The Single Mother

**March 14, 2020, 7:23 AM**

**BLACKPINK Dormitory Kitchen, Seoul**

The dorm was quiet, the way it always was in the early mornings before the chaos of the day began. Seol stood at the stove, her small hands moving with practiced efficiency as she flipped the last of the kimchi jeon onto a plate. The sizzle of the pan had been her only company for the last hour, and she found comfort in the ritual of it—the precise measurements, the familiar smells, the way her body moved on autopilot while her mind wandered.

Haneul was still asleep in the small cot she'd set up in the corner of the kitchen, a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Seol glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure the baby was still breathing peacefully, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath. The sight made something warm settle in Seol's chest, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of her consciousness.

She'd been up since 4 AM, prepping the ingredients for the members' breakfast, and her back ached from standing over the stove. But she didn't complain. She never did.

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.

Seol tensed, her shoulders drawing up just slightly, her neutral mask clicking into place. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"There you are," Jennie's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and cold. The older woman was dressed in a silk robe, her hair messy from sleep, but her eyes were sharp and unwelcoming as she leaned against the kitchen doorway. "I thought I smelled food."

Seol kept her eyes on the stove, carefully transferring the jeon to a plate. "Good morning, Miss Jennie. Breakfast will be ready in five minutes. I made your coffee the way you like it—oat milk, no sugar."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" Jennie stepped into the kitchen, her bare feet quiet against the tile. The disdain in her voice was palpable, familiar as the worn grooves in the cutting board Seol used every day. "It's weird. We're not that far apart in age."

"Sorry." Seol's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "Miss Kim."

Jennie scoffed, moving to pour herself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Seol could feel Jennie's gaze on her back, could almost sense the way the older woman was examining her—the cheap clothes, the worn-out slippers, the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide.

"You look terrible," Jennie said bluntly. "Did you even sleep last night?"

"I slept fine." It was a lie, and they both knew it. Haneul had been fussy, teething, and Seol had spent most of the night walking the baby around the dorm's living room, bouncing her gently until she finally fell asleep.

Jennie's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what's that smell? Did you burn something?"

"No, that's—" Seol started, but Jennie was already moving toward the stove, peering at the pan.

"There's a spot right there." Jennie pointed, her voice dripping with criticism. "You burned the left side. Do you even care about the quality of what you're making, or do you just throw things together and hope for the best?"

Seol's fingers tightened on the spatula. The burn mark was small, barely noticeable, but she knew better than to argue. She'd learned that lesson the hard way, two months ago, when she'd tried to defend herself and Jennie had gone to YG with complaints about her work ethic.

"I'll remake it," Seol said quietly, already reaching for a fresh bowl of batter.

Jennie watched her with hooded eyes, sipping her coffee. "You're wasting ingredients. Do you know how much those cost? Or do you just not care because you're not the one paying for it?"

"I care," Seol said, her voice barely steady. "I just want the food to be perfect for you."

"Perfect." Jennie laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Right. Because you, of all people, know what perfect is."

Before Seol could respond, a muffled cry came from the corner of the kitchen. Haneul was stirring, her small face scrunching up as she woke from her nap. Seol immediately turned toward her, but Jennie was quicker.

"Ugh." Jennie set her coffee down with a sharp clink. "Why is the baby always here? You were supposed to keep her in your room in the mornings. I don't want to hear her crying while I'm eating."

"She was sleeping peacefully, and I didn't want to leave her alone," Seol said, already moving toward Haneul's cot. She lifted the baby carefully, cradling her against her chest. "I'm sorry. I'll take her to my room now."

"I just don't understand why you thought bringing a baby to work was a good idea," Jennie muttered, but there was something else underneath the irritation—something that almost sounded like curiosity. "Why don't you just get a sitter?"

Seol's throat tightened. "I can't afford one."

Jennie's eyebrows shot up. "Of course you can't. You can barely afford the clothes on your back, from what I can see." She gestured vaguely at Seol's outfit—a faded t-shirt and jeans that had clearly seen better days. "And yet you managed to get that scholarship to university? And you're here, working for us? You must be pretty good at juggling."

"I do what I have to do." Seol kept her voice neutral, even as Haneul's cries grew louder. The baby was hungry—she could tell from the way Haneul was rooting against her chest. "Miss Kim, if you'll excuse me, I need to feed her."

Jennie's eyes flickered down to the baby, then back up to Seol. For just a second, something shifted in her expression—something that almost looked like... pity? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual cool disdain.

"Fine," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But I want my breakfast in fifteen minutes. And don't burn it this time."

Seol nodded, turning away. She felt Jennie's gaze on her back as she walked toward the narrow hallway that led to her small room, each step feeling heavier than the last.

She didn't understand what she'd done to make Jennie hate her so much. They'd only met a few months ago, when Seol had been hired through a recommendation from a friend who worked at YG Entertainment. Her friend had said the job was a godsend—good pay, flexible hours, and the chance to work in a real celebrity dorm.

Seol had jumped at the opportunity.

She hadn't expected Jennie to look at her like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Hadn't expected the constant criticism, the barbed comments, the way Jennie seemed to go out of her way to make her feel small.

But Seol had learned a long time ago that she couldn't control how people saw her. She could only control how she reacted.

And right now, her priority was Haneul.

She pushed open the door to her room—barely bigger than a closet, but clean and tidy—and settled on the edge of the bed. Haneul was still crying, her small fists waving in the air, her face red from the effort. Seol unbuttoned her shirt and positioned the baby, letting out a soft sigh of relief when Haneul finally latched on.

"There you go," Seol murmured, her voice low and soothing. "I've got you, little one. Mama's got you."

She rocked gently back and forth, her hand resting protectively on the back of Haneul's head. The baby's cries quieted to soft sucking sounds, and Seol felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her.

She was so tired. So, so tired.

But she couldn't show it. Couldn't let anyone see the cracks forming in her carefully constructed facade.

In the kitchen, Jennie was still standing by the stove, her coffee growing cold in her hand. She was staring at the spot where Seol had been standing a few minutes ago, her expression unreadable.

"Is Seol okay?" Jisoo's voice broke through her thoughts, and Jennie turned to find the older woman shuffling into the kitchen, her eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"She's fine," Jennie said curtly. "She's just feeding the baby."

Jisoo's eyebrows rose. "You didn't say anything mean to her, did you?"

"I didn't say anything she didn't deserve." Jennie turned away, focusing on the plate of slightly burned jeon that Seol had left behind. "She's always making mistakes. It's like she's not even trying."

Jisoo sighed, moving to pour herself a cup of tea. "Jennie, she's a single mom. She's working two jobs and going to university. Maybe you could cut her a little slack?"

"Don't tell me what to do," Jennie said sharply. But something in her chest twisted, just slightly, at Jisoo's words.

She didn't know why Seol got under her skin so much. Maybe it was the way Seol never fought back, never raised her voice, never gave Jennie the satisfaction of a reaction. Maybe it was the way Seol looked at her with those big, soft eyes—like she was the bad guy, like Jennie was the one in the wrong.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Something Jennie didn't want to think about.

She grabbed her coffee and left the kitchen, heading for the common room. Behind her, she heard the soft sounds of Haneul's cooing growing louder as Seol emerged from the hallway, the baby now quiet and calm in her arms.

"Good morning, Jisoo-unnie," Seol said softly, and Jennie could hear the warmth in her voice when she spoke to anyone else. "I'll have your breakfast ready in a few minutes. I know you like your eggs soft-boiled."

"You're an angel, Seol-ah." Jisoo's voice was bright, happy. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine." Another lie. "Haneul didn't wake up too much."

"Liar." Jisoo laughed, and Jennie felt something hot and uncomfortable curl in her stomach as she listened to them talk.

She didn't know why she cared. She didn't know why she felt the urge to go back into the kitchen and say something cutting, something that would wipe that small, shy smile off Seol's face.

All she knew was that she hated the way Seol made her feel.

And she hated that she couldn't figure out why.