Los Angeles, California — 2021
Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, painting warm streaks across the bedroom walls. The quiet was soft and almost hesitant, as if the morning itself were unsure it was ready to disturb the house. June groaned, pressing her face against the pillow.
"Ugh… it's morning already," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep and lingering dreams that refused to fade.
For a moment, she stayed still, breathing in the familiar scent of her room—vanilla from the candle she'd lit the night before, mingled faintly with the lingering warmth of her sheets. Then her chest tightened as a thought struck her.
Noah.
Her eyes flew open. Heart hammering, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand, fumbling slightly as her fingers slipped across the screen. She checked the time.
9:02 a.m.
A breath of relief escaped her lips.
"Thank God," she whispered, pressing the phone to her chest as though holding it closer could somehow pull the moment nearer. She swung her legs out of bed and hurried toward the bathroom, her feet padding softly against the wooden floor.
The shower steamed the mirror as hot water cascaded over her, washing away the remnants of sleep. Her hands moved quickly, methodically, trained by habit, as she prepared for the day. Then she dressed—careful, yet without pause—in a soft cream blouse that hugged her figure in gentle curves, paired with blue jeans that fit snugly at her waist. She threw a light jacket over her shoulders, the fabric brushing her arms as she moved.
June had always been slightly plum, but her cheeks held a soft sweetness, her smile warm and inviting. Her neck curved gracefully, delicate yet strong. Brown hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders, still damp from the shower, framing her face. Her blue eyes were bright, reflecting both determination and the unspoken worry she carried every day. She looked effortlessly beautiful, without needing adornment, the kind of beauty that spoke of warmth, care, and lived experience.
Before leaving, she walked down the hall to her mother's room. She paused for a moment outside the door, taking a deep breath, bracing herself. Inside, Amara lay still, pale beneath the white sheets. Machines hummed softly, monitoring her breathing and pulse, each beep a faint heartbeat in the otherwise silent room.
Eighteen years.
Eighteen long years.
The doctors had come in earlier that morning to perform their routine neurological assessment, checking muscle tone, reflexes, and responses. Their hands moved professionally, precise, yet there was a gentle care in every movement. Afterward, the nanny would come in to clean her, adjust the sheets, and make sure she was comfortable. But June always fed her first.
She stepped closer and lifted the feeding syringe carefully, tending to the PEG feeding tube with practiced hands. Each movement was slow, deliberate, reverent. When she finished, she sank to her knees beside the bed, holding her mother's hand with both of hers. Her head bowed, her chest tight.
"Mum… guess who's coming back today?" she whispered, forcing a trembling smile. "It's Noah. Your baby."
A tear escaped and traced down her cheek, but she did not wipe it away. She could not.
Then a thought struck her, sharp and unrelenting.
Noah didn't know.
He had been sent away at four years old, right after the accident. He had never seen their mother like this. He hadn't lived through the empty rooms, the nights of unbroken silence, the constant sound of monitors and machines. Their father's death had been sudden, ghastly—a scene that shattered Amara's mind and left her in this unending coma.
I just hope he forgives Aunt Shin and me, June thought, clutching her mother's hand closer. We only tried to protect him.
She leaned down and kissed her mother's hand softly. Then she rose, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
"I'll be back," she whispered.
The drive to Los Angeles International Airport was tense. June gripped the steering wheel of her modest Toyota Corolla, her palms sweating despite the cool morning air. She passed familiar streets, each one a reminder of years gone by, of memories frozen in time.
Sixteen years.
It had been sixteen years since she last saw Noah in person. The thought made her stomach twist. What if he didn't recognize her? What if the years apart had changed him too much?
Her phone buzzed.
"Adam, where exactly are you? Oh my God, you're stressing me already," she said, her voice tight.
"Chill out, sis," came his laughter. "I'm over here."
He waved from the arrivals hall.
"The shorty probably won't see me," he called out, mock-seriously. "I better walk up to her."
He tapped her shoulder from behind.
June spun around—and froze.
"Noah…"
Then they collided into a hug, holding each other tightly. The years melted into that moment, the absence, the silence, the longing, all released in a single embrace.
"You're still tiny," he teased, resting his chin briefly on her head. "Did you stop growing at twelve?"
She rolled her eyes. "Says the one who couldn't reach the counter without a chair."
They laughed, walking together toward the car.
"Wanna drive?" she asked, her voice playful but cautious.
He snatched the keys immediately. "You didn't need to ask."
"Oh wow, already bossy," she said.
"Always been," he shot back with a grin.
During the drive, they caught up on everything. Noah told her about Korea, his studies, and the long nights he spent away from home. They talked about their aunt and how strict she had been, laughing at small stories from childhood.
"She once threatened to call 911 on me," he said, shaking his head. "I refused to take a nap, and she nearly lost it."
June laughed loudly. "She said, 'This isn't America! I'll kick your ass!'"
They both burst into laughter, the car echoing with joy for the first time in years.
But then he asked softly, cautiously, "How's Mum?"
June's smile faltered.
"Oh… she's fine," she said quickly. "I just… thought about something."
The rest of the drive passed in a heavy silence.
When they arrived home, Noah rushed inside, almost running. June followed more slowly, tears threatening to spill.
She stopped at the doorway, watching him freeze in shock.
"No… no…" he whispered, his voice breaking.
"You lied to me," he said, eyes wide and trembling. "You… Aunt… everyone."
The weight of eighteen years hit him at once.
"No wonder I couldn't reach her all this while," he muttered, the sound catching in his throat.
"Noah… I'm sorry," June sobbed, stepping toward him. "I wanted to tell you. Uncle told me not to. I thought… I thought it would break you."
He pulled her into a hug, trembling as if holding onto her could somehow heal all the lost years.
"It's okay," he whispered softly.
Then he moved closer to his mother's bed, gently touching her pale, motionless face.
"Mum… I'm home," he said. His lips curved in a small, bitter smile.
June watched, tears streaming down her cheeks, her heart heavy but relieved.
For the first time in eighteen years, the room felt alive.