I called in sick to both jobs.
It was harder than it should have been. My fingers hovered over Manager Kim's number for a full minute before I could make myself dial. The guilt was immediate and crushing—every hour I didn't work was money I wasn't earning, money my family needed.
But Min-Ji stood over me while I made the calls, arms crossed, making sure I actually did it.
"Library first," she said. "Then the convenience store."
"This is ridiculous. I'm fine now."
"You collapsed less than three hours ago. You're not fine. Call."
I called.
Ji-Won at the library was understanding, told me to rest and feel better. Manager Kim sounded concerned, asked if I needed to see a doctor, told me my health was more important than one shift.
The kindness made me want to cry all over again.
"There," I said after hanging up. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic. Now go shower. You smell like stress and poor life choices."
"That's my natural scent."
"It's terrible. Shower. Then sleep."
I wanted to argue, but I was too tired. I showered, letting the hot water wash away two weeks of barely-managed exhaustion, and when I came out, Yoo-Na had made breakfast.
Real breakfast. Not ramyeon or triangle kimbap, but rice, eggs, kimchi, soup. The kind of meal that required actual cooking and care.
"Eat," she said, setting it in front of me. "All of it."
"I can't afford—"
"It's my food. From my money. You're not paying me back. Eat."
I ate. Every bite tasted like guilt and gratitude in equal measure, but I forced it down because my body needed it and because my friends were watching me with worried eyes.
"Better?" Yoo-Na asked when I finished.
"Yeah. Thank you."
"Good. Now sleep. Actually sleep, not that thing you've been doing where you close your eyes for three hours and call it rest."
"I have homework—"
"No." Min-Ji physically steered me toward my room. "No homework. No studying. No thinking about anything except sleep. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor yet."
"I'm close enough. Sleep. Now."
I gave up and collapsed into bed. My body, given permission to finally rest, shut down immediately.
I slept for six hours straight.
When I woke up, it was past 2 PM and my phone was buzzing.
I picked it up groggily to find several missed calls and texts. Most were from work—Ji-Won checking if I was okay, Manager Kim saying they'd covered my shift. One was from Min-Ji: Stay in bed. There's food in the kitchen. We'll be home by 5.
And one was from a number I'd been avoiding looking at for two weeks.
Bok-Jin: Min-Ji texted me. Said you collapsed and you're taking the day off. I'm glad you're resting. I hope you're okay.
I stared at the message for a long time.
He could have said "I told you so." Could have been angry that I'd pushed myself to the point of collapse. Could have demanded answers about what was really going on.
Instead, he just hoped I was okay.
I started typing a response three different times and deleted it each time. What was I supposed to say? "Thanks for caring even though I broke your heart and won't tell you why"?
Finally, I settled on: I'm okay. Thank you.
His response came immediately: Good. That's all that matters.
I set my phone down before I could overthink it and went to find the food Min-Ji had mentioned.
The kitchen had more prepared meals—someone, probably Yoo-Na, had cooked enough for several days. Rice in the cooker, banchan in the fridge, soup that just needed reheating.
I ate slowly, actually tasting the food instead of shoveling it down between shifts, and thought about everything that had happened.
Seo-Yeon's words kept echoing: Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit you need help. Survival isn't the same as living.
Was I just surviving? When had I stopped living?
Somewhere between my father losing his job and me deciding I had to handle everything alone. Somewhere between breaking up with Bok-Jin and working myself into the ground.
I'd been so focused on not being a burden, on not being weak, on not needing anyone, that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be a person instead of a machine grinding toward an impossible goal.
My phone rang. My mom.
I almost didn't answer, but avoiding her wouldn't help anything.
"Hi, Mom."
"Ji-Mang-ah, I got your transfer. Thank you so much." She sounded better than last week, less strained. "Your father wanted me to tell you he has some good news."
My heart lifted slightly. "He found a job?"
"Not yet. But he has an interview next week. It's in Busan, which would mean moving, but the position looks promising. Better pay than his last job, even."
Moving. Which meant disrupting my siblings' lives, my parents starting over in a new city. But also—maybe—stability.
"That's great, Mom. Really great."
"We'll see. I don't want to get our hopes up too high. But at least it's something." She paused. "Are you okay? You sound tired."
"I'm fine. Just a busy week."
"You work too hard. You sound like you need rest."
The irony of her saying that while I was resting because I'd literally worked myself to collapse wasn't lost on me.
"I'm taking today off, actually. Just relaxing."
"Good. You need to take care of yourself too, not just us." Her voice softened. "I know we've been putting a lot of pressure on you. The money you've been sending has been a lifeline, but... maybe we need to find other solutions. Look into government assistance, ask relatives for help. You shouldn't have to carry all of this alone."
"I want to help. You're my family."
"And you're our daughter. Not our bank account." She sighed. "Your father feels terrible about this. He never wanted you to have to sacrifice your dreams to support us."
"I'm not sacrificing my dreams. Just postponing them."
"That's the same thing, sweetheart."
Maybe it was. But what choice did I have?
"Mom, if Dad gets this job... what happens to the money I've been sending?"
"We'll still need some help for a few months while we get settled. Moving costs money, and there's always a gap between starting a job and the first paycheck. But after that..." She paused. "After that, maybe you can focus on yourself again. On school. On your future."
A few more months. I could survive a few more months of this schedule if there was an end in sight.
"Okay. Yeah. That's good."
"I have to go—your brother needs help with homework. But Ji-Mang? Take care of yourself. Please. We need you healthy more than we need money."
After she hung up, I sat in the quiet kitchen and tried to process.
A few more months. Maybe three, maybe four. And then my family would be stable, and I could breathe again.
I could go back to full-time student status. Could actually prepare for LEET. Could maybe, possibly, try to rebuild the parts of my life I'd dismantled.
Including—maybe—the relationship I'd destroyed because I was too proud to ask for help.
Yoo-Na and Min-Ji came home at 5:30, laden with bags from the grocery store.
"You're awake," Min-Ji said, looking pleased. "And you ate. Good."
"I'm not a child."
"You've been acting like one—a stubborn, self-destructive child who thinks asking for help is weakness." She started unpacking groceries. "But we'll work on that."
"I said I needed help. Isn't that enough?"
"It's a start. Now comes the part where you actually let people help you."
Yoo-Na set a bag on the counter and pulled out fresh vegetables, meat, ingredients for a real meal. "We're making dinner together. All three of us. And we're going to talk about an actual plan."
"A plan for what?"
"For how to make the next few months sustainable. Because working yourself to death isn't a plan, it's just slow-motion suicide."
They were right. I knew they were right.
"My mom called," I said. "My dad has a job interview. If he gets it, they'll need help for a few more months while they move and get settled. But after that, they'll be okay."
"A few months," Yoo-Na repeated. "That's manageable if we do it right."
"How?"
"We figure out a budget. We look at what help you can actually accept without it destroying your pride. We make sure you're eating and sleeping and not actively destroying your health." She started washing vegetables. "And maybe—maybe—you consider talking to Bok-Jin."
"No."
"Ji-Mang—"
"I can't ask him for money. I can't become that person."
"I'm not suggesting you ask him for money," Yoo-Na said patiently. "I'm suggesting you tell him what's going on. Let him support you emotionally. Let him understand why you pushed him away."
"What's the point? We broke up."
"Did you break up because you stopped caring about him?" Min-Ji asked. "Or because you were scared?"
I didn't answer, because we all knew the truth.
"You don't have to get back together with him," Yoo-Na continued. "But you could at least give him the honesty he deserves. Tell him why you really ended things. Let him know it wasn't about him."
"He said he loved me." The words came out quieter than I intended. "On the rooftop. Right before I walked away."
Both of them went still.
"And you?" Min-Ji asked softly. "How do you feel about him?"
I thought about it. About the way my heart had lifted every time I saw him at running club. About our first kiss on a rooftop overlooking the city. About the way he'd caught me when I collapsed, patient and gentle even though I'd been nothing but cold to him for weeks.
"I love him," I admitted. "I think I have for a while. But that doesn't change the practical reality."
"Practical reality," Yoo-Na repeated. "You mean the pride that won't let you be vulnerable? The fear that accepting help makes you weak?"
"It's not just pride—"
"It's mostly pride." She said it gently but firmly. "And I get it. I really do. But Ji-Mang, there's a difference between being independent and being alone. You can be strong and still let people who love you help carry the weight."
"I don't know how to do that."
"You learn. Starting with us." Min-Ji bumped my shoulder. "We're going to help you figure out a sustainable plan for the next few months. Not by giving you money—I know you won't take it—but by making sure you're eating properly, sleeping enough, and not working yourself to death. Deal?"
"Deal."
"And then," Yoo-Na added, "when you're ready, you think about whether you want to talk to Bok-Jin. Really talk to him. Not to ask for anything, just to be honest about what happened."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We cooked dinner together—a real meal with actual ingredients and care put into it. We ate at the table instead of standing at the counter or in front of the TV. We talked about Min-Ji's upcoming practical exam and Yoo-Na's brand management project and deliberately avoided talking about my situation.
It felt normal. Human. Like I was a person again instead of just a survival machine.
After dinner, while we were cleaning up, my phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: I know you're resting, but I wanted you to know—I'm here. Whatever you need, whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here. No pressure. No expectations. Just... here.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Me: Thank you. That means more than you know.
Bok-Jin: Get some rest. Take care of yourself.
Me: You too.
It wasn't a reconciliation. It wasn't even close to fixing things.
But it was a door left open. A possibility instead of a closed ending.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for now.
That night, I actually slept properly. Eight full hours of real, deep sleep that left me feeling almost human when I woke up Tuesday morning.
I still had class. Still had work. Still had impossible math to figure out and a family to support and dreams to postpone.
But I also had friends who cared about me. A family situation that might improve in a few months. And a boy who loved me enough to wait, even when I'd given him every reason not to.
It wasn't a solution. But it was something.
And maybe something was enough to build on.