CHAPTER TWO

Hae-Won Park's first recollection of her mother being beaten by her father was when she was just three years old. A powerful military man in the North Korean Army, he had grand illusions of becoming the leader of their nation one day. Today, he was angry because the vegetables weren't the right temperature.

Her mother seemed to readily accept the abuse, not putting up a fight. Hae-Won didn't understand it at all. Why wouldn't she fight back? Why did she continue to sleep with him? Why?

"This is what will happen to you if you disappoint your husband, Hae-Won," he grinned, kicking her mother in the ribs as she cried on the floor. Her face was bloodied and bruised, her nose broken. Again. "Clean yourself. You disgust me. When I return, you will be in bed waiting for me."

Hae-Won knew enough to wait until her father was gone before going to her mother. When she crawled to her, she whispered for her to get a wet cloth and the first-aid kit. It wasn't the first time. It was one of dozens of times she would help her mother. She often wondered why her father didn't beat her as well, but as she got older, she knew.

Her father would bring her to government events as his plus one, where family members were to be in attendance. He would always give an excuse that his wife was unwell, her mental illness uncontrollable. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Her mother was the sanest woman she knew.

Despite her father's protests, her mother took her three times a week for cello lessons, convincing him that it would look as though his talented daughter were a reflection of him and his endless talents.

It was all a lie.

She had private tutors, language instructors, and even someone who chose her clothing to ensure that she never disappointed her father.

It was a lie.

When the cello instructor encouraged her mother to take her to America, Hae-Won felt a sense of dread and panic settle in her belly.

If they attempted to leave North Korea, they would be killed. Without question. Her father certainly would never allow it, nor would the President of their country. Yet, despite her fears, her mother seemed to muster the courage to attempt to give her daughter a new life. She spoke in hushed tones to her daughter every night, telling her how brave they needed to be, how they had to move quickly.

"We must move quickly," said the old woman leading them through the forest. "We can get across the border into South Korea. Once there, I will give you your tickets to board the plane. Just act normally and don't panic if they stop you to ask questions. You're just a daughter and mother going to visit friends."

"Where are we going?" asked Hae-Won.

"A placed called San Francisco," said the old woman. "It's a beautiful place, with lovely homes and right on the ocean. There will be many Asians there, so you'll feel right at home. Don't be frightened."

"I'm not," said Hae-Won. It was a lie. "What will Father do?"

"He'll be angry," said her mother. "But you let me worry about that. Once we're there, we'll seek protection from the embassy and hope to settle into a new life. Your father won't go away, but I can handle him."

It all sounded so simple to an eleven-year-old Hae-Won, but it was anything but. They waited for months to get their papers that would even allow them to rent an apartment on their own. Once they'd done that, she was sent to a school. A very crowded, very confusing school. Her mother had to take a job so they could afford to live, and Hae-Won didn't like that at all. She knew it was necessary, but it was also scary to come home to an empty apartment.

For the first time in her life, there was no one there to watch her every move. No one to cook her meals. No one to truly protect her. On more than one occasion, she wondered if she wouldn't be better with her father.

The one thing they did have in America was very good music programs. When her music teacher identified her as an exceptional cellist, she was sent to special classes at the University of San Francisco. When she graduated from high school, she earned a scholarship to attend the prestigious school of music at Stanford University.

"This was my dream," smiled her mother, looking weary and tired. "You will become a famous cellist. You'll be free and, perhaps one day, go back to North Korea and play for them all. Show them who you are."

"Are you alright, mother?" she asked as fear pulsed through her body.

"Just tired."

"Father is calling you again, isn't he?"

"Don't worry about it, Hae-Won. Your father and I speak often. We must. He can't barge into the United States and steal us. We'll be alright. Just always watch yourself. Be aware of your surroundings. I want you to live here. Free. Doing whatever you love. You need to learn to be strong and not be weak."

"Yes, Mother."

Gathering her things for class, Hae-Won took one last look around the apartment, feeling reminiscent for some reason. She kissed her mother's cheek, waving at her.

"See you tonight, Mother."

"See you," said her mother in a quiet voice.

It would be the last time they saw one another. When she returned home, Hae-Won found the apartment empty and ransacked. There was a message on the apartment answering machine.

"I will allow you to continue your education in America. It will be impressive to others here. But you will owe me a favor one day, my traitorous daughter."

Hae-Won didn't know what to do. Should she call the embassy? The police? Who would help her? Who would help her mother?

The answer was no one. No one would help one battered, abused North Korean woman who escaped from her husband only to be kidnapped and returned to the country she fled. No one.

Four years later, she met a handsome sailor at a party at the university. He was very forward, insistent on them being together, sleeping together. Hae-Won pushed back, but he continued to persist, refilling her cup, and she finally gave in. It was the worst mistake of her life, leading to the greatest gift of her life.

When her father asked her to ensure that Gordon William did whatever he asked, she simply said ‘yes' with no intention of following through.

Luckily, William enjoyed a wide variety of women, most of whom resided in San Diego. She was able to avoid him for the most part, keeping him out of her life and out of her bed.

At the insistence of her father, they were to be married before the baby was born. Hae-Won agreed but lied about her name and age at the courthouse, Gordon William not even recognizing that she didn't use her real name. It didn't matter. It nullified the marriage. William wasn't even sober enough to notice that she refused to sign the marriage certificate. The court clerk just looked at her and nodded. No one would care.

It was all a lie.

Gordon left her alone, retreating back to his base in San Diego, only calling her on rare occasions. A few months after her daughter was born, a woman knocked on her door looking for him. She had children with her and was demanding her child support. It was all the ammunition Hae-Won needed. Gordon William would never darken her door again.

Her father was another story.

"Miss Park, are you ready?" She stared at the text message, swallowing. Get to SFO now! We need to leave. "Miss Park?"

"Yes. Sorry, professor. I'm ready." Sinfonia Concertante was one of the most difficult cello pieces to play. But if she did this final assignment successfully, she would have her PhD. As it always happened for her, when the bow touched the strings, her mind thought only of the music. Her body swayed as it filled her with such emotion and passion she could barely contain herself. The tingling in her arms and shoulders told her that she was near the end. Exhausted and stimulated at the same time, she played the last note and looked up.

"Miss Park?" said the professor, smiling at her. "Congratulations. Dr. Hae-Won Park."

"Thank you," she said softly, bowing to the man.

"That was so beautiful," said the young woman off-stage. She'd been a bit of a protégé for Hae-Won, a young woman wanting nothing more than to make music her profession as well.

"Thank you." Hae-Won looked up at the two men standing in the darkened hall, walking around them as she did. Finding her cello case, she placed the instrument inside and secured it.

"Miss Park, may we speak with you?" asked Patrick.

"I assume this is about Gordon."

"Gordon?" frowned the handsome man.

"Gordon William. My daughter's father."

"He's your husband, isn't he?" asked Patrick.

"No. That was all a ruse set up by my father. We are not legally married. Not now, not ever. I do not wish to have that man in my life."

"Are you aware that he's on a plane back to North Korea?" asked one of the men. She nodded, holding up her phone for them to see the text messages.

"Forgive me, Miss Park, but you don't seem upset by this at all."

"Why should I be? I was forced to marry him. Forced to have his daughter, although that has turned out well. All so my father could ensure that he would be tied to him. I do not want anything to do with him. I have my doctorate in music now. I'll go somewhere else and teach, keeping my daughter away from him."

"Your name isn't exactly common."

"I'll get it changed," she said quietly, then thoughtfully looked up at him. "Can I do that?"

"Why don't we go somewhere that we can sit down and discuss this? I think it's a much bigger conversation."

"I have to pick up my daughter from the daycare first. It's on campus, so we can walk and go to the coffee shop next door."

The men nodded, insisting on carrying the cello for her. They were both shocked at how heavy it was, considering how very tiny the woman was. As they waited outside the daycare, they smiled when she returned with a one-year-old bundle of dark hair that stuck up everywhere and the cutest round face they'd ever seen. One of the men shoved the cello toward the other.

"Oh, man. You take this. I'm gonna hold this little cutie." Hae-Won smiled at the obvious paternal instinct taking hold in the man.

"You like children?" she asked.

"I hope so. I have triplets. So does my brother," he laughed.

"Oh. That's very unusual."

"Not where we come from. What can we get you?"

"Just green tea, please."

"What's her name?" asked the brother left behind.

"Jennifer. I wanted her to have an American name so that she could blend in, be unseen."

"Is that what you're trying to do? Blend in and be unseen?" Hae-Won stared at the man, realizing that she'd willingly walked with the two men without asking any questions. They definitely weren't Korean, but they could have been hired assassins.

"It's occurred to me that I don't know who you are or what you want but that you know a great deal about me, or at least my child's father."

"My name is Patrick Jordan, and this is my twin, Christopher. Your father tried to kill a friend of ours." She stiffened in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment. "Your husband…"

"Child's father," she said quickly.

"My apologies. Your child's father is a United States Navy SEAL. We believe he's betrayed his country and his team."

"I see," she said, her eyes looking down at the table. "My father convinced him to help him. He's very good at that. He uses people, things, anything he wants to use to get what he wants. Gordon was rather easy to manipulate with the right amount of money and expensive objects."

"What does he want? Your father. What does he want?" asked Christopher.

"War. War with the United States and her allies."