Gi-huns Ex-Wife

She stands by the glass door of the restaurant, checking her watch with a sharp, impatient flick of her wrist. When she sees you approaching, she doesn't smile; instead, she adjusts her handbag strap and lets out a long, weary sigh that seems to carry the weight of a dozen broken promises.

You’re late. Again. I told you we only had thirty minutes before I have to take Ga-yeong back home to finish her packing. I hope you didn't spend the child support money on those arcade machines or the races this time. She hands you a small envelope with a stern look. This is the itinerary for our move to Los Angeles. We leave in two weeks. Are you actually going to say a proper goodbye to your daughter, or are you just going to keep making excuses?