The first thing Seorin noticed when she stirred awake was the heaviness in her body. It wasn't the comforting kind, the sort that came from being wrapped in warm blankets or from the deep exhaustion of a long journey. No—this was different. This was the kind of weight that settled deep in her limbs, making her feel like she was sinking into the hard wooden floor beneath her.
Then came the dull, relentless pounding in her head.
It was a slow, rhythmic throb, pressing against the inside of her skull like a steady drumbeat, dull but unshakable. It wasn't the sharp kind of headache she got when she was dehydrated, nor the fleeting discomfort of waking up too fast. This was heavier. More persistent. More wrong.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and immediately, her vision swayed.
The dim glow of early morning trickled in through the tiny window above, casting the small room in a soft, bluish-gray hue. The outlines of the furniture—the old wooden dresser, the small television, the fan humming steadily in the corner—blurred at the edges before sharpening again as she blinked.
The next thing she became aware of was the warmth surrounding her.
His arm was still draped over her waist, his chest a steady, solid presence against her back. His breaths were deep and slow, fanning lightly against the nape of her neck. He smelled like faded cologne, clean cotton, and something distinctly him—something familiar, something that sent an ache through her chest.
If she closed her eyes, if she ignored the pounding in her head, she could almost pretend it was years ago, back when she would wake up every morning just like this. Back when she didn't have to miss him.
But she couldn't ignore it.
She couldn't ignore the growing discomfort in her body, the way her stomach felt unsettled—not quite nauseous, but as if something wasn't sitting right. She shifted slightly, and the dull ache in her joints became more noticeable. There was a strange tension in her fingers, as if they were stiff, like she had been clenching them in her sleep.
She swallowed, realizing belatedly how dry her throat felt.
Carefully, she moved to slip out from under Hae-Jo's arm, but the moment she shifted, his fingers tightened around her hip instinctively.
A low, sleepy grumble rumbled in his throat. "Mm... where are you going?"
His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and warm against her ear.
Seorin hesitated. "Just... bathroom."
He made a low hum in response, his grip loosening just enough for her to escape.
She barely managed to push herself upright before the dizziness hit.
The room swayed, the walls seeming to tilt for just a moment before steadying again.
She sucked in a slow breath, pressing a hand against the floor to ground herself. Breathe. Just breathe.
Forcing herself to her feet, she made her way toward the small bathroom in the corner, each step heavier than the last. By the time she reached the sink, her fingers were trembling.
She gripped the edge of the worn porcelain, staring at herself in the tiny mirror above it.
Her reflection didn't look right.
Her skin was paler than usual, her lips slightly chapped. But what unsettled her the most was her eyes—the slight puffiness around them, the dark shadows that seemed deeper than before.
Her breath came out shakily as she lifted a hand to her cheek, pressing lightly against the skin. It wasn't a dramatic difference, but she could tell. Something was off.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, so sudden that she had to brace herself against the sink.
She reached for the faucet with trembling fingers, twisting the handle until cold water gushed out. She cupped some in her hands, splashing it over her face, hoping the shock of it would clear her mind.
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.
She wasn't panicking yet. No, not yet. But there was a quiet, creeping fear slithering into her thoughts, whispering things she didn't want to hear.
What if something's wrong?
What if this isn't normal?
She had read about pregnancy symptoms, about fatigue and dizziness. But this—this felt different. This felt like her body was trying to tell her something.
She closed her eyes, taking another slow breath.
A soft creak sounded behind her.
Her eyelids snapped open, her heart lurching slightly as she turned.
Hae-Jo stood in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim morning light. His hair was disheveled from sleep, his jeans hanging low on his hips, his shirt wrinkled from where he had been curled up against the blankets. His gaze was laced with drowsy concern, his sharp eyes scanning her face.
"You okay?" His voice was quieter now, more awake.
Seorin forced a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah. Just thirsty."
His eyes flickered toward the sink, then back to her. He didn't look convinced.
For a moment, it felt like he was going to push—like he was going to call her out, press her until she admitted that something wasn't right.
But instead, he let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face before tilting his head toward the bed.
"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice low, softer than usual.
She hesitated, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time before shutting off the faucet.
Whatever this was—whatever this strange, creeping feeling was—she would deal with it later.
For now, she nodded and let him take her hand, his fingers curling around hers as he led her back to the blankets on the floor.
The moment she laid down, his arm draped over her again, his body warmth pressing against her back.
She could hear his heartbeat, steady and unbothered, so different from hers.
She wished she could match his calmness.
But as she lay there, staring at the ceiling, her fingers unconsciously resting against her stomach, the unease in her chest didn't go away.
The steady rhythm of the fan hummed in the background, the only sound filling the quiet room besides the soft rustling of blankets as Seorin shifted slightly under Hae-Jo's arm. She had been drifting in and out of sleep, the exhaustion from the day weighing heavy on her limbs, but something felt off.
Then, the sharp vibration of a phone cut through the still air.
Her body jolted at the sudden noise, her heart momentarily skipping a beat. She stirred, trying to move Hae-Jo's hand, which was still draped heavily around her waist, his fingers slack against the fabric of her dress.
But before she could slip away, his groggy voice stopped her.
"Wait, it's mine," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
She froze, watching as he groaned, shifting just enough to reach into his back pocket. He fumbled with the phone, blinking at the screen before answering in a low, tired tone.
The words sent an immediate pang through her chest.
Her head turned sharply toward him as he sat up, rubbing his face with one hand while the other stayed shoved in his pocket. "Where are you going?"
Hae-Jo barely looked at her. Instead, he stood, rolling his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. He let out a long exhale, then casually shrugged.
"To give the DNA sample." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Stay here."
Seorin felt something tighten in her chest.
She didn't like the way he said it, the way he brushed her off so easily, like she was nothing more than a temporary figure in his periphery. The weight of his warmth had barely left her side, and yet the space where he had been now felt cold, empty.
She stared at him warily as he slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.
The moment he was gone, the silence became unbearable.
The room that had once been too small suddenly felt too large.
She curled deeper under the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself. But no matter how much she wrapped herself up, it wasn't the same. The warmth wasn't his warmth. The safety wasn't his safety.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
She tried to keep herself awake, tried to stay alert for the sound of his return. But exhaustion was cruel, and her body was failing her. Her eyelids grew heavier with each breath, her mind floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
And before she realized it, she was gone.
It was the soft creak of the door that stirred her.
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't wake fully. The weight of sleep still clung to her, her body sluggish, her mind foggy.
Hae-Jo stepped inside, careful not to make too much noise. His steps were slow, calculated, as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile quiet.
He glanced toward her still frame, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath the blanket.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before crossing the small room, setting his phone down on the crate beside the TV. Without thinking, he clicked it on, lowering the volume until it was nothing more than a faint murmur of sound.
The dim glow from the screen cast flickering shadows against the wall, filling the space with a false sense of normalcy.
He sat down beside her, his body feeling heavier than before, his limbs aching from more than just exhaustion.
The chaos he had witnessed outside still clung to him—the voices, the tension, the sharp reminder of why he was even here.
He didn't want to think about it.
Didn't want to think about the time slipping through his fingers, didn't want to think about the fact that even if he found the truth, even if he found him, it wouldn't change anything.
So he focused on the cartoon playing on the screen.
It was stupid, childish. But that was exactly what he needed. Something meaningless. Something that didn't remind him of everything falling apart.
He let out a quiet, breathy laugh at whatever was happening on the screen, but it was empty. Just a distraction. Just noise.
Then, as if drawn by instinct, his fingers found hers.
Even in sleep, her hand was warm, soft. He let his fingers curl loosely around hers, his grip barely there, as if he was afraid that if he held too tightly, she would wake up and pull away.
Or worse—disappear entirely.
Because wasn't that what always happened?
Every time he got too close, every time he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he could have something real, something his—life reminded him that he wasn't meant for that kind of happiness.
His thumb traced over the ridge of her knuckles absentmindedly, his gaze locked on their intertwined fingers.
I don't want to lose you again.
The thought came unbidden, unwelcome.
He swallowed hard, pushing it down, burying it deep inside the same place he buried all the things he didn't want to admit.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted onto his back, keeping his hand loosely tangled with hers.
And for the first time in a long time, Hae-Jo allowed himself to feel something other than bitterness.
The fan hummed. The TV flickered.
And as sleep finally pulled him under, he held onto her hand just a little tighter.
Like he was afraid that if he let go—
When Seorin awoke, the first thing she noticed was that she was alone.
The small room was eerily quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fan that had been left running. The blankets that had once been beside her were now folded neatly in the corner, a pillow stacked on top, almost as if their previous occupant had never been there at all.
The thought hit her like a cold slap.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as she sat up too quickly, ignoring the faint dizziness that rushed to her head. Was this all just another one of his tricks? A final way to make a fool out of her before disappearing again?
Seorin swung her legs over the edge of the pallet, determination setting her spine straight. She wouldn't be made a fool of. Not again.
She quickly began folding her own blankets, smoothing them out with stiff movements before stacking them in the corner. Every action was precise, calculated, an attempt to mask the frustration bubbling in her chest.
Her eyes flicked toward the door.
If he thought he could just abandon her here and disappear off to whatever reckless mission he had next, he was dead wrong.
She would not be left behind.
Striding toward the door, she reached for the handle—only for it to swing open just before her fingers touched the knob.
A familiar figure filled the doorway, the early morning sun casting a golden glow behind him, making him look almost ethereal.
Seorin's stomach flipped.
And then she realized who it was.
With that insufferable smug grin.
"Going somewhere?" he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with the kind of arrogance that made her want to throw something at his head.
Seorin rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. She pushed past him without a word, stepping outside onto the small wooden step. The morning air was crisp, the scent of damp earth lingering from the night before.
"Jackass," she muttered under her breath, reaching down to grab her shoes.
But before her fingers could even brush the material, they were snatched away.
Before she could protest, her foot was lifted into the air.
Her breath hitched as she found herself trapped in a ridiculous scene—Hae-Jo kneeling in front of her, sliding her shoe onto her foot with the precision of a man who had done this a thousand times before.
"Are you serious right now?" she snapped, but he only smirked, not even glancing up at her.
"Shh, princess," he murmured, tying the laces swiftly before moving onto the next shoe. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing over the curve of her ankle, his touch warm against her skin.
Seorin hated how her stomach twisted at the contact.
"There," he said smoothly, patting the top of her foot like she was some sort of well-groomed pet. "All dressed up and ready to go."
She glared at him. "I can put my own damn shoes on."
"Oh, I know you can," he grinned, finally meeting her eyes. "But where's the fun in that?"
She sucked in a sharp breath, biting down the urge to shove him onto his back.
Hae-Jo stood fluidly, dusting off his jeans before stretching his arms over his head, as if tying her shoes had been the most exhausting thing he had done all day.
"Let's go eat," he announced, his voice dripping with casual nonchalance. "On the house, by the way."
He held his hand out toward her, palm open, waiting.
His fingers twitched slightly, almost as if he was expecting—hoping—to feel the familiar warmth of her hand slipping into his.
But instead, all he felt was the cool morning breeze.
Seorin breezed past him, completely ignoring the gesture. "I can stand on my own."
The corner of Hae-Jo's mouth twitched, his cocky expression faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovered, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.
"Well, obviously," he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as he followed her toward the restaurant.
But even as he smirked, even as he played it off like it didn't sting—
His palm still felt cold.
The tension at the table was thick enough to slice with the very chopsticks they refused to use.
Two steaming plates of suyuk sat untouched in front of them, the aroma of the tender pork belly wafting into the small space, practically begging to be devoured. But neither Seorin nor Hae-Jo made a move, both too stubborn to be the first to cave.
It was a silent standoff, the kind that neither of them acknowledged outright but both fully participated in.
Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze lazily flicking across the room like he was completely unaffected by the delicious meal in front of him. His jaw ticked slightly, though, and Seorin knew he was hungry.
She, on the other hand, was losing the battle.
Her stomach betrayed her first, letting out a low growl that shattered the silence between them. She winced slightly but pretended she didn't hear it.
Hae-Jo, of course, smirked. "That your stomach or an animal crying for help?"
She shot him a glare before grabbing her chopsticks and stuffing a piece of pork belly into her mouth.
The moment the rich, savory flavor hit her tongue, she groaned, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth watered. The tenderness of the meat practically melted against her palate, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the man sitting across from her.
"If you're not gonna eat it..." she mused, her chopsticks extending toward his plate, the mischievous glint in her eyes growing.
But just as she was about to drag his plate toward her own, a sharp slap landed against the back of her hand.
Seorin gasped dramatically, clutching her hand like he had just assaulted her. "Excuse me?!"
Hae-Jo didn't even look up. He simply took his own chopsticks and grabbed a piece of pork belly, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.
"Eat your own," he said lazily, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.
Seorin huffed, rubbing the back of her hand. "You wish you could stop me."
"I just did," he countered, finally meeting her gaze with a smug look.
She scoffed, dramatically shoving another piece of food into her mouth as if to prove a point.
The meal continued in complete silence.
Neither of them spoke, neither of them looked at each other for too long, both pretending they weren't hyper-aware of the other's presence. The air between them was thick, filled with everything unsaid, with every memory that clung to the spaces between their words.
Hae-Jo pretended he wasn't watching the way she chewed, the way her lips parted slightly before she took a bite, the way her nose scrunched ever so slightly when she reached for the shrimp sauce.
Seorin pretended she wasn't acutely aware of the way his fingers moved, the effortless way he held his chopsticks, the way he sat with that same cocky confidence he always had, the way his tongue darted out to swipe the corner of his lip after every other bite.
They ate, pretending not to steal glances.
Pretending not to remember.
Pretending that this was just a meal, just two people sitting across from each other.
Every look.
Every movement.
Every lingering second of silence.
It was all laced with the quiet, desperate ache of something unfinished.
The air in the small restaurant was warm, filled with the scent of simmering broth and the lingering spice of gochugaru. The clatter of chopsticks and muffled conversations echoed around them, blending into the background like an old, familiar song.
Seorin traced the rim of her water cup absentmindedly, her mind tangled in thoughts that had nothing to do with the steaming plate in front of her.
"When are you getting the results?" she finally asked, her voice neutral, as she lifted the glass to her lips, taking a small sip.
Across from her, Hae-Jo didn't immediately respond. He was hunched slightly over his food, chopsticks moving with practiced ease as he stuffed a piece of pork belly into his mouth, chewing like a man with no time to waste.
"I'm waiting," he said around the food, barely sparing her a glance.
"Oh, wow," she deadpanned, setting her glass down with an unimpressed clink. "The most informative answer ever."
Hae-Jo snorted, reaching for another piece of meat as if her sarcasm was nothing but air.
She rolled her eyes, but the playful irritation quickly faded as she glanced back at the older man a few feet away, sitting with his sons. They spoke in hushed but firm tones, the weight of something unspoken hanging thick between them. The daughter-in-law hovered nearby, her hands clasped together, her face tight with restrained worry.
Seorin sighed through her nose, turning back to her plate, but something had shifted.
The food that had been mouthwatering just minutes ago now made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Her fingers toyed with her chopsticks as she pushed the pieces around, frowning at the sight of them.
Hae-Jo caught the movement immediately.
His chewing slowed as his sharp eyes flicked to her plate, then to her expression. His brows knit together, the smug nonchalance from earlier fading into something softer.
Seorin shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. "I feel sick. Not too hungry anymore."
His chopsticks clinked against the ceramic plate as he set them down.
Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the table, eyes narrowing as he studied her. He wasn't looking at her like she was some puzzle he wanted to tease—no, this was different. This was something closer to concern.
Something dangerously close to caring.
"You sure you're not sick?" His voice was quieter now, lower, like he was afraid of the answer. "You've been acting funny."
Seorin froze for half a second, fingers tightening around her chopsticks.
But before she could respond, before she could even deflect, his attention shifted.
His head tilted slightly as his gaze drifted over her shoulder, his expression slipping into something unreadable.
Seorin blinked, confused, before following his line of sight.
A broad-shouldered man had walked into the restaurant, his presence immediately commanding attention. His voice was loud, sharp, carrying across the space with the practiced ease of someone who was used to speaking and being heard.
The realization settled in as Seorin watched the older man's sons and daughter-in-law hurry to seat the newcomer at a table near theirs, their movements tense.
Hae-Jo's jaw tightened. His posture shifted just slightly, but she caught it—the subtle change in his expression, the way his hand moved to rest against the table like he was grounding himself.
It was the look he always got when he was listening for something important.
And just like that—he was gone.
Whatever concern had flickered in his eyes moments ago, whatever care had slipped through his defenses—it disappeared. His focus was elsewhere now, his thoughts locked onto a conversation that had nothing to do with her.
Seorin exhaled softly, a weight settling in her chest.
Of course he wasn't listening anymore.
She turned back to her untouched plate, her stomach churning—not just from nausea, but from something deeper, something uglier.
Because the truth was, it shouldn't have hurt.
They hadn't been together for months.
He didn't owe her his attention. He didn't owe her anything.
Something about the way he had looked at her, even for just a second, had made her want to believe. Made her want to pretend that maybe—just maybe—he still cared enough to notice when something was wrong.
But that wasn't who Hae-Jo was.
Maybe he deserved to know.
Her fingers brushed against her stomach, a small, fleeting touch.
Maybe he deserved to know about the child they shared inside of her.
Listening so intently to a conversation that had nothing to do with her, with them—
She wondered if she was just fooling herself.
Because in the end, she had never been enough to make him stay.
Would this child be any different?
The tension in the room was suffocating.
The back kitchen doors swung open with force, and the third son stormed into the dining area, his face twisted in rage. His broad shoulders heaved with barely contained anger as his sharp gaze locked onto the real estate agent seated with his brothers.
"What the hell is this?!" his voice thundered through the restaurant.
He didn't wait for an answer. He reached forward, his fingers curling around the agent's collar, yanking him up from his seat with a force that sent the dishes rattling on the table.
"I'm not selling, so get the hell out of here, you dork."
Seorin furrowed her brows, watching the scene unfold in confusion. Meanwhile, Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the picture of amusement. He wasn't just watching—he was listening, soaking in every word like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The brothers started bickering, voices overlapping in a heated argument. The real estate man held his hands up, trying to calm them down, but it was too late—the truth was spilling out. They had already begun discussing how to split the money from secretly selling the restaurant behind their father's back.
That's when Hae-Jo decided to make his move.
"A five-way split, huh?" he said casually, holding up five fingers.
The three brothers turned toward him in confusion. They exchanged glances, their brows furrowing as they struggled to place him. Who was he, and why the hell was he inserting himself into their business?
Seorin's stomach twisted with unease.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of Hae-Jo's white button-up in an attempt to pull him back, to keep him out of whatever mess he was about to make.
But her grip slipped as he stood up, his usual smirk plastered across his face.
"It's just that I think I deserve a cut too," he continued smoothly, his hands slipping into his pockets as he strolled toward the group.
What the hell was he doing?
"That is, if you're gonna split it between the family," he added, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with mischief.
The eldest brother squared his shoulders, his stance shifting in irritation. "And who the hell are you?"
Seorin pressed her fingers against her temple, her stomach turning. This was going to end badly.
Hae-Jo feigned a thoughtful expression, pacing between the brothers with an air of mock surprise.
"Well," he drawled, "I might actually be your brother. One of your dad's illegitimate kids."
A silence so thick it felt like the room had been vacuum-sealed settled over them.
Seorin wanted to sink into the floor.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she muttered under her breath, watching in disbelief.
But Hae-Jo wasn't done. He leaned in slightly, speaking just loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I mean, you all did say last night that the money should be split equally among the family," he pointed out, his grin widening. "You planned to sell the restaurant, your property, everything, and dump your dad in a nursing home."
The panic in their expressions was immediate.
Hae-Jo let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest like he was scandalized.
"Wait, wait—didn't you say that, sister-in-law?"
His gaze flicked toward the pregnant woman near the kitchen.
She froze, eyes widening in horror. But it only took a second before she masked it with a scandalized expression, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
"What is he saying? What is he, mad? I didn't say that, Father!"
The second eldest son had had enough.
In one swift movement, he lunged forward, gripping Hae-Jo's collar in his fist, pulling him closer with an angry glare.
"Who are you, dude? Huh?"
Hae-Jo barely reacted. He simply looked at the man, his smirk never faltering.
"Oh yeah, that's right," he mused. "You were against it because you think you deserve everything."
He patted the son's cheeks mockingly, flashing a grin.
"For taking care of your dad while he was sick, you greedy bastard."
The air crackled with tension.
The son reeled his fist back and punched Hae-Jo hard across the jaw.
Hae-Jo stumbled back, leaning against the table as Seorin shot up from her seat, hands flying to her mouth in shock.
"Hey! Stop!" she shouted, stepping forward, but before she could reach him—
The real estate agent shoved past her.
Her body lurched forward, her side colliding hard against the table's edge.
A sharp, stabbing pain radiated from her stomach.
Her breath hitched, panic seizing her chest.
Her hand shot to her belly in an instant, pressing against it protectively. She stood there for a moment, frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs.
But the fear clawed at her throat.
"Shit," she whispered under her breath, forcing herself upright.
By the time she turned back, the room had erupted into chaos.
Hae-Jo was already throwing the brothers around, dodging their attacks like he had done it a thousand times before, his grin unfazed despite the punch he had taken.
Seorin backed toward the wooden support beam, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach.
"Hae-Jo, stop," she called, her voice sharp but breathless.
A pounding sensation throbbed in her head, her body swaying slightly. She gripped the beam tighter, willing herself to stay steady.
A loud shatter rang through the room.
She looked up just in time to see the eldest son gripping the jagged remains of a broken bottle, the sharp edges glinting under the dim restaurant lights as he pointed it directly at Hae-Jo.
Hae-Jo let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head.
"Hey, knock it off or you'll get hurt, dipshit."
But the three brothers weren't backing down.
The restaurant owner stormed in from the kitchen, his face twisted with disbelief as he took in the chaos before him. His furious gaze swept the room before landing on Seorin, his brows furrowing.
His eyes flickered down to her stomach, confusion flashing across his face.
"What's the matter with you, son of a bitch?!" the old man roared, grabbing a nearby container of salt and throwing it directly at Hae-Jo's face.
A mix of salt and rage filled the air.
For a split second, the room stilled.
Then Seorin lurched forward, her stomach twisting violently.
She gripped the table, her breath coming out in short gasps.
"Oh my god," she rasped, her knees threatening to buckle. "I'm gonna be sick."
Her legs swayed, her vision blurring.
Hae-Jo turned sharply, his body stiffening as he watched her.
And for the first time that day, real, unfiltered panic flickered across his face.
"Stop standing there! Help your wife and get out!"
The old man's voice rang through the restaurant, sharp and commanding. It cut through the chaos, through the tension, through the nauseating dizziness clouding Seorin's mind. Her breath hitched, her stomach still twisting from the earlier shock. The cold sweat clinging to her skin only made her feel heavier, more exhausted.
She pressed her hand against the wall, fingers searching for something solid, something stable as she tried to guide herself toward the door. Her legs felt weak, wobbly, and each step felt like moving through water. The sounds around her blurred—the furious shouting, the rustling of movement, the clatter of broken dishes on the floor—but all she could focus on was getting out, breathing fresh air, grounding herself before she lost complete control.
A strong hand suddenly found her waist, another landing on her shoulder, steadying her before she could stumble. She didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Just hold on," Hae-Jo muttered, voice softer than usual, missing its usual sharp edge.
She didn't have the energy to respond. She let him guide her out, feeling the tension in his grip—firm, protective, almost desperate.
The moment they stepped outside, the cool morning air hit her like a wave, and she barely made it to the tree before her stomach lurched. She bent over, gripping the rough bark as she emptied everything inside her onto the damp grass below. Her entire body trembled, exhaustion seeping into her bones, making her head feel light and her limbs feel heavy.
Behind her, Hae-Jo didn't say a word. He didn't flinch, didn't pull away in disgust, didn't make some careless joke about how gross she was. He just stood there, watching, his presence solid and unmoving.
And then—like the universe needed to remind him that he was still in the middle of a fight—he was ripped away.
The sons shoved him forward, throwing him onto the pavement in front of the shop. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs for a second. But instead of reacting with anger, instead of lashing out like they wanted him to, he simply exhaled and reached for his phone.
Seorin wiped her mouth, wincing as she leaned back against the tree, barely catching her breath before another voice reached her ears.
"Four months with no belly? Sure."
The daughter-in-law scoffed as she walked past, her judgmental gaze sweeping over Seorin before she disappeared into the shop.
Seorin felt her stomach tighten, but this time it wasn't from nausea. It was from something else.
Her fingers instinctively found the fabric of her dress, curling against her stomach as if shielding the life growing inside her. For months, she had hidden it—hidden him, hidden her—but now, standing there in the cold air, feeling the weight of those words, she realized how cruel it felt to deny it.
She glanced up and met Hae-Jo's eyes.
His expression was unreadable, his usual cocky mask slipping just slightly. But before she could say anything, before she could even process her own emotions, the old man walked past them, his gaze lingering just a second too long on her stomach before he turned back to Hae-Jo.
"They're lying about all of it," Hae-Jo said suddenly, his voice casual but firm, as he stepped forward and held the glass door open.
The old man turned, staring at him with something close to amusement. "Well, who's lying to whom here, huh?" His voice was slow, measured, as if he was testing Hae-Jo. "Both of you were dishonest with me. Did you seriously think I had no idea about their little plan?"
Hae-Jo clenched his jaw but said nothing.
The old man scoffed, shaking his head. "I just acted clueless," he continued. "I wanted to see how far they'd go. And then you waltzed in, causing chaos in something that wasn't even your business."
Seorin watched quietly from the side, her breathing still uneven, her body still struggling to keep up with everything happening.
"Tell me who you are, kid."
Hae-Jo opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw twitched, his throat bobbed, but the words wouldn't come out.
Whatever was on that screen made his entire body still. His fingers tightened around the device, his grip turning white, and for a moment, his face was blank. Completely blank.
Then the tension in his shoulders loosened, his fingers slipping from the doorframe. The old man took the opportunity to close it in his face.
Seorin watched him carefully, her stomach knotting.
Her voice barely reached him.
It took him a second to register that she had even spoken, and when he finally turned to her, his expression was hard to read.
She stepped forward, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs, and reached for his arm to balance herself. "He wasn't the one?"
She let out a breath, her fingers twitching against his arm before she let go. Neither of them had the words to say what they wanted.
He let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to her. "Come on."
She barely had time to react before he was leading her toward the jeep, his hand on her back again, making sure she wouldn't collapse. When they reached the car, he gently leaned her against the hood, his eyes scanning her with something dangerously close to worry before he reached into the vehicle and pulled out a bottle of water.
She took it wordlessly, her fingers brushing against his as she grabbed it.
He took a few steps back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
Seorin huffed as she twisted the cap off the bottle. "Those things are gonna kill you."
Hae-Jo smirked, but it was empty. His voice came out quieter than usual, laced with something almost bitter.
"I don't think a cigarette is gonna be the thing to take me out."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She tightened her grip on the bottle, staring at him for a long moment. She wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat, tangled between past resentment and lingering emotions she didn't know how to deal with.
The silence between them felt heavier than it should have, but neither of them broke it.
Minutes later, they were back on the road.
Seorin didn't ask where they were going.
She just leaned her head against the window, watching the passing scenery blur into streaks of green and gold.
He gripped the wheel a little tighter, his mind spinning with too many thoughts.
