Flashback 1
Date: 19.07.2003
The sky was heavy with clouds, as if rain could fall any minute.
A five-year-old girl stood quietly under a tree near her house. Her big black eyes watched the other kids playing in the park. She wanted to join them… but instead, she turned away.
Just then, a little girl ran up to her.
Girl 1: "Do you want to play with us?"
She nodded shyly, her innocence shining through.
They began playing. But soon, another girl shoved her hard to snatch the football.
She (hurt): "Why did you push me? That's cheating.
"Girl 2 (mocking): "So what? Gonna call your mom?"
Boy 1 (quietly): "Don't say that... Her mom died."
Girl 2's face shifted, but she said nothing—just gave her a strange look and walked away.
Those eyes. That pity. She couldn't bear it.
Tears welled up as she ran home. She didn't know how long she cried. She just kept wiping her face with her small hands, trying to hide the hurt.
When she got home, her father was slumped on the sofa—drunk, again. His eyes were half-closed, his words slurred.
Father (muttering):
"Where've you been, ungrateful child? Your mother shouldn't have given birth to you… You killed her. Now you wander around like nothing matters. Get out of my sight."
He tried to sit up, failed, and collapsed to the floor. Too drunk to move. He just lay there, breathing heavy.
She didn't say a word. She just ran.
In her room, she shut the door and slid to the floor. The tears came faster than she could wipe them away.She (whispering):
"Mom... why did you leave me here? Why did you bring me into this world?"
That girl was no ordinary child. That was Shin Hye.
At sixteen, after years of bruises and silence, she finally fought back. One night, bloodied and beaten, she ran. She showed up at her great-aunt's house—her grandmother's sister—who didn't ask questions. She already knew the truth.
The woman took her in, no hesitation. She never told Shin Hye's father where she was. She didn't have to—he never came looking. Weeks later, he died. Drunk. Hit by a car.Shin Hye stayed. The house was small, but it was safe. Her aunt, who had lived alone her entire life, poured every drop of love into the broken girl with bruised arms and guarded eyes. She cared for Shin Hye like a daughter—and Shin Hye, for the first time, learned what it meant to be protected.
She lived there until she turned twenty. Then, cancer took the only woman who ever loved her.
Before passing, her aunt left everything to Shin Hye—including the house. After the funeral, Shin Hye sold it and bought a tiny apartment near the corner shop where she worked part-time.
It wasn't much.
But it was hers.