That's my promise. I hope it means something.
— Jae-won
P.S. The others don't know how scared I am. Please don't tell them. They need me to be strong.
I set the letter down with shaking hands.
He was scared. The pack alpha, the one with the thunderstorm scent and the commanding presence, was scared of failing. Scared of messing up. Scared of being too much or not enough.
Just like me.
They're all just people, my omega said softly, something like wonder in her voice.Scared, imperfect people who want to love us.
I sat at my kitchen table surrounded by food I hadn't asked for and letters I hadn't expected, and I cried. Not the panicked,terrified crying of the past few days. This was something different. Something that felt almost like relief. Like pressure being released from a wound that had been festering for too long.
They weren't what I'd feared.
They weren't controlling or possessive or demanding. They were kind. Thoughtful. Vulnerable in ways that made my heart ache. They'd respected my boundaries, honored my request, given me exactly what I'd asked for without pushing for more.
Feel instead of push down, I reminded myself, letting the tears flow.This is what trying looks like.
Eventually, the tears slowed. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, took a shaky breath, and reached for the container of soup. The samgyetang was still warm when I opened it — a whole small chicken nestled in rich broth with ginseng and dates and garlic. The smell alone made my mouth water, my stomach cramping with a hunger I'd been ignoring for far too long. I found a spoon in my kitchen drawer and took a tentative bite.
It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.
Maybe that was the soul sickness talking, or the days of barely eating, or the emotional release of reading five letters from five alphas who were trying so hard to reach me. But in that moment, sitting at my tiny kitchen table with tears still drying on my cheeks, Min-jun's soup tasted like comfort made tangible. Like care I could hold in my hands.
I ate until I couldn't eat anymore. Then I ate a little more, because I could almost hear Min-jun's voice in my head telling me I needed fuel to fight the soul sickness. The ginger tea was perfect — just sweet enough to be comforting, just spicy enough to clear my head. The rice balls were exactly as sweet as I'd hoped, the red bean filling melting on my tongue.
He remembered, my omega said again, contentment threading through her voice.He pays attention.
After I ate, I sat for a long time, staring at the letters spread across my table. I should respond. Should let them know I'd received everything, that I appreciated it, that I was trying. But what did I say? How did I match the vulnerability they'd shown with my own?
Start small, I told myself, echoing Jin-ho's advice to Hwan.You don't have to explain everything.
I found a piece of paper and a pen, and I sat there staring at the blank page for what felt like hours. The afternoon light shifted through my window, turning from gold to orange to pink as the sun moved across the sky. My body ached with the soul sickness, but the food had helped. I felt more solid than I had in days. More present.
Finally, I started to write.
Hwan, Jin-ho, Tae-min, Min-jun, Jae-won,
I read your letters. All of them. I don't have words for what I'm feeling right now — everything is tangled up together in ways I can't separate. Gratitude. Guilt. Fear that's starting to feel less like a wall and more like a door I might be able to open.
I want to try something Tae-min suggested: being honest even when it's messy.
I'm still scared. Reading your words didn't magically fix twelve years of fear, and I don't think anything will. But I'm starting to believe that maybe you're not what I was afraid of. That maybe my mother's story doesn't have to be my story. That maybe breaking and completing really are opposite things.
I'm not ready yet. I don't know when I will be. But I'm trying. Really trying this time, not just hiding and calling it something else.
The food was incredible. Min-jun, thank you. I ate until I couldn't move, which is more than I've eaten in days. The rice balls were perfect. I don't know what comes next. But thank youfor being patient with me. Thank you for listening. Thank you for giving me exactly what I asked for instead of pushing for more.
— Keira
I read over the letter twice, cringing at some of the phrasing, wondering if I should rewrite it. But they'd asked for real. And real wasn't polished. Real was messy and uncertain and sometimes didn't have answers.
I folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, writingSIRENon the front because I didn't know how else to address it. Tomorrow, I'd figure out how to get it to them. Maybe I'd ask Jeni for help. Maybe I'd leave it at Narvi Entertainment's front desk. Maybe?—
My phone buzzed.
