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Finally, the betrayal: she invited him to dinner. He sat in my father’s chair. He complimented her japchae. He asked about her day. And when I stormed off, I heard her say, “He’s always been sensitive. Don’t mind him.”
The corruption deepened slowly, like root rot. my bully tries to corrupt my mother yuna
I felt the floor drop. He was rewriting history. My bruises, my terror, my sleepless nights—he was recasting them as my inability to forgive. And Yuna, my sweet, lonely mother, was drinking it in because he was offering her something she’d lost when Dad died: the feeling of being needed. Finally, the betrayal: she invited him to dinner
He laughed—a hollow, startled sound. Then he saw her face. No softness. No pity. Just a mother who had remembered what she was protecting. I heard her say
