And then three weeks later in early October, he had delivered in a clean manila envelope the information on the whereabouts of her parents, papers that she now stowed in a safety-deposit box along with what she had left of her past—a few photographs from her time at the orphanage, her old identification documents in Korea, the only image she had left of her husband and daughter on that day they had gone hiking together.

Here now in front of this black-and-white photo of Mr. Kim—his face still glowing, eyes warm and soft, the gentle curve of his crooked smile—she experienced an unburdening, a rush of relief as this obituary confirmed what she had known when he had stopped answering his phone weeks ago: that he was gone forever. Now, she could reassemble her life, placing Margot’s items—any photographs or mementos of hers that Mina had hidden from Mr. Kim these past few months—where they belonged before Margot’s next visit.

Margot would never know he had been there, or who he was. And vice versa.

Carefully, Mina cut around the edges of the obituary’s text, the straight lines.

In their few months together, despite his weakened condition, despite the fact that their bodies had changed, hers rounding and softening, and his revealing more bone and angles, they loved each other. He kissed her on the mouth in her bed. They felt young again as if they had just moved to America, as if they had always been in love. They could somehow erase the past. She had forgiven him. She did. She was so relieved to forgive someone.

But nothing could prepare her for the hole that Mr. Kim’s death could leave in her life.

She found an empty envelope, folded the obituary, and slipped the paper inside for safekeeping. She opened the drawer and slid the envelope underneath the tray of her daughter’s art supplies. To her knowledge, Margot never went inside that desk anymore. Mina had actually not seen her daughter sketch anything in a very long time.

She closed the drawer, sat on her daughter’s chair, and wept on top of the newspaper that remained spread on the desk. She lowered her face onto the empty rectangle from which she had removed Mr. Kim’s life, soaking the print, gently stamping the side of her face with smears of ink.

“MINA?” MRS. BAEK SAID ON THE PHONE, RELIEVED AND angry. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Haven’t you been listening to your messages?”

For the past week since she had cut the obituary from the newspaper, Mina had been ignoring the phone, the sound of which made her heart pound in her chest. She had been overcome by the most profound exhaustion, recalling all those days of relentless grief, years and years ago when her husband and daughter died, like so many waves, pounding against her.

Mr. Kim was gone. This truth had knocked her down into the icy water, tossed her body around, and she found herself gasping for breath on the shore. She needed sleep. She needed rest and warmth.

“You haven’t been at work in what—a week?” Mrs. Baek asked.

Until today, the weather had been balmy. In the seventies and eighties during the day. Outside now, the sky was black, and the ground shimmered, wet with rain. The season was turning again.

“I’m fine,” Mina said, rubbing the space between her brows.

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you might be with Margot or something for Thanksgiving but . . . it’s been too long. I’ve been worried about you these past few months. What’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“You’ve done enough for me, unnie.” Mina’s voice cracked as she remembered, all those years ago, Mrs. Baek rushing through her bedroom door, helping her to the bathroom, the toilet. How many times had Mrs. Baek held her hand? “Please do not worry about me. I just need some rest. I’m very tired these days. I’ll be back at work tomorrow. I promise. We can talk about it then.”

Silence on the other end.

“Hello?” Mina asked.

“No. No. I’ll come over, okay? Have you eaten anything?” Mrs. Baek’s voice softened. “You sound weak.”

“No, I don’t need—”

“I’ll bring you some food. I’ll be over in an hour, okay? Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”

As they sat on Mina’s couch, the broken figure of the Virgin Mary watched and Mina, finally, after twenty-six years, shared why Mr. Kim had fled. She told Mrs. Baek about what had happened to Lupe that day—how the supermarket owner had assaulted her and Mr. Kim intervened, causing him to disappear for fear of deportation. Mina confessed about Mr. Kim’s reappearance in her life, their affair over the summer, their trip to the Grand Canyon, the information he had gathered about her parents by using a private investigator, his death.

“Does Margot know?” Mrs. Baek asked, picking up a framed photo of Margot as a child, six or seven years old, her bangs straight across, on the couch’s side table.

“No, she does not,” Mina said with a heaviness in her chest.

“I don’t remember this photo.” Mrs. Baek scanned the room. “There’s another one there, too. I remember thinking that you didn’t have any photos of Margot—the first time I came here. In the summer.”

“I hid all of them. I didn’t want Mr. Kim to know.”

“You never told him?” Mrs. Baek appeared confused.

“No.”

“All those years,” Mrs. Baek said, eyes lingering on the photo in her hand. “But Margot. Look at that face. Don’t you think she would want to know? Don’t you think—”

“It’s better this way.” Mina mustered all the strength she could to say those words. Did she believe them? She had but now she wasn’t so sure.

Mrs. Baek nodded, setting the frame down on the table. Scrunching her brows, she appeared lost in her own thoughts, her own memories. A deafening silence bloomed.

What would Margot gain from knowing that her father had reappeared and died, only months later? Margot had already given up on him long ago. She had moved to Seattle and apparently was doing just fine without him, without Mina, too. But what if Mina was wrong about her daughter? What if—

Abruptly, Mrs. Baek stood, paced back and forth. She stopped, turned toward Mina, and asked, “The owner of the supermarket, the one who attacked Lupe—whatever happened to him?”

“Mr. Park?” Mina sighed. “Nothing to my knowledge. After I had Margot, I left. I never wanted to think about him again.”

“His name was Mr. Park?”

“Yes, why?” Mina noticed the quickening of Mrs. Baek’s breath. “Are you okay?”

“I just realized something, that’s all. I need some water.” Mrs. Baek rushed toward the kitchen. Mina heard her grab a glass from the drying rack and fill it from the tap. A moan of sadness escaped Mrs. Baek’s mouth.

Mina found her slumped down on the laminate floor, leaning on the cabinets, and Mina was struck with the feeling of staring at a version of herself. How many times had she leaned on those cabinets alone?

“Unnie,” Mina said, bending down to the ground beside Mrs. Baek. “What’s wrong?”

Covering her face, Mrs. Baek wept. Mina had never seen Mrs. Baek cry before, and she had the sudden urge to hold her, to wipe the tears from her face.

“Unnie.” Mina gently helped Mrs. Baek to her feet. “Unnie, please have a seat. Sit in the living room.”

Mrs. Baek rested again on the couch, leaning forward with her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Mina said. “I’m sorry if I said something, I’m sorry if I said—”

“No. It’s not you.” Mrs. Baek shook her head.

Mina grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the restroom and handed it to Mrs. Baek.

“I just—I just realized something,” Mrs. Baek said. Terrified, nostrils flaring, she looked into Mina’s eyes. “Mr. Park.”

“Yes?”

“I think he’s the same man who’s been following me.” She breathed through her mouth.

“Following you?”

Mrs. Baek nodded. “He’s been making my life hell. When you said that he owned the supermarket, I realized that the man—the man who’s been following me, he’s the same Mr. Park. He told me about it, the supermarkets that he owned.” Her voice grew hoarse. “For whatever reason, I couldn’t connect that with where you had worked—back when you first came to America.” Tears streamed down her face. “I never connected that until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you just hate how small this world is?” Mrs. Baek asked with a depth of sorrow that Mina had never seen in her eyes. Her red lipstick had been smeared to the right of her mouth. Mina had the urge to erase it from her cheek with her thumb. She knew exactly what Mrs. Baek meant.

“He bought Hanok House, you know?” Mrs. Baek said. “That’s why I left.”

Mina gasped. “Mr. Park? I thought . . . Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t realize, I hadn’t made the connection—”

“No.” Mina shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me that someone was following you?”

“I couldn’t. I figured it’d be best to not involve anyone else. I didn’t want you, or anyone, to worry. Or what if—what if he retaliated against me if I did, or if someone else called the police? I thought I could deal with this on my own.” She blew her nose. “I’ve been through worse.”