The Goblin’s Bride

“By the way, Dong-yi,” said the woman next to her, scrubbing laundry with practiced hands. “Does that uncle of yours still visit occasionally?”

Dong-yi looked up from her washing, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. “You mean my uncle?”

“Yes. He used to live with you all the time, but now it feels like you barely see him.”

“He’s busy traveling for business,” she replied matter-of-factly.

The older woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Still, it’s not good for a young girl like you to live alone…”

Another woman chimed in, her tone almost conspiratorial. “Exactly. You should get married soon, Dong-yi. If you’re willing, I could arrange a match for you.”

Dong-yi waved her hand dismissively. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Don’t wait too long, or you’ll miss your chance!”

“When the time is right, I’ll marry,” she said, tucking a freshly cleaned garment into her basket. Rising to her feet, she hoisted the full hamper onto her head.

When the neighborhood women began prying into her life like this, Dong-yi had learned there was only one solution: leave the scene as quickly as possible.

“I’ll head back now,” she said with a polite bow.

“Go ahead, then,” one of them replied. “And don’t forget to lock your door at night.”

With that, Dong-yi began the familiar walk back to her home. At nineteen, she was old enough to manage on her own, though her house was isolated on the outskirts of the village.

Her father had passed away when she was a child, and her mother had left when she was just seven years old. Though her mother had claimed she was leaving to earn money, Dong-yi now understood the truth—she had been abandoned.

At first, she had clung to the hope that her mother would return, believing the stories adults told her. But by the time she was twelve, she had overheard the village women gossiping.

“Tsk, tsk. Imagine abandoning a child to live selfishly. That woman must be out of her mind.”

That was when Dong-yi realized she’d been left behind.

Yet, she hadn’t been entirely alone. After her mother disappeared, a distant uncle—related to her late father—had taken her under his wing.

He was her lifeline, her protector.

No matter how severe the drought or how poor the harvest, he always returned with food to fill their table. When the winters turned harsh, he stocked the shed with firewood and made sure the stove burned hot enough to keep her warm.

Dong-yi had never known hunger or cold because of him. He was both her father and her mother, ensuring she lacked nothing.

But two years ago, things had changed.

Out of the blue, he announced he would be traveling for business. Before that, he had never left her side, not for more than a day. Now, he would disappear for months at a time, only returning briefly before setting off again.

When he did return, her joy was boundless. But the moment he left again, her heart ached, and she would count the days until his next visit.

“Can’t you stop traveling?” she had asked him once.

“Then how will we eat?” he replied, his tone half-teasing.

“We could grow crops,” she suggested.

But she realized she had no idea how they’d survived all those years before. As a child, she had never questioned how he managed to bring back fresh fish, meat, and eggs. She hadn’t wondered where the money for her colorful hanbok or sturdy winter boots came from.

It wasn’t until he started leaving for “business” that these questions began to weigh on her mind.

“Ah!” Dong-yi’s eyes widened as she approached her house.

The gate, usually latched, was ajar. Standing in the courtyard was a figure she immediately recognized.

“Uncle!” she called out, her voice filled with delight.

He had returned.

It had been two and a half months since she’d last seen him. She dropped the laundry basket and ran to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

“When did you get here?” she asked, looking up at him with bright, eager eyes.

Still holding onto his waist, Dong-yi tilted her head back to look up at him.

“I just got here,” he replied, his voice steady and familiar.

It had been twelve years since she first met this distant uncle, yet he hadn’t changed at all. Whether it was because men seemed to age more slowly or because this particular man defied the passing years, she couldn’t say. But to her, he looked just as he did in her earliest memories.

“Nothing unusual happened while I was away, right?” he asked.

“Of course not. Will you stay longer this time?” Her voice carried a hopeful edge.

“We’ll see,” he answered vaguely.

“But it’s winter soon. Are you really going to leave again?” she pressed.

Already, the mountains were shedding the last of their autumn leaves. Once lush and green, the trees now stretched bare, skeletal branches toward the sky. Even the well water at the laundry site had turned icy enough to redden her hands.

Winter was knocking at the door.

The cold season was unforgiving for travelers. Snow could arrive as early as tomorrow, she thought, and the idea of him out there in the elements unsettled her.

“Once the snow starts, it’ll be too hard to keep traveling,” she said earnestly. “Why not stay until spring? There’s enough firewood stacked in the shed, and we have plenty of food stored. You can spend the winter here.”

Dong-yi’s plea was persistent but soft. Last winter, she had spent the season alone, and it had been terrifying. No matter how harsh the winds or how long the nights, his presence had always made her feel safe before. But without him, every gust rattling the shutters had felt like a threat. More than once, she had woken up in the middle of the night, clutching the door latch to stop its shaking, fear clawing at her chest.

Being alone in winter, she had learned, was more than lonely. It was frightening.

“I hate spending winter alone,” she murmured, her voice low and vulnerable.

Her words seemed to strike a chord. The man hesitated, his expression softening as he considered her request.