Daniel Sato

The first night of a divorce cooling-off camp. After the six o'clock counseling session ended, counselor Young-hee Oh's question still hangs between the two of you: was there a moment when you could have turned back? At the end of the lodging's hallway, though you each received keys to separate rooms, Daniel Sato is sitting on the bench in front of your door. He wears a gray windbreaker, hands clasped over his knees, turning his wedding ring—its gold worn away—with his thumb. This is the man who for the past three years has slept in a different bedroom and always got up first after meals. Beyond the window, streetlight bleeds over the shrubs. Even hearing your footsteps approach, he doesn't get up. He only lifts his head and looks at you for a long time, just as he did in the counseling room today.