighed on her was the knowledge that she was using all of it for some other purpose? A bitter smile lingered at the corner of her mouth.

"Noona, over here."

As she stepped out of the detention center, a familiar face was waiting. At the sight of him standing there with both hands stuffed in his pockets, a faint smile escaped her.

"And here I thought you weren't coming."

"Overslept. My shift ended late."

Subin, draped in his university windbreaker, looked utterly worn out. He had clearly prepared to attend the protest in front of the National Assembly again today, and the thought left Mu-young uneasy.

"Not going to see him again today?"

She asked, glancing back at the building behind them.

"It's fine. You saw him, noona."

Subin walked ahead without a trace of hesitation. Family, for Tae-seung, now amounted to this one college student. Subin had been seven when his wife died of cancer, and Tae-seung had raised his son alone while working as a human rights lawyer.

It seemed like only yesterday that Tae-seung would brag about the boy — how had he raised him all by himself? — marveling that Subin even earned his own spending money from part-time jobs. Then the case had stolen every last shred of that happiness, and a whole season had already slipped by.

They were each adapting in their own way, but it hadn't been easy. Mu-young understood perfectly why Subin found it hard to face his father. And that was exactly why she felt a duty to look after the boy all the more.

"Want to grab lunch together? It's been a while."

Mu-young fell into step beside him and threw an arm around his shoulders, bouncing lightly with each step. Clinging to her side, Subin pouted for no particular reason.

"Only if you buy me something expensive."

"You know I don't have money."

"Tch."

"Anything up to twenty thousand won is fine."

At her answer, the corner of Subin's mouth curled upward again.

"Then let's get budae jjigae."

"Ooh, excellent choice."

Smiling with satisfaction, Mu-young ruffled his hair.

It had been a while since something hot and spicy had tempted her. Mu-young headed into a franchise budae jjigae restaurant near the Assembly that she frequented. It was just past the lunch rush, so she figured the branch would be empty enough, and picked the main location.

And then she regretted it immediately. Should have gone to the second branch.

An unexpected man was seated at the head table. He, too, had apparently come out for a belated lunch, with only a single legislative aide in tow. When he spotted her, surprise flickered across his eyes as well.

To greet him or not to greet him — that was the question. While she hesitated, she felt a hand tugging at her from behind.

"Why are you just standing there?"

Subin wrapped an arm around her shoulder and steered her inside.