Page 206 of My Ruthless Neighbor

This ache in my chest is insufferable. I still wait by the hallway for hours on end to see if she’d return. She never does. And I am miserable. I even miss Goldie who loved ruining my ties.

I thought knowing that she is someplace safe would be enough. It isn’t. I’ve never felt this lonely in my life. And it’s ironic considering I have spent years living alone and preferred it.

These past days, I had a lot of time to think. About my choices and actions. Each day brought me closer and closer to the realization that I fucked up my only chance at happiness.

I let the woman go who taught me how to live again.

Many a times, I picked up my phone with every intention of calling Ettinger. He would track her and send me her location in less than an hour. But every time, I curbed that urge.

I am so exhausted that I leave work early which I never do and go home. Which isn’t a home anymore. Not without her.

The colorful stuff she left behind seems lifeless because she was the one that made this place lively.

I go through my routine. I take a shower, then change into sweats and a t-shirt. But the restlessness doesn’t go.

When I feel like the walls are closing in on me, I grab my jacket then my car keys and leave.

I drive aimlessly for a couple hours before finally driving back home. When I climb out of the car, I find myself standing in front of my parents’ house in Malibu.

I push the hair off my forehead and pace anxiously. Just as I am about to get back inside and drive off, a figure walks out of the house. “Archer? Is that you?” She calls out in Korean.

Eomma steps forward slowly. And I swallow thickly.

She is wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of black trousers. Her entire face lights up when she sees me. Shivering, she rushes to me.

I take off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. “Why are you wandering out at the dead of the night? And where’s your jacket?” I chide her softly in Korean.

She looks up at me with glistening eyes. When she stays mute for a solid minute, I shake her gently. “Eomma?”

She blinks back her tears and smiles at me. “I heard the sound of a car and came out to check.”

I make a sound of protest. “It’s not safe—”

She cups my stubbled cheek in her small hand. “I know, I know. You can lecture me later. First let me take a good look at my handsome and busy son.”

Guilt creeps into me. Putting my hand on top of hers, I lean into her touch and close my eyes.

“You don’t look so good, son. What is wrong?”

I open my eyes, chuckling. “Thanks,Eomma,” I say dryly then avert my gaze when she continues to study me with a frown.

I clear my throat. “What’s Abeoji doing? How is he?”

“He’s fine and right now he’s fast asleep.” She turns my face with a grip on my face. “Archer, something is wrong. I can feel it. Tell me, son.”

I shake my head but she begins pulling me toward the private garden. She leads me to the bench and sits down on it. She motions for me to sit by patting at the space beside her.

Sighing, I sit down. She takes my hand between her fragile ones. Patting it gently, she asks, “What is it, son? Tell Eomma.”

I shake my head. “How can you be so nice to me?” I rasp.

“What do you mean?”

“I avoid you both. I am a terrible son. I don’t call. I don’t visit. Still you welcome me with open arms. Why?” I stare at her, my throat tight. “Why can’t you hate me too, Eomma?”

She just smiles and cups my jaw. “A mother can never hate her child.”

A lump rises in my throat, my chest squeezing. I turn my face in her palm.

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