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After reading both emails, I closed my laptop and took myself to the kitchen to put the coffee on before Becka arrived. I tapped my fingers on the countertop as I looked out the window to the garden. Leaves blew across the grass, finally turned brown and crispy as the seasons changed, announcing the arrival of darker months.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was coming full circle.

Neither email was remotely similar, yet both had felt like they’d each drawn something to a close, and the relief was so tangible that I felt my lungs expanding in a way that they hadn’t in days. Maybe longer.

Letting the coffee machine do its thing, I walked out the back door and into the garden. It was quiet out here. I could still hear the faint noise of the Seoul traffic from a few side streets away. The hum of the city was never really gone. It added a sort of motion to the otherwise still garden.

I breathed deeply. It smelt like rich soil and dry leaves and for just a moment, I closed my eyes and wriggled my toes in the grass. It reminded me of all the times I’d taken myself out to my parents’ garden when I’d needed to be reminded that there was a world outside, still ticking over, despite feeling like I was being held still.

I used to watch the bees go from flower to flower, following the script that nature had written for them. I used to think that was purpose, and perhaps it was when the scope of your existence was only ever to be one thing. Now though, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I’d oversimplified it.

I’d put a lot of faith behind the idea that my life would somehow miraculously be better if I found my purpose, because I’d equated purpose with identity. But now, with my career under threat, my journalistic credibility called into question, I still felt like I knew who I was. I wasn’t just ‘Kaiya Thompson – reporter.’

I’d spent so long searching for a purpose to give me a reason to go through life, searching for a road that would take me to the part of the story where I would be my own main character, that I’d missed that I already had been. Purpose was what we choose for ourselves.

I knew who I was now.

“It’s such bullshit they’re not prosecuting her!” Becka erupted, slamming down her mug.

“She’s already been prosecuted in Korea,” I said reasonably. “I can see their point. There’s not really anything else to be gained from dragging her back to France.”

“What about justice?” she howled.

“Looking a little bit like vengeance from where I’m standing,” I pointed out, taking a sip of coffee.

“Fine! I’m vengeful! Why aren’t you?”

I blew out a breath before I answered. “Honestly, I think I’ve just had longer to sit with it. I can’t stop seeing her face from that day in Paris.”

Becka grimaced. “Was it awful?”

“No. And that’s the thing. It was almost impassive, Becka. It could have been me, or anyone she shoved into that car. I was never the point.”

“And that makes you feel less angry about what she did?” Her question sounded incredulous, and I scoffed.

“Not quite. I think it makes me realise that I watched the moment a person threw away their entire life. And now she’s been sentenced.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what else I could possibly want for her.”

“Prison,” Becka said darkly, and I snorted.

“I don’t think that would be any worse, honestly. Her life ended the moment she closed the door on that taxi in Paris. I didn’t know it at the time, but I watched Hana obliterate everything she’d ever worked for. She meant to blow up Joon’s life, but she imploded her own,” I said, shaking my head.

“Good,” Becka bit out. “Fuck her. You don’t owe her any sympathy.”

“I don’t,” I agreed. “I just don’t want to give her any more space in my life. I’m done.”

Becka studied me a moment before sighing. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to wish anything for her but to dance over Lego in wet socks.”

I laughed. “That is very specific.”

“Oh, I have more,” she said darkly.

Later

Goyang Stadium

Mr Yoon escorted Becka and me through the venue, while a member of staff guided us to where we’d be watching the show.

I’d tried to joke with the tall man about reuniting the old team, but he’d barely spared me a glance. I’d tried repeating it in Korean – for good measure – but he’d ignored me harder.