Days passed after Jungkook’s first visit to the village, but the pain of that meeting never left him. He returned to the city, carrying Y/N’s memory like a wound that refused to heal. Every night, her voice echoed in his head — the words she had spoken when she was alive, the pain he had caused, and the promises he could never fulfill.

He started visiting her grave quietly, sometimes in the early mornings, sometimes under the stars, whispering things he should have said long ago. But his father had other plans.

“You will bring those children home,” Mr. Jeon said coldly one evening, his tone leaving no room for argument. “They are our blood. They deserve to grow up with the Jeon name — not in that poor man’s hut.”

Jungkook froze. “They have a home,” he said quietly. “They have a grandfather who loves them. You can’t just take them away.”

His father’s voice rose. “You think love is enough? That old man won’t live long. Do you want your children growing up in poverty, working in the fields like peasants? They are heirs to the Jeon legacy! They deserve a better life.”

But Jungkook knew his father didn’t care about love or children — only bloodlines and appearances.

Despite Jungkook’s protests, Mr. Jeon went to the village himself. He came with men, cars, and gifts. He spoke softly to Y/N’s father, but his words were sharp as knives wrapped in silk.

“Think about their future,” he said, voice dripping with false concern. “You are old, weak. How long will you live? What will happen to them when you’re gone? My son can give them everything — education, comfort, safety. Don’t you want Y/N’s children to have the life she never did?”

Y/N’s father sat silent, trembling. The words pierced him. He looked at the children — their small, smiling faces, their laughter echoing in the golden fields. He wanted them to have every happiness, every opportunity his daughter had been denied.

Tears burned in his eyes as he whispered, “If it means they’ll live better… then take them. But promise me… promise me they’ll never forget where they came from. Promise me you’ll let them know their mother’s name.”

Mr. Jeon nodded, but his eyes were cold.

When Jungkook returned home later that night and found the twins there — scared, confused, clutching each other’s hands — his heart dropped. “Appa, what have you done?” he shouted, voice trembling with rage. “You took them away from their home!”

“I saved them,” Mr. Jeon said firmly. “I gave them a future. Something that girl’s family never could.”

Jungkook’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare speak about Y/N that way! You don’t understand — she was my punishment and my redemption. Those kids don’t need wealth — they need love. They needed their grandfather!”

His father scoffed. “Love won’t feed them. Love won’t send them to school. You’ll thank me one day.”

But Jungkook never did. He couldn’t.

Days turned to weeks. Jungkook tried to give the twins everything he could — not gold, not toys, but time. He tucked them in, told them stories, and listened when they spoke. Slowly, they began to trust him. The boy would sit on his lap and trace the scar on his wrist with small fingers, whispering, “You’re sad, aren’t you?” and Jungkook could only nod.

The girl loved flowers, just like Y/N. She’d spend hours in the garden, planting seeds, asking about her mother. “Appa,” she said once, “was Mama pretty?”

Jungkook smiled through tears. “She was the most beautiful person in the world. Not just outside… but here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Your mama’s love still lives inside you both.”

Each day, they reminded him of what he had lost — Y/N’s laughter, her courage, her warmth. The more he saw them smile, the more it broke him. Because everything they had, they deserved to share with her.

One night, Jungkook woke to the sound of soft sobs. The twins were crying, clutching their small blankets.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside them.

The boy wiped his eyes. “Grandpa promised he would come see us. He said he wouldn’t let us go alone. But he didn’t come… He lied…”

The girl hiccupped between sobs. “He said he’d tell Mama’s stories every night… but he didn’t come…”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. His father had promised Y/N’s father they would visit — but he never allowed it. “They belong here,” Mr. Jeon had said coldly. “Forget that man.”

But now Jungkook saw the truth. His father hadn’t just taken the children’s home — he had stolen their only connection to their mother.

That night, Jungkook’s anger burned into resolve. He stormed into his father’s study, eyes blazing. “You lied to them. You used Y/N’s father’s love against him. You took away everything he had left — his grandchildren, his hope. Do you even have a heart?”

His father looked up, calm as ever. “I did what was necessary. Don’t be dramatic.”

Jungkook slammed his hands on the desk. “Necessary? You call cruelty necessary? You’ve ruined lives for pride — for status. But not anymore.”

Before his father could answer, Jungkook turned and left — and this time, he didn’t look back.

The next morning, the villagers saw a car pulling up near the same fields where Y/N once walked. Jungkook stepped out, carrying the twins by hand. Their eyes lit up as they spotted the old man waiting under the banyan tree.

“Grandpa!” they cried, running toward him, wrapping their arms around his legs. Y/N’s father dropped to his knees, crying into their small shoulders, whispering, “My babies… you came back…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, eyes downcast. He didn’t speak — he didn’t need to. The old man looked up at him, tears glistening, and nodded faintly. It was forgiveness — silent, but real.

“I’ll not take them again,” Jungkook said softly. “They belong here, with her memories. But… please, let me help you from afar. Let me make sure they have everything they need. Not because I pity you… but because I owe Y/N everything.”

The old man’s voice trembled. “She would have wanted that.”

From then on, Jungkook kept his promise. He built a small house near the village, quietly sending help but never intruding on their peace. The twins grew up healthy and happy, visiting him sometimes — calling him Appa with smiles that healed the cracks in his soul.

Every year, on Y/N’s death anniversary, he placed flowers on her grave — the same kind her daughter loved to plant. And he would whisper, “They’re safe now. They laugh like you. They’re kind like you. You’d be proud of them.”

And then, when the wind rustled through the crops, it almost felt like her voice, soft and forgiving, whispering back:

“Now you understand, Jungkook. Love isn’t possession… it’s letting go.”

The seasons kept turning, one after another. The small house Jungkook had built near the fields aged quietly with him. Its walls carried the silence of repentance — the kind that no prayer could wash away.

He watched the twins from afar as they grew — from toddling through mud to racing each other down the dusty paths, their laughter echoing in the fields that once carried his sins.

He never missed a moment, though they never knew. On school days, he’d hide behind the banyan tree near the gate, just to watch them wave to their grandfather. When they fell sick, he’d send medicine through the post anonymously. When they needed shoes, he left them by the doorstep at night.

Every act was his way of saying I’m sorry, a thousand times over — but none ever reached her.

As years passed, the boy grew tall, protective, and fiery like his mother. The girl, gentle yet fierce, carried

Y

/N’s eyes — eyes that once held love for him but now lived on only in pain.

When the twins turned eighteen, fate made its cruel circle complete. The boy — Joon — came to the town where Jungkook’s company had sponsored a youth program. Jungkook saw him standing there, confident and strong, wearing an expression that reminded him so much of her that it nearly broke him.

He couldn’t resist. He approached him quietly.

“Joon?” Jungkook’s voice trembled. “You’ve grown so much.”

The boy frowned, studying the stranger. “Do I know you, sir?”

Jungkook’s lips quivered. “Maybe… not. But I know you. I’ve watched you grow. You look… like your mother.”

At that, Joon’s face darkened. “You have no right to say that name,” he hissed. “You people ruined her. My grandfather told me everything.”

Before Jungkook could speak, the girl — Hana — stepped out from the crowd. Her voice was quiet but sharp as a blade.

“You’re Jeon Jungkook, aren’t you? The man who made our mother beg for love… and then left her to die?”

Jungkook’s knees felt weak. The world spun, and the sound of her voice — so much like Y/N’s — shattered him completely.

He fell to his knees before them. “You have every right to hate me. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I just wanted to see you once, to know you’re okay.”

Joon’s jaw tightened. “We’re not okay because of you. We’re okay in spite of you.”

The words hit him harder than any slap ever could. He nodded, tears slipping down his face. “Then I’ve failed her again,” he whispered. “Because all I wanted was to protect what she left behind.”

As the twins turned to leave, Hana paused. For a moment, she looked back — her eyes softening, just slightly. “If you truly loved her… you’d stop haunting her memory.”

And with that, they walked away.

That night, Jungkook went to Y/N’s grave again, the moonlight tracing the lines of his weary face. He placed a bouquet of lilies — her favorite — and sat beside her tombstone.

“I saw them today,” he murmured. “They hate me… and they’re right to. But they’re strong, Y/N. Just like you wanted them to be. I think… I think it’s time I stop coming here.”

The wind stirred again, brushing through his hair — a whisper, faint but warm.

“Then let go, Jungkook. Let go and be free.”

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he smiled through his tears. Because somehow, he knew she had forgiven him — even if the world never could.

After that night, Jungkook stopped visiting the village.

He didn’t stop loving — he just stopped wanting. For years, his love had been a wound he kept reopening. Now, he let it scar over, quietly, like the earth sealing after rain.

He sold everything in the city — the mansion, the cars, the company. All that wealth had never filled the silence Y/N left behind. He gave it all away — to orphanages, to hospitals, to shelters for abandoned mothers. He left no name, no plaque, no credit. Only a simple note attached to each donation:

“For the ones who were left alone — forgive the world.”

As the years passed, his hair turned grey, his body weak. But his eyes — those once burning eyes — softened, carrying the peace he had searched for all his life.

Sometimes, from his small wooden house, he could still hear laughter from the village. The twins had built their own lives — Joon a teacher, Hana running a small clinic for women. They never visited him again, but Jungkook never blamed them. Just knowing they were happy was enough.

Then one winter night, the stars shone unusually bright over the fields. Jungkook wrapped a shawl around his shoulders and took a slow walk toward the backyard where Y/N rested. The air was cold, but his heart was strangely calm.

He knelt beside her grave, brushing off the fallen leaves.

Do you know something, Y/N?” he whispered. “Your daughter laughs like you. And your son — he’s stubborn like me. Maybe that’s your little revenge.”

He smiled faintly, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I never learned how to love you right when you were alive. But I’ve spent every breath since trying to make it right.”

A moment of silence passed — just the rustling of crops, the sound of the wind weaving through the fields like her soft voice.

And then he closed his eyes.

The wind picked up, swirling gently around him. His lips curved into the smallest, peaceful smile. The same kind he used to wear when Y/N first said his name years ago.

When morning came, the villagers found him there — sitting by her grave, his head bowed, the bouquet of white lilies still in his hands. He looked calm, almost like he had fallen asleep mid-conversation with the woman he had loved and wronged in equal measure.

They buried him beside her, under the same tree where they once sat as reckless teenagers. No grand funeral, no marble tombs — just two names carved side by side in stone.

And on quiet nights, when the wind blows through the fields, the villagers say you can hear laughter — faint but unmistakable — like two souls who finally found each other again, free from pain, free from punishment.

Together, at last.

The End