“Mrs. Park is in the games room with guests. She asked you to come in when you arrive home.” The housekeeper greets me with kind eyes and a gentle voice as I wander in, heavy with the day's tiredness and home late. Dealing with the protest fallout on top of so much else these past few days has me exhausted. My shoulders ache, my neck is stiff, and I have a headache coming on. I’m nowhere near in the mood to entertain her guests, but I’m obedient to a fault. I was raised in the good old ‘thou shall obey my parents’ of my culture, and I grimace and paste on a fake smile. Sighing and knowing I should get it over and done with. It’s a show-off move to remind her friends how magnificent her family is.
“Where’s Yoonie? Is he home?” I ask with a raised brow, seeing as he left the office hours ago. I already know it’s pointless to ask about Jyeon, who was still burning the office lights when I left.
“Yes, Ma’am. He was asked in also; he’s there already.”
I knew it before I asked. When mother decides to impress her socialite friends, no child is safe from her demands, and I grit my teeth and make my way to the opposite end of the house. I throw my briefcase on the lounge table in passing, knowing I still have so much work to do, and it’s already ten pm.
I hear the chatter and laughter of drunk rich women before I even open the door. Bracing myself for the onslaught and knowing that I should remain calm and elegant no matter what. I hate these women.
I’m assaulted with a view of many overdressed glamorous over their fifties sitting around the huge dining table while playing cards. Poor Yoonha is propped between two of the most cougar-type elderly I have ever known and being prodded and squeezed at every opportunity. His cute self is irresistible to this affection-starved trophy wives. I roll my eyes for him, seeing how uncomfortable he is but for mother, we always do as she says—playing the part of the perfect family.
“Sohla!!” She exclaims dramatically upon seeing me, and the atmosphere immediately cools to a subdued quiet as all eyes turn my way and her friends take me in. None of them like my persona, face, voice, anything…. let alone my marriage status to Jyeon. This isn’t a new reaction but one I have endured my entire marriage to Jyeon.
“Mother. Ladies. Yoonha.” I nod politely, and Yoonie uses my appearance as an excuse to jump up and come around the table to pull out a chair for me, sighing his relief and pulling one next to it for himself.
“Sit, sit. I can help you with your cards, as I know you are awful at playing Gin.” He smiles brightly, suffocating me with his wiggled eyebrow signals of ‘save me.’ The boy will use anything to free himself from being molested.
I want to bail; I really do, but that face. I know all too well what these people are like. How can I leave my baby brother to fend for himself?
“I can only play one game as I have so much work left to do. OLO is very busy currently, and I brought home a mountain of paperwork.”
I still haven’t had one greeting from a single lady besides pained fake smiles and nods, and mother pulls in the cards to shuffle them. Oblivious to their apparent dislike or ignoring it anyway. This is the woman I have watched all these years, observing everything in her wake, and is the role model who pushed me to be just like her, even if it was unwilling. She looks very queenlike and in her element when sitting at the head of her brood, lording over them because our family is on top of the pecking order in this city.
“My daughter-in-law is a machine in the office. Without her, Jyeon would not know how to rule quite so effortlessly. Such a blessing.” She praises me, beaming with pride at the creature she created, so inwardly satisfied that I carry out what she intended with little resistance. It never usually grates on me, I know it well, but lately, I’ve been feeling it more and more—this inner bubbling sense of rebellion.
I sit and allow Yoonha to catch my cards and assemble them before placing them in my hands. Always such an attentive boy. And it always gives him an excuse to come and sit by me, safe from overly touchy wenches. I’m very good at this game, but playing dumb is better than being made to do this weekly.
“He’s so lucky to have a wife who can take the helm. My son’s wife only produces children and smiles.” A merry comment delivered with big smiles as though demeaning her daughter-in-law, but we all know that’s not what it is.
I stiffen inwardly at the jibe, feeling the cattiness, and ignore it. This is common. Nastiness veiled in humor with a sweet tone is commonplace in her circle of friends. A brood of women whose only goal is to marry off their kids and have as many heirs as possible as though it’s a marker of their success as mothers. A daughter’s failure to provide for them is a significant black mark.
“They are both still young. I’m not putting pressure on more grandchildren until OLO reaches a level we’re all satisfied with. Then Sohla can take time to produce worthy heirs.” Mother doesn’t even miss a beat.
“I like the fact that she’s not just a pretty face and an empty head whose only skill is popping out Park babies. I chose her for her skills.” Mother flutters my way, smiling affectionately, and I robotically smile back. I feel nothing inside at those words because they have been etched into my soul since I was eleven.
“It’s why OLO has reached a level our fathers never achieved. Jyeon and Sohla are a formidable pairing.” Yoonha breaks in to smooth the ice in the air, and I nod with grace and throw down a card in my turn. To survive in this fake and cutthroat society is to play nice and surround yourself with catty frenemies. Blanking them, showing nothing, feeling nothing, just like mother taught me.
“Talking of which, where is that handsome son of yours? We never see Jyeon at all. He truly must be a workaholic like his father was.” One of the chubbier, overly made-up, laden with her entire jewelry box, pipes up, looking wistful. Jyeon is still the flavor of the month, even after being married. Most of these women wait perched, hoping he divorces me one day and gives their daughters a chance.
“Ask his wife. No one knows better than her what he’s doing or where he is. They have an excellent relationship.” She chimes back without a heartbeat of hesitation, and my face numbs with this pasted expression that churns my stomach up. I feel Yoonah tense beside me.
My sweet, big brown-eyed puppy dog, boy, cuts in by pulling a card from my hand and tuts loudly. My savior.
“Play this one, and you’ll win. How can someone so smart and observant suck this much at a card game? Why did you throw that one, you empty head.” He grins, patting me on the shoulder, retrieving the card I had put down to switch it out.
“I know, right? I guess I can’t be talented in all areas of life.” I softly smile his way, catching his eye and meeting the warmth always there in him—the complete opposite of his emotionless brother, who serves me only ice-cold at all times. Without Yoonha, I don’t think I would have survived all these years, being that tiny glow of light in the darkness.
“I think you’re probably too caught up in here.” He taps my temple comically, beaming at me, and then turns to the ladies. “Always thinking about work. She really is no fun. Just like my brother. I’m a lonely child who has to compete with acquisition files and board meetings.” He laughs and get’s a little round of subdued giggles. These women can’t resist a handsome young man when making jokes.
“You’re probably right. I have a lot to do, so I will apologize and take my leave. I can’t focus when I know how much there is. Enjoy your game, ladies. Mother.” I carefully slide up, face down my cards, and prepare to leave. Yoonha frowns slightly with a supportive half-smile. Saving me, I give him an IOU face scrunch.
“Make sure Jyeon eats when he comes home. I know both of you skip meals all too often, but his woman’s place is to care for his every need, even when he isn’t aware of what that is.” Mother’s suddenly serious tone hits me in the belly, and anxiety rises. This feeling is whenever I am reminded of my purpose in life, and I nod. I know her tone, her way of placing the words without emphasis even though it screams of it.
“Of course. Jyeon is my priority in all things. Good night.” I nod to the table and turn on my heel, barely swallowing the lump in my throat and hating that she felt I needed a subtle chastisement in front of these women.
I know mother all too well. I knew it’s been irking her and coming.
Lately, her little niggles and jibes about how long it’s been since Jyeon came home early enough to see her or eat with her, yet I do it frequently. She thinks I’m neglecting to take as much of his pressure as possible and that he’s doing more work than me. That I’m slacking and letting my care of the details slide. God forbid I should let her precious son bear more than I do.
Always her voice inside my head – Don’t cry, Sohla. Pull yourself together, Sohla. Don’t be weak. Don’t crumble. Women don’t get tired. Don’t show him you’re struggling. It’s unattractive for a man. Don’t burden him with your feeble emotions. Make life easier for him. Lighten his workload. Anticipate his needs. Push everything about you to one side and make Jyeon the most crucial thing in your existence. Isn’t that why I let him marry you? So you could elevate my son to being the most powerful and successful head of OLO. You are here to compliment him, protect him, elevate him. Know your place. A wife should silently support.
Know my place. Know my gender. Know my worth. Know what it is she made me for.
From the age of fifteen….. I have been her little handful of modeling clay.
It’s so easy for her to think in such black-and-white terms, for isn’t that who she was for her husband? My life is always about Jyeon. She only had one identity, and that was the wife of Joseph Park. She has no personal achievements to show for it besides providing him with two sons. A silent force that made him what he was, and zero recognition. I took her place in the company, and Jyeon took his. We became them.
And now father Park’s not here, and her purpose in life is gone. She yoyos between despair and fake. Entertaining bitch wives so she can retain her status in some way and stay relevant in this circle. Getting on top of me.
She doesn’t know who to be. She failed. Her entire existence is an empty shell of a woman who thinks only about the family legacy, and her only joy is knowing Jyeon’s climbing higher than her husband ever did. My father’s legacy doesn’t even cross her mind or the fact that I’m doing it for him as much as I am for Jyeon.
Father Park found solace in the bottom of a bottle when things got tough, and he lost his best friend and business partner. He turned his back on us, such was his pain of loss, but I wasn’t allowed to do the same. Mine wasn’t recognized or understood. He let our empire crumble in the same way his heart was slowly turning to ash. He abandoned his family emotionally for his selfishness. Then where was that strong woman made to keep her husband sane? She’s a hypocrite.
She left her son to bear the weight of everything he could and made me an image in her place to lessen it. I was the one who stood up to shoulder the burdens before I even became a woman. I was a child, left alone. I was the one who put aside grieving to let Jyeon loose from my side to take care of OLO because I didn’t want to do the same thing his father was. She made it clear he wouldn’t leave me alone if I seemed to be struggling, so I had to suck it up for him. I couldn’t cry for my parents, and I couldn’t miss them. I couldn’t mention them anymore.
I was the one who studied hard and graduated early while spending every waking moment of spare time in that company to learn the ropes. I worked hard, and I learned how to turn off my pain. Picking up where my parents left off, her image of what I should be was different from my mother’s. I dedicated my childhood to what was left of it, to become what she told me to become.
Despite being pregnant, I was the one who had to see her husband breaking at his father’s death and take on every single thing in the company right under his nose so he wouldn’t have to do it. Silently, stealthily, pushing all other things aside. I protected him single-handedly, and she encouraged it. Even when she took me to the hospital because I was bleeding, she told me not to tell Jyeon and get through it. I had to be strong, and my baby wasn’t allowed to slow me down. She hadn’t planned on there being a child so early in OLO’s development.
I took his place; I worked tirelessly and held everything together so he could grieve in a way I was never allowed to. So he could breathe for a short while and never suffer as I did. I never knew it would cost us our child, but I made that sacrifice for him and earned his hatred in return.
And now here she is, picking at a sore point, knowing everything, and showing her disappointment in me because he spends zero time with her. His mother, her son, yet it’s on me that they never see one another. It’s never her. Nothing to do with how she’s controlled his life and built resentment inside him since he was young. Failed to be there when he needed her. Like everything else in this existence, I’m the problem and the cure. I’m responsible for it all.
It’s no wonder I feel like I’m unraveling as time goes on. It’s getting harder to add it all to the box in my soul where feelings go to be covered up, ignored, and deemed unimportant. It’s getting full to bursting.
I blindly walk through the house and get to the bedroom on autopilot, finding myself standing in the dark room alone with my briefcase in hand and don’t know how I got here. It feels like I was getting up from the table only seconds ago. I shake it off because I’m fatigued and throw the case down on the bed, mentally chastising myself for becoming absentminded.
The room’s lit by the full moon, shining in the window as the housekeeper hasn’t ventured in to draw the drapes or turn down the bed. It feels suddenly incredibly lonely here, as though I’m standing in some dark prison on day one of a life sentence. I stand and stare at the luxurious furnishing and impeccable décor in this shadowy, unreal atmosphere, and it makes me cold inside. Bubbling and rising of conflicting feelings inside gnaw at my guts, and I turn to stare at the immaculate bed where my husband never sleeps.
A life some dream of.
Wealth, success, marriage in a picture-perfect family with a romance book backstory as childhood sweethearts. It’s all bullshit. My whole existence is bullshit. My life is bullshit. My marriage is bullshit. I’m so sick of it all.
I stalk to the window and yank the curtain closed, not wanting the moon to highlight anymore of this empty place and push it all back deep down into that place where all my feelings go to die, knowing tomorrow the mask will be back in place, and I’ll get through another week, month, the year just like before. Sometimes I wobble, but it’s no use crying over spilled milk.
What’s the point in obsessing and thinking? It’s not going to change a damn thing, and it can’t alter who I am or what’s expected of me. This is my life; I need to suck it up and face it like I always do. Crying over what’s broken is for the weak.