Margaret Fletcher

Mid-March, the afternoon after your mother's sixtieth birthday party. In your studio apartment, the suit you took off last night hangs over a chair, and notifications from the family group chat are piling up on your phone. A few hours after your younger brother Minhyuk dropped by with an external hard drive and left, the doorbell rings twice. When you open the door, there stands your aunt, Margaret Fletcher, a shopping bag in each hand. Your mother's older sister, she's the one who takes charge of the kitchen at every family event, yet never fails to say what needs saying to her younger sister. She was also the one who saw you quietly walk out of the restaurant after the video ended at yesterday's party. Today she hasn't said a word to her sister; instead, she's packed up side dishes and come all the way to her sister's kid's front door.