Ah… 

I stared at him, unable to say a word. 

He forgot me. That’s why he never came back to Chungmu. Not once. He didn’t leave for America to get married—he simply… forgot me. 

“So, where is he now?”

I asked, my voice barely a whisper. 

“He passed away. About a year ago. I was in Africa at the time. He lived a good life there. He built orphanages, schools, hospitals… he helped so many people.” 

I sat in silence, staring blankly as Si-hoo spoke. His words seemed to drift past me, hollow and distant. 

My eyes grew hot, and a foolish ache settled in my chest. The image of him, living in a faraway country and caring for the poor, flickered in my mind like a fleeting painting. It suited him. 

It suited you, Woo-jin. 

“But really, how did you know him, Grandma?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. A strange chill swept over me, and a sense of finality crept in. It was as if time itself was whispering that my summer was truly coming to an end. 

For the first time, I felt a strange relief that Ji-yoon wasn’t Woo-jin’s child. I didn’t know why—maybe it was a foolish thought. But somehow, it seemed enough that Yoo-jin and Si-hoo, their lives, and the ties of my blood to his, could continue without complication, without entanglement. 

That was enough, wasn’t it? 

If life had been cruel enough to drive me to the edge of madness, wasn’t I allowed this much mercy? 

“It’s… nothing, really.” 

“I’m happy that you knew my granduncle, Grandma.” 

“Yes, that’s good. I’m happy too, dear.” 

I wanted to tell them to be happy. Please, be happy—for all of us. 

My daughter decided to stay with me for a few days. She shared stories about her life, her successes, and struggles. It seemed her guesthouse in Spain, or whatever it was, had finally become well-established. 

You’ve done well. You made wise choices. You’ve done well, my child. 

“Mom, you’ve changed a lot.” 

I was steaming corn while gazing out the window. For a moment, it felt like he was sitting out there—the man who once sat on the porch, quietly looking up at the stars. As I listened to my daughter’s voice, his serene profile seemed to linger in my mind. 

She talked about the restaurant she ran, how it was always full of customers, and how her cooking skills might have come from me. She also told me about Yoo-jin’s fiancé, a self-made man with remarkable talent, and how happy she was that they got along so well. 

Her stories brought me a sense of peace. It felt as if they were telling me that it was okay now, that I could finally let go of the burdens I had been carrying in my heart. 

“Are you at peace now?” 

Woo-jin, sitting in the yard, turned to look at me and asked. 

“Yes.”

The 18-year-old version of me answered him. 

“I was so surprised. Si-hoo looks so much like you.” 

“Our family’s genes are strong,” he replied, making me laugh. 

“They’ll have a beautiful wedding, won’t they?”

I said, imagining my granddaughter in the lovely wedding dress I never got to wear. 

“Do you want to see it?”

I shook my head.

“No. This is enough.”

I looked at him as I spoke. He was still my prince, unchanged, forever youthful and handsome. Compared to him, I felt like a withered, aging shadow. 

What if he doesn’t recognize me? That had become my biggest concern lately. 

“I just want to go with you.”

That was my only wish.  After setting up bedding for Ji-yoon in the next room, I washed myself. It was summer, and I hesitated about using the oil to heat the water, but since this would be the last time, it didn’t matter.

After I had cleaned myself up, I took down the box I had kept on top of the wardrobe. Inside was the wedding attire Woo-jin had once prepared for me. It wasn’t a Western-style dress, but a soft, light pink hanbok—bright and elegant. He had it made because I struggled to walk in high heels, and he decided that a hanbok would suit me better. 

I had never worn it before—not even once. 

As I put it on, I felt like I had become young again, like I had returned to that summer when I was eighteen. How foolish of me. 

I couldn’t help but smile. 

As I lay down quietly, Woo-jin came to sit beside me. 

“Don’t be afraid.” 

“I’m not.” 

“It will feel like falling asleep.”

“I know. When we meet in heaven, you’ll remember me, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” he said, then added softly, “Actually… I never forgot you. Not even for a single day. I came to see you once. One summer… I saw that you were doing well. I saw you walking with your daughter, holding her hand. I saw you diving bravely as a haenyeo. And that was enough. It gave me peace. I could wait.” 

It was an ordinary day. 

The sun rose as it always did, on the day my daughter returned, the day my granddaughter brought the one she loves, the day you came back to me. 

And that made everything right. 

The countless pains, the endless longing—all of it was finally coming to an end. I had endured, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, and made it to this point. I had no regrets. 

“I missed you.”

I whispered softly.

“So did I.” 

“Let’s go home.” 

Sleep was creeping in. 

“…Let’s go to the sea now.”

I muttered one last time.