“Choi Wansu and I went to the same school. She wasn’t Choi Wansu then. Her name was Na Wansu. She was a scholarship student with a remarkable aptitude for language. We were the only two that spoke English well. Jonghyung-oppa ran a food stand right outside of the school. He would give you free samples if you were a pretty girl. If you were a pretty girl, he would slip you some soju or a cigarette. Do you understand what I am saying?”

I nod slowly. My father was a predator, then. An older man who hung around high schools to woo young girls. I feel sick.

“I got pregnant, too, you see. But my baby did not survive and I could not have any children after that, so you cannot be my daughter.” She recites these details as if she’s reading the ingredients list off a bottle of detergent. Alcohol, sulfate, citric acid, I had a miscarriage, ethanol. Kwon Hyeun reaches over and taps the paper. “But her. She is your mother.”

“H-how can you be sure?”

“Choi Wansu left school and then returned to the city after a year. I’ve kept track of her.” Kwon Hyeun shrugs nonchalantly because low-key stalking a woman for a quarter of a century is no big deal. “She married very well to a widower and then took his company for herself. You can look her up on Naver. There are many articles about her success. She fosters young women, particularly single mothers, and donates many won to adoption charities.” Kwon Hyeun arches an eyebrow. “We do not have to wonder why those are things she chooses to champion, do we?”

“No.” A coldness is creeping through my veins. I fold my hands on top of each other and try to squeeze some warmth back into the chilled digits.

“She is very wealthy now. I am surprised she hasn’t tried to find you, but maybe she does not want to.” Kwon Hyeun may not have meant to be hurtful, but it feels like she’s taken my fork and stabbed me with it.

Wounded, I struggle for breath before pulling out my phone and swiping to the album I’d made with the scans of the photos. I have to be sure. “Which one of these is Choi Wansu?”

“A test?” Kwon Hyeun takes the phone and flips through the images. She stops at one and lays the screen in front of me. “Her.”

It’s the photo that’s labeled Na Y——, but I realize now that the Y was actually a W and the coffee Boyoung spilled washed away most of the ink, leaving the last name and a distorted part of the first letter—or Hangul character in this case.

My head is reeling with all the information that Kwon Hyeun has shared. The woman was once pregnant with my half sister. My dad was a horrible person. My mother . . . fuck . . . my mother’s name is Choi Wansu.

“What will you do?” The question is accompanied by a piercing stare. The flat brown eyes bore into mine.