A Tomb

After spending a few days with Hana, Airi was preparing to head back home. She and her husband had left their young grandson with a nanny while they were away, and the child had fallen ill. Both Airi and her husband were quite concerned. On top of that, Airi had been feeling a bit under the weather herself these past days, and her regular doctor wasn't in the area. So, Hana told them to return home.

Guilt-ridden, Airi clasped Hana's hand. "Once the child is better, we'll come visit you again and spend more time with you."

Smiling, Hana replied, "No need. You should focus on your own health. If you miss me, we can video chat. With today's technology, it's almost as if you're right here. I think that's more than enough."

Airi pouted, "Do you think I'm old?"

Despite being a grandmother, she could still pout like the young friend Hana had known since kindergarten. Some say women will always be children in front of their loved ones. But in Hana's view, the same could be said for good friends. Airi still acted like a spoiled young girl.

Hana didn't hide her annoyed expression but said, "How could I? I never found Jun annoying, so how could I find Airi Chan annoying?"

As Airi was about to board her flight, she looked back longingly at Hana. "I wish you could come visit us."

That was not possible because Hana was on a six-month observation period and couldn't travel abroad.

"Alright, once I can travel, I'll come visit you," Hana assured her. Airi seemed a bit happier, and as she was called by her husband to leave, she kept looking back, as if she would never see Hana again. Watching her dear friend leave, Hana thought perhaps Airi was reminded of the day she had vanished years ago.

Forty years ago, just before she'd gone out to shop for groceries, she had received a call from Airi. They'd planned to catch a newly released movie and do some shopping—just like many times before. But that time, she disappeared. Over the past forty years, aside from Jun, Airi had also endured a lot of pain. She might not have thought of her all the time, but whenever she did, it hurt.

It was like a thorn embedded in Airi's heart.

"I'll come see you!" Hana suddenly shouted. Across the way, Airi jumped and waved enthusiastically, as if delighted by the promise.

For the first time since her time-travel, Hana felt relieved. Thankfully, only forty years had passed. Thankfully, both Jun and Airi were still around. She had the chance to see them again in her lifetime. If more time had elapsed more than 40 years, she couldn't bear to think of everyone she knew turning into mere dust, leaving her with a lifetime of regrets, without even a chance for a final goodbye.

"We're going somewhere first," Jun said as he drove away from the airport.

"Where to?" Hana looked at him skeptically. 'He's taking me on a nostalgia tour like Airi, is he?'

As it turned out, Jun had no such sentimentality in mind. He first drove to a flower shop and bought white chrysanthemums. Hana understood and fell silent.

They didn't go to a cemetery, but to a memorial garden. As it wasn't a special day, there were hardly any people around the monument. Standing in front of it, Jun handed Hana the white chrysanthemums. "Your father's ashes were scattered in the sea. This is his monument; it bears no name."

Staring at the massive monument, Hana hesitated to place the chrysanthemums on it.

"In the seventh year after your disappearance, he was killed in action during a criminal pursuit. His colleague passed on his last words to me," Jun said.

"'I've never committed a sin in my life, fighting only for justice and ideals. Everyone says I'm a good cop, but I take no pride in that. Rather, I feel guilty. To be this cop, I failed as a husband and father. As a result, my wife and child are lost to me. Scatter my ashes in the sea after my death; I don't want them to mourn me. They might not even want to see me.' Those were his last words," Jun finished.

Hana's lips twitched. She wanted to make a sarcastic remark about how self-aware he had been. But gazing at the cold stone, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

She remembered her early relationship with her father. As a kindergartner, she would proudly tell her classmates that her dad was a hero. Though he wasn't around much and missed many parent-teacher meetings and birthdays, her mom would say he was out there like Superman, helping people in need. So she forgave her perpetually busy dad.

As she grew older, she realized her dad wasn't a hero. What he did was mostly mundane stuff—settling domestic disputes, recovering lost items. When he came home, he was not the family's rock. He would help any neighbor in need, neglecting his own home.

Her first disappointment in him came in elementary school. While he was helping a random neighbor carry a gas cylinder, her frail mother had to lug one up the stairs herself. His own family's needs seemed neglectable to him.

These were small matters, but they added up until they exploded, and that explosion was her mother's death.

When Hana started junior high, her mother became pregnant with a second child. Her father was overjoyed and started spending more time at home. Hana was in boarding school and could only come home once a week. Each time, she'd sit beside her mother, eagerly anticipating the birth of her baby brother.

As the due date neared, Hana grew anxious. Her father assured her that he would take a few days off to look after her mother. But when Hana returned home for the weekend, the first thing she saw was her mother's lifeless body.

She had been dead for a day. Blood had soaked half her body, and a long red smear trailed from the bathroom to the living room. Hana could almost visualize it: her mother accidentally falling in the bathroom, struggling through the pain to crawl out, intending to make a distress call from the living room. But her body gave out before she could make the call, and she died silently there.

Hana's backpack and keys fell to the floor. She rushed over, touching her mother's cold corpse and her motionless pregnant belly. Hana screamed her name in a frenzy, but there would be no response, no tender smiles, no calling her "Hana Chan." She found her mother's phone in the couch's crevice and dialed her father's number.

He didn't answer until the third call. His voice came through, weary and amidst a noisy background. 

"Where are you?" Hana asked, grinding her teeth.

"What's wrong? You're home? I had an emergency police situation. I'll be back tonight..." her father responded.

"You said you'd be home to care for Mom! You said you'd be there!" Hana screamed, cutting him off.

He finally sensed something was wrong. "What happened? Is it your mom? Did she go into labor? Contact your grandmother, I'll be there soon, I'll--"

Hana hung up. She couldn't bear to hear another word from this man, this liar who had caused the death of her mother and brother.

Later, she called her grandmother and her uncle came to manage the body. Her mother had died from excessive blood loss while unconscious, and the baby boy had suffocated in the womb. That man returned home, falling to his knees in tears. She watched him coldly, never calling him "Dad."

In all the years that followed, she never called him "Dad" again. She deliberately defied him, did everything he hated, almost wishing he would die.

And now, he was really dead.

Hana didn't want to cry. Her emotions were too complex to put into words.

The wind suddenly picked up, rustling the trees on both sides. Finally stepping forward, Hana gently laid the bouquet of white chrysanthemums in front of the monument and spoke, "You spent your entire life rushing around playing the hero. You even died for the sake of being one. I guess you fulfilled your life's mission. I won't judge; I hope you have no regrets in the end."

He was a good man; she knew that. But even with his death, she had no intention of reconciling with him. She wouldn't return to this place either.

They had both stuck to their own paths without regret.

The next destination was the cemetery, a considerable distance away from the memorial. The car still had many white chrysanthemums. Although Jun didn't say anything, Hana had a good idea of who he was taking her to see. She took the initiative to cradle the flowers in her arms.

The first tombstone they came across was the shared grave of Jun's parents. Hana offered them flowers, called out to them as 'Mom and Dad,' and bowed three times. Jun's parents were enlightened individuals with the demeanor of educated elites. His mother, especially, had always been kind to her.

Then came her grandmother's tomb, her favorite elder next to her own mother. After her mother passed away, Hana had spent six months living with her grandmother. Had her aunt and uncle not objected, she might have stayed longer. Her grandmother had died of illness when she was in high school.

Next to it were her mother's tomb and... her own tomb.

Jun quietly watched her walk past the gravestones of each family member, finally stopping at her own.

"Your father… He moved your mother and grandmother's graves here when the old cemetery was relocated," Jun said. "Your grave was built by him five years after you disappeared."

Then Hana realized that, her father had erected a tombstone for her, but Jun had kept her missing person's notice active for forty more years.

"Looking at this tombstone feels surreal," Hana said, wiping away a tear, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

"Yes, aside from showing you your family, the plan today is to dismantle this tombstone," Jun said.

Hana casually remarked, "Why not just leave it? It will come in handy eventually."

Jun looked at her as if she were an outspoken child, his expression stern, his tone somewhat reproachful. "Don't talk nonsense."

Hana paused, wondering how a younger Jun might have reacted. Probably, he would've frowned and softly said, "You shouldn't speak like that." Even if he got angry, it would be gentle and easily turned into laughter; he had no deterrent power.

Very well, Jun had indeed toughened up with age.