Capítulo 1
Kim Ha-ram arrived at the office fifteen minutes early, like every day.Not because anyone asked her to, nor because anyone thanked her for it, but because she had learned that arriving early was a silent form of protection. Arriving early avoided looks, unnecessary comments, reproaches disguised as jokes. Arriving early was survival.
The Sungmin Solutions building was still the same: spotless glass walls, overly white hallways, and a silence that had nothing to do with peace. The air conditioning was so strong that she always felt cold, even when it was summer outside.Sometimes she thought it was done on purpose, to keep them awake, tense, alert.
—Good morning, Kim Ha-ram —the security guard greeted her.—Good morning, Mr. Lee —she replied with a slight bow.
The elevator swallowed her along with other monotonous, exhausted bodies. No one spoke. No one looked at each other; everyone was too busy carrying their own exhaustion.
When she reached the seventeenth floor, Ha-ram walked to her desk. She turned on her computer, placed her bag under the table, and adjusted her jacket. Even before opening her email, she noticed something strange: a stack of documents she hadn’t seen the night before.
She let out a deep sigh.—Of course —she murmured—. Why wouldn’t there be?
She opened her inbox. Eighteen new emails greeted her morning. Seventeen marked as urgent, and one of them, as always, from Mr. Park.“I need the report revised today. No excuses.”
It was eight forty-seven.
As she began to work, she vaguely remembered when she had started normalizing that treatment. Maybe it was the first year, when they told her she was “lucky” to have a stable job. Or the second, when her boss explained that staying late was a sign of commitment. Or the third, when she realized that no matter how much she did, it would always be insufficient.
—Ha-ram —a soft voice said beside her.
It was Ji-eun, holding a coffee, with dark circles that rivaled her own.
—Did you sleep at all? —she asked.—Sleeping is a flexible concept —Ha-ram replied without looking up.
Ji-eun smiled sadly.—They say Mr. Park is in a bad mood today.—When isn’t he?
They didn’t manage to laugh. The boss’s voice thundered through the office.
—Kim Ha-ram, my office. Now!
She stood up immediately. She walked with steady steps, though a knot tightened in her stomach. Park didn’t invite her to sit.
—This report is a disaster —he said, throwing papers onto the desk—. What kind of review is this?
Ha-ram picked them up carefully.—Mr. Park, these figures were modified yesterday at your request. They—
—Don’t talk back —he interrupted—. Fix it today. And stay until it’s perfect.
—Today... I have family plans, sir —she said, almost without thinking.
Park slowly lifted his gaze.—Plans? —he repeated—. Kim Ha-ram, we don’t work by the hour here. We work by results.
She felt something tighten in her chest.—Understood, sir —she replied with a slight bow.
She left the office with her head down. Returned to her desk. Sat down. Kept working.
The hours passed unnoticed. She skipped lunch. Ignored her mother’s messages. Ignored the headache until it became impossible to do so. At six in the evening, while most people were beginning to pack up, she was still staring at the screen.
—Don’t leave too late —Ji-eun said without conviction.—I’ll try not to sleep here —Ha-ram replied with a tired smile.
It wasn’t a joke.
At eight, Park passed by again.—Make sure everything is corrected —he said—. I don’t want surprises tomorrow.
When the clock struck ten, the office was nearly empty. The report was finished. Ha-ram leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a second, and thought:
Is this all?
She didn’t feel proud. She didn’t feel satisfied. Only a deep exhaustion, accumulated over years.And something else—very small, but dangerous: a question she could no longer ignore.
She shut down her computer, grabbed her bag, and headed to the elevator. As it descended to the first floor, the building was almost completely dark, with only a few lights illuminating the entrance.
She walked without a clear destination, watching people like herself: young faces, glowing restaurants. She entered a food stall and sat down, placing her bag to the side.
A young woman approached her.—Hello, miss. We have egg rolls, gomjanguh, ohdole-bbyuh, udon, tteokbokki, dak-kkochi... What would you like?
Ha-ram tied her hair back and, after a few seconds, said:—One portion of dak-kkochi and a bottle of soju.
The girl walked away. Ha-ram stretched her arms after a grueling workday and leaned over the table, scrolling through her phone, searching for something—anything—to distract her.
—So boring... there’s nothing interesting on Instagram...
She turned off her phone and looked around. Everyone else was laughing or talking with someone.
She was alone.
She sighed again, but this time it wasn’t just tiredness—it was sadness, loneliness, the feeling of trying to fit into a place where she didn’t belong.
When her food finally arrived, she ate slowly, opening the bottle and pouring herself a drink. When she finished, she grabbed her bag, paid, and left.
She checked her phone: 10:50 p.m. She turned it off and slipped it into her pocket. She took a taxi and gave the address.
A few minutes later, they reached a mid-level neighborhood. She paid and greeted people passing by.
When she opened her apartment door, it wasn’t the best or the most luxurious place, but it was enough. She kicked off her heels and tossed her bag aside.
She walked to her bed, collapsed onto it, and stretched out completely, as if trying to free herself from every burden.
—Thank you for the great day —she said.
And surrendered to sleep.
Kim Ha-ram slept deeply that night from the exhaustion of the previous day.But her mind didn’t shut down. She thought about the office, the years invested, the swallowed words. She thought about how many times she had said “it’s fine” when she didn’t agree.
When her alarm vibrated, she got up heavily. She sat on the edge of the bed and covered her face with tired hands.—New day... a great day —she said, with a hint of forced morning motivation.
When she arrived at the company, that unease was still lodged in her chest.—Good morning —she greeted, as always.
The elevator rose. The seventeenth floor welcomed her. Her desk was intact—but she wasn’t.
At nine sharp, Mr. Park stepped out of his office.—The report?—Finished last night —Ha-ram replied, handing it over.
He skimmed it and frowned.—There’s an error here.
She froze.—Which one, Mr. Park?
—Check it —he ordered—. It’s obvious.
Something broke.Not an explosion—an internal silence.
Ha-ram turned her monitor and opened the original file.—There is no error —she said calmly—. The data matches the approved version. Your signature is here, Mr. Park.
The entire office fell silent.
—Also —she continued—, the project delays are documented in these emails. They weren’t the team’s responsibility. This project was reviewed three times this week.
Park stared at her, incredulous.—Are you challenging me? —he asked, frowning.
—No, sir —she replied—. I’m simply telling the truth.
That was the problem.
—Leave —he ordered—. We’ll talk later.
Ha-ram returned to her desk, but she didn’t sit down. She packed her things calmly, took a white envelope from her bag, and walked back to the boss’s office.
—Mr. Park —she said—. There will be no other conversation.
She placed the envelope on his desk.—This is my resignation.
—Are you sure? —he asked irritably—. Think about it carefully, Miss Kim.
Kim Ha-ram looked him straight in the eyes.—I’ve thought about it for many years. I’m completely sure, Mr. Park.
She left the building without looking back. The revolving door closed behind her, and for the first time in a long while, Seoul didn’t feel so big.
Outside, she smiled widely after many years—this time real, intact, confident.
—Aaah! —she shouted up at the sky.
Some passersby stared, then continued on with their lives.
She walked happily through streets that had felt desolate the day before, now filled with color.
When she arrived home, she returned to her bed and decided to truly rest, something she hadn’t done in years. Later that night, she woke up, walked to a nearby convenience store, and bought a cheap beer.
With the bottle in her hands, she wrote a single message:
Mom. Dad. I’m coming back to Jeju.
