This Burns My Heart Page 0,80
her hands and pressed it against the back of his own hand. The gesture felt warm, tender, and she imagined how gently he’d hold her, if only he could. “Why do you think Fate keeps putting us in the same room?”
“It’s not Fate. I came to you in Pusan, and now you’ve come to me. It’s definitely not Fate. It’s will.”
“I’ve never given up hope that I could be with you.”
“I love my husband,” said Soo-Ja, reaching back for the rag. Yul did not return it to her immediately, and Soo-Ja had to pry it out of his hands using her own weight. In that second, their bodies felt connected, as the pressure from one pulled against the other.
“You’re lying. You only stay with him because you’re afraid he’ll take Hana away from you. I know the divorce laws.”
Soo-Ja avoided his eyes, pulling harder for the rag. “Things around here are not perfect, but I’m trying to make do with them,” said Soo-Ja. She had been getting better and better over the years at keeping up a stoic facade.
“I’ll leave you alone, but only if you say to me that you no longer have feelings for me.”
“I no longer have feelings for you,” said Soo-Ja, and she immediately felt the tears welling in her eyes. Right at that moment, Yul’s fingers finally let go of the rag, and Soo-Ja found herself wrapping the harsh cotton against her knuckles. Why had he let go of it, and of her? Why had he not held on to it in the palm of his hand?
“Does this mean you forgot about me? I remember the last time we saw each other. I could swear, from the look on your face that night, you would have run away with me.”
“And why didn’t we, then?” asked Soo-Ja, and she felt her yearning break through the surface and gasp for air. “All right, you want me to tell you if I still—love—you? Is that the word you think I’m so afraid of saying? Love? I could do that. I could tell you that. But what does it do? Nothing except make us feel bad. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Is that how you feel?”
“I’m a married woman. I’m not free to tell you how I feel.” It was true, but only because she feared that once she started, she would not be able to stop. “Your wife is just across the hall.”
“I know. But I thought I’d forget you with time, and I haven’t. When I was younger, I thought there was only room for one person at a time in your heart. And each time you met someone new, you evicted the one who was there before. But now I realize that there are multiple rooms, and your old love doesn’t leave. It sits there, waiting.”
It occurred to Soo-Ja that if she gave him permission, he’d kiss her right then and there. But she realized that all along, what she really wanted wasn’t to have him in the present—how could she, married woman that she was, married man that he was—but to rewrite the past, have him go back in time and create a version that allowed them to kiss. To be able to kiss him did not seem to take much—a step forward, the angling of her face. But, in fact, it required rearranging the molecules of every interaction they had ever had, from the very first day that they met.
“Forget me, Yul. As long as you’re here, you’re just a guest.”
How could I have chosen Min over you? Soo-Ja asked herself, facing the past in the cold light of the present. I made a terrible mistake.
When Soo-Ja could no longer remain steady, she left the room. As she emerged, she was thankful that no one was out in the hallway. Otherwise, they would have seen her burst into tears, her breathing sharp and difficult, and they might have wondered what had just happened to her.
chapter twelve
Over the next few days, Soo-Ja began to pick up more and more details about Eun-Mee. She learned that in the course of her life, Eun-Mee had had several brushes with fame. The first time, when Eun-Mee was ten years old, she had participated in the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the reopening of the Namdaemun Market after the war. The dress she wore—a pink velvet one-piece with puffed-up shoulders and ruffled hemming—became something of a sensation once it appeared on a photo on the front page of the Chosun Ilbo, with little