My husband, Tom, had taken a teaching job at a private English academy two years earlier. We were supposed to stay in Seoul just long enough for his resume to look impressive, then come home before Olivia started school.
« I’m your only niece. »
Instead, Korea became the place where she learned to count in two languages, chase butterflies under our cherry tree, and insist every Saturday end with strawberry ice cream from the corner shop.
Max adored that about her. He was 20, backpacking through Asia with more confidence than money, and whenever he passed through Seoul, he turned our tiny rental house into a carnival.
Olivia followed him everywhere.
Snow became part of that too.
Olivia followed him everywhere.
Every night, she tucked the rabbit under her blanket because « his ears got cold. » Tom kissed Olivia goodnight. I kissed Snow. She laughed every time.
Looking back, I don’t remember what groceries I bought the morning she disappeared.
I remember kissing that rabbit goodbye.
