Chapter 20: The Letter He Left Behind
The apartment was quiet when Yeri opened the door. It was the kind of quiet that came only after a storm. She stepped inside slowly, her fingers still gripping the old envelope her brother had pressed into her hand just before she left.
"This is for you," he'd whispered, his voice barely a thread. "But don't open it right away. Open it when… when the ache turns to peace."
That had been two weeks ago.
He was gone now.
And the ache still hadn't eased, but it had changed. It no longer throbbed like an open wound. It felt more like a soft bruise: tender but bearable.
Yunjun was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, carefully pouring coffee into two mugs. He turned when he heard the door close behind her.
"You okay?" he asked.
Yeri nodded lightly. "I think so."
She held up the envelope. "He left this for me."
Yunjun studied her face for a moment, then carefully set down the mugs. "Do you want me to stay?"
She looked at him, really looked. She saw the worry hidden beneath his calm, the softness in his eyes. He always gave her the space to choose.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I want you here."
They sat together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled as if they had nowhere else to be.
Yeri took a deep breath and broke the seal.
Inside was a single folded sheet of paper and a photograph.
The photo was old, faded at the edges, with colors blending into warmth. It showed her and her brother when they were kids. She was about five, he was ten. They both grinned at the camera, popsicles in hand and sticky fingers interlaced.
Yeri blinked hard.
Then she unfolded the letter.
Yeri,
If you're reading this, I probably kept my promise and waited until the very end to be dramatic. You always hated how I did that.
There's a lot I could say—regrets, apologies—but I know you. You don't want a confession. You want honesty.
So here it is.
The day you told the truth, the day you spoke up, I was proud of you. So proud. But I was also scared. Scared of what it would mean for you, for our family, for everything we thought we understood.
And I didn't do enough.
I let them send you away. I stood by while you were blamed. And I'll never forgive myself for that.
But I followed you.
Not literally. I didn't stalk you or anything—don't worry. But I kept track. I knew where you were living. I watched you rebuild yourself. I saw you become stronger, fiercer, softer in the ways that mattered.
And then one day, I saw him.
Yunjun.
I watched the way he looked at you, Yeri. Like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time. Like the world had kicked both of you down, and you were learning how to stand—together.
He reminded me of Mom.
Not in the way he looks, obviously. But in how he gives his love. Quietly. With patience. With presence.
I couldn't give you what you needed. But maybe he can.
Don't push him away when the ghosts whisper that you're not worthy. Don't let your past decide your future. You deserve more than survival.
You deserve joy.
And Yeri…
I never stopped being your big brother. Even when I failed at it.
Love you always,
—Taemin
By the end, Yeri couldn't breathe.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks, and her fingers curled into the paper as if she could hold onto him for just a little longer.
Yunjun remained still beside her, not speaking, not rushing her.
When she finally looked up, her voice was barely a whisper. "He knew."
Yunjun's gaze was gentle. "He loved you."
She nodded, brushing a tear away with the back of her hand. "He watched over me all this time… and I never knew."
"You know now," he said softly.
Yeri exhaled, long and shaky, and leaned into him. Her head rested against his shoulder, and for a while, they just sat in silence. They were wrapped in the stillness that often came with grief and love.
The next morning, Yeri stood by the windowsill, the letter folded neatly in her hands.
"I want to do something for him," she said, her voice strong despite the weight in her chest.
Yunjun looked up from the stove. "Like what?"
"Something that honors him. That honors the truth. A foundation, maybe. For kids who get silenced like I was. Who don't have brothers like Taemin."
Yunjun stepped closer, nodding slowly. "That's beautiful."
"He always believed in me, even when I didn't. I want to make sure that matters."
He took her hand. "Then we'll do it together."
The next few weeks were filled with activity—talks with lawyers, meetings with social workers, phone calls with therapists and survivors. Yeri poured herself into the project, naming it The Taemin Trust.
It hurt every step of the way, but it also healed something she didn't realize was still bleeding.
Every time someone thanked her, every time a story echoed hers, she felt closer to her brother. To herself.
One afternoon, after a long meeting, Yeri and Yunjun walked through a quiet park. The breeze was gentle and cherry blossoms fluttered around them like confetti from a sky that was finally learning how to celebrate again.
"I didn't think I could come back from everything," Yeri said softly.
Yunjun stopped walking and turned to face her. "You didn't just come back. You're changing the world with what nearly broke you."
She looked up at him, heart fluttering at the pride in his voice.
"I think I'm finally starting to believe that I deserve this," she whispered.
"You always did," he replied.
His hand reached for hers, warm and steady.
This time, when their eyes met, they were not haunted by fear or weighed down by history.
It was just them.
Alive.
Learning.
Loving.
Later that night, Yeri stood on the rooftop, the city lights sparkling below. She held the photo of her and Taemin again, this time with a small smile.
"Thank you," she whispered into the wind.
A breeze brushed against her cheek.
And somehow, she felt it.
He heard her.
To be continued.....
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