It was spring: the kind of spring that came on all at once and takes you by surprise. The sudden change in weather had been a shock to the system for everyone on campus. The men stayed out later; the women found more scandalous secrets to whisper in the back of lecture halls. Everywhere there was a sense of creation, of fomentation: everyone was writing, singing, grabbing at each other. Everyone except Sang-mi.

Spring, for Sang-mi, meant an anniversary. Well, one of her "dark anniversaries," as she liked to call them. She had several such anniversaries: the death of her brother (fall), the death of her tormentor and abuser, the Pastor (summer). But this anniversary was not a death, not quite. It was the anniversary of her father being sentenced to prison.

Sang mi had (barely) escaped from a cult three years ago. It was an ordeal that left many dead, including a journalist friend of hers. The journey out had also left many scars, both physical and emotional, on her, her friends, and the other members of the cult. It was not the emotional scars that the police were concerned with, however: they were preoccupied solely with the physical assaults. As a part of prayer, cult members were subjected to "hands-on prayers" that were meant to drive the devil out of a body. To an observer, these prayers looked like beatings—which, of course, they were.

Towards the end of his time with the church, Sang-mi's father had been given a leadership role in which he performed multiple of these "hands-on prayers." His willingness, vigor, and identifiability by his victims had earned him a sentence of eight years in prison.

In her dorm room, Sang-mi tried to collect herself at her desk. She traced her hand along her lamp. She felt the warmth of the bulb radiating through the metal shade. She tried to concentrate on this sensation, the heat, but her mind wandered. Her mind took her back to her father's trial. He was alone. Where are the others? Sang-mi remembered asking herself. Her father had committed crimes, but so had others. Why was he facing this alone? She almost felt sadness or anger at the injustice. But she pushed it down. She had promised herself that she would not forgive him. She remembered her own bruises, and she pictured the hundreds of bruises she would never get to see. Bruises, and maybe worse. She shuddered at the thought.

Stay here, Sang-mi, she told herself. Your room, here. She got up. She paced the room. She went over to her fish, Sanus. She watched Sanus's blue fins beat against the water, turning its body in place. She had named it using a Latin word. "Healthy."

She let her feet move across the rug, dragging them like ice skating. But the feeling wasn't enough. She saw flashing lights—the cameras after she left the courtroom. What were the newspapers trying to capture? Her mother was stoic. Sang-mi was nothing but composed. Their lawyer had already read a short statement expressing that they believed no man was above the law, not even their father and husband. But still the newspapers tried to spin their tales. "Heartbreaking: A Family Torn Apart by Cult," "Mother Secretly Has Sympathies, Source Says," "When Will Daddy Come Home? Daughter Cries." All of them lies. Lies, lies, lies.

And so he was put away in spring.

She thought about calling her mother, but she didn't want to risk reminding her. I hope she forgets what day it is. The thought came out almost like a prayer.

"I know you miss winter, but the figure skating's no good in here."

Sang-mi looked up. Her roommate, Ji-yoo.

"Sorry," Sang-mi blurted out.

"What exactly were you doing?" Ji-yoo asked.

"So how did the chemistry final go?" Sang-Mi was eager to change the subject.

"Ugh, don't remind me. I absolutely failed." Sang-mi only half listened as Ji-yoo led her through the intricacies of the science exam.

Ji-yoo. The best fun and the best remedy. A bit naïve, at times, but Sang-Mi realized by now that she was older than her peers. Not older in age, but older in spirit. That place had added years to her. That place had taught her lessons against her will, and all of those lessons built on her like rings on a tree. She sometimes grieved for the youth she had taken from her. But it was as if fate knew this and brought Ji-yoo into her life. Ji-yoo saw the world with childlike wonder. She loved make-pretend games and silly pranks and never thought herself weird for doing so. She spent a whole month hiding a rubber lizard in Sang-Mi's things. Sang-Mis wasn't particularly scared of lizards, but every time she would see the lizard, she would pretend to be frightened just for Ji-yoo. Ji-yoo would laugh and laugh.

And somehow, even in the middle of talking about her tumultuous relationship with chemistry, Ji-yoo was still laughing. She was laughing about the boy in front of her who had his hair cut so there was one long triangle down the front.

"But he put styling gel in it, right? So it was sticking up! And he—oh my God-he looked like a unicorn!" Ji-yoo blurted out. She laughed and laughed and laughed. Her laughter was contagious. Sang-mi laughed too. And they laughed, until-

A phone ringing.

"It's yours," Sang-mi said.

"No," Ji-yoo replied, holding up her silent phone.

Sang-mi rummaged through her backpack to find her phone.

"Hello?"

"Uh, yes, is this Miss Im?"

"Speaking."

"This is Mr. Oh, from Yu Law Offices. I am calling regarding the proposition. I was wondering if you had any time to reconsider."

"Excuse me," Sang-mi stuttered out, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"I am your father's lawyer, Miss Im."

Sang-mi was taken aback. This was not true. Her father's lawyer did not have that last name. She told this strange man as much.

"My apologies, Miss Im. I am your father's lawyer since he has been in prison. I specialize in current inmates, not sentencing."

"That's impossible," Sang-mi stated curtly. "Who is paying you? We sure aren't. And dad doesn't have any-"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that matter, Miss Im. And if you read the letter I sent, you would know this all by now."

"I didn't get any letter."

"Really? Because I received a response from you."

"When?"

"About a month ago."

Sang-mi was utterly confused. A letter? A month ago? That she, herself, had supposedly responded to. Was she going crazy? Had she lost time? Maybe the trauma had caused her to forget things-

"I also left several phone messages," the lawyer interjected in a cool tone.

"To this phone?"

"To your home phone."

Home.

Mom.

"I'm sorry," Sang-mi finally said, collecting herself. "I still need some time to, uh—"

"To consider our proposition," the lawyer filled in.

"Yes, that," Sang-mi replied.

"Well, we are on a deadline, Ms. Im," the lawyer said coldly.

"When do you need to hear back from me?"

"By the end of the week."

The end of the week? It was already Wednesday. How was she going to figure all of this out by the end of the week?

"I understand," Sang-mi replied.

"I will be awaiting your call." And the line went dead.

"Who was that?" Ji-yoo asked, her probing curiosity apparent.

"Just some financial things," Sang-mi said, trying to shrug it off.

"Oh. Ew." Nothing made Ji-yoo lose interest like money talk.

The end of the week. Sang-mi needed to figure this out, and soon.

"Ji-yoo, can you do me a favor?"

"Hm?"

"Can you feed the fish while I'm gone?"