What the hell. Beneath the window where Leche and I liked to look out to the street below, against the wall with the torn wallpaper Leche liked to scratch, a baby is whimpering. The crib is filled with lacey blankets—it looks like it’s topped with cream—and a baby sticks her little hand out and waves. My stepmother is spooning powdered milk into a bottle.

At first, my stepmother seems startled at the sight of me walking in. But then she casually taps the measuring spoon against the bottle and drops it into the powdered milk container.

“Yes, yes, little Yeondu. Hungry, aren’t you? Let’s have some milk.” Gently holding the baby like a fragile and precious object, my stepmother stares mockingly into my face. I flinch and step back, closing the door behind me.

“What is that? Dad! Who is that?”

“Lower your voice. You are scaring the baby!”

“Whose baby is that? Where’s Leche?”

“Of course he’s your brother. I gave away the cat. I heard cats are bad for babies.”

“No way. Fuck this. Give me back my baby!”

“A cat isn’t a person. Don’t call a cat a baby. I gave some cat food and the litter box to the person who adopted her, so Leche will do just fine. If you’re worried, go check on her, I won’t stop you.”

“So you threw out my baby, and adopted this baby? Wait, you guys made him? You and Stepmom? At your age? Why? When did she get pregnant?”

“You knew that. I told you last summer. You don’t care about your family. Where’s your mind?”

“Don’t lie! Can you even have sex at your age? You’re a sex-addicted monster! A slave to your own desire! You can’t even take care of what you’ve already ejaculated!”

An awkward and bitter silence hangs in the air.

“Yeoul, you idiot. Stop stressing out your mom. Your mom had a hard time giving birth at forty-five. She had a bad case of pre-eclampsia. Stop being a brat, you’re grown up now! Haven’t you watched Extraordinary Stories from Abroad? People conceive children in their seventies and eighties now. So stop with your psychotic act and take a shower. Eat some seaweed soup.” My so-called aunt tries to put a towel against my tear- and snot-covered face.

“Don’t touch me! Just go home! Take your sister with you! Why do I need to call her Mom? I have my own mom! That woman had a husband and a child before all this, right?” I turn to her. “How could you act like none of that happened and live with another man? Even beasts don’t do that. I’m not going to be like you!”

Dad hits me across the face.