Divorce Contract C39

Chapter 39

The moment they stepped outside the main gate, both Seo Dohyeon and Go Igyeol let out heavy breaths. Their tension unraveled at once, leaving them equally drained. Dohyeon opened the passenger door, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it, only after confirming that Igyeol had tugged the seatbelt into place.

The deep furrow of irritation etched into his brow showed no sign of smoothing out. Igyeol stole a glance at him through the glass, pressing a hand against the tight ache in his chest. All he could think about was wanting to return home quickly. Once the meal ended, the discomfort had become unbearable. The release of tension only made the fullness from overeating weigh painfully inside him.

Whether aware of Igyeol’s condition or not, Dohyeon smoked at his usual unhurried pace before finally climbing into the car. Shifting gears, he glanced at Igyeol’s face—it was bloodless.

“Igyeol.”

“Yes?”

“Are you in pain?”

“…No. I’m fine.”

Without probing further, Dohyeon started the car. Rather than sit there asking questions out of hollow concern, he figured it was better to get him home so he could rest. The whole drive, Igyeol sat hunched forward, leaning against the window. Dohyeon didn’t bother asking again if he was in pain, nor did he comment on their imminent arrival.

Who knew how much time passed. The sight of the familiar gate pulled Igyeol’s half-lidded eyes open. His fingers twitched against the door trim, as if itching to get out immediately.

“…May I get out first?”

His lips had blanched as pale as his face. He asked carefully. Dohyeon, without answering, completed a perfect parking maneuver, then opened his door and stepped out first. Igyeol berated himself for asking something pointless and pushed his own door open. But the moment his feet hit the ground, the world spun violently.

“…Hhh….”

The dizziness was overwhelming. Perhaps because of the suffocating compression across his chest and stomach, he could hardly breathe. Black spots blinked through his vision.

“Igyeol.”

“Hah… please, I…”

“Igyeol!”

But he couldn’t manage even those few words—“help me.” His eyes closed, and his faltering body collapsed gracelessly toward the ground.

Dohyeon caught him, carrying him into the house without even bothering to take off his own shoes. He laid him on the sofa, tearing open his shirt in one swift motion. His brow furrowed at the sight of the vest beneath. One by one, he unfastened the tight hooks across the chest, then stripped away the bandages wrapped firmly around his belly. The sunken stomach gradually returned to its natural shape.

“Igyeol, Igyeol.”

Freeing him from every layer of compression, Dohyeon gripped his thin shoulders and shook him. Calling his name again and again, until Igyeol’s lashes fluttered. His shallow breaths deepened as he opened his eyes.

“…Haa…”

“Are you all right?”

No, he wasn’t. He felt suffocated, wretched. But if he admitted as much, Dohyeon wouldn’t care—and he himself would only be hurt by the indifference.

Dohyeon moved briskly. Without even taking off his jacket, he brought back a glass of water. When Igyeol struggled to sit up, he helped him into a seated position, propping him against the sofa back, then tilted the cup to his dry lips as if attending to a patient.

The torn shirt gaped open, baring his upper body. Even in his haze, Igyeol fumbled weakly to cover himself, ashamed. Yet with the suffocating bindings gone, he could at last breathe freely.

For the first time in a long while, Dohyeon’s eyes held genuine worry. Where once there had only been contempt, disgust, anger, and disdain, there was now concern.

“…Thank you.”

“I asked if you’re all right.”

Igyeol pulled himself down off the sofa completely, pale as a sheet. Why even ask? He didn’t want to be tricked into imagining concern where there was none. Misreading such moments only made the truth sting worse.

If only Dohyeon would just say whether he intended to use him tonight. Igyeol was exhausted, wanted only to rest. Even a little mercy would have been enough. His bleak gaze lifted toward Dohyeon.

“Even if I’m not… it’s not as though you actually care, is it?”

“What?”

“…Will you do it again tonight? If so, I’ll just… wash first.”

Dohyeon’s expression hardened. He had only asked if Igyeol was well, but the reply was whether there would be sex again tonight. Was the question that hard? His head throbbed. Dragging a hand down his face, he rose.

“No. I won’t. I’m tired, and I have work left to do.”

“…Then may I go to bed first?”

“Do as you like.”

Clutching his torn shirt closed, Igyeol hurried to the bedroom. Just before entering, he glanced back—Dohyeon stood unmoving, watching him. Slipping inside as if hiding, he shut the door and slid down against it.

His emotions swung wildly. He hated him, and yet the faintest trace of consideration cut him to the quick. That single moment of restraint had been enough to make him feel gratitude. Dohyeon ground him into the dirt with every act, only to sometimes pull him up just enough to breathe. And Igyeol would forget the pain, clawing for that breath.

Though their relationship remained cold, the days only grew hotter. Igyeol stood by the window, bathed in streaming sunlight. Was it sweltering outside? The coolness of the house made it hard to tell. Shut indoors with nothing to do, time still slipped past. Another week, and July would be over. Twenty-seven weeks along already.

Resting a hand on his belly, he worried. The baby’s movements had been faint lately. In a few days, Dohyeon would take him to the hospital again, but he longed to go today, just to make sure the child was safe. Yet he couldn’t go anywhere on his own.

By chance, he had discovered the people posted outside the house. He’d never intended to leave, but the shadows stationed in the yard made him laugh bitterly. Of course. Even stepping into the garden required Dohyeon’s permission.

“Shall I prepare your meal now?”

Pulled from his thoughts, he turned to Kwon Heekang.

“Ah, yes. I’ll eat now.”

“Is your morning sickness easing?”

“…Somewhat. Better than before.”

The awkward reply only deepened Heekang’s worry.

“A pregnant person must eat well.”

Heekang had long since sensed something strained between Dohyeon and Igyeol, though he didn’t know the details. With a first birth, the baby would come in two or three months at most, and the prolonged cold war worried him.

What troubled him most was that neither seemed to be preparing anything for the child. There was so much to buy—tiny gowns, socks, mittens, blankets. If only they’d inform the family, joy would abound. Instead, even on visits, Igyeol’s belly was bound up in concealment.

Worse, whenever Heekang asked about the baby, Igyeol grew tense, speaking little. He hadn’t mentioned a conception dream, nor chosen a name. After persistent questioning, Heekang had only managed to learn the month count. When such a birth should have been honored, Igyeol moved as though guilty.

Most shocking of all, every time he’d glimpsed Igyeol’s skin, it had been mottled with bruises. A pregnant person should be treated like glass—yet his body was covered in marks. What in the world was Dohyeon doing to leave him like that? It was intolerable.

“Isn’t there anything you’d like to eat?”

“…No, anything is fine.”

“August will make seven months, won’t it? Time does fly. Still, it’s fortunate the baby won’t be born in the heat of summer.”

“Is that so…?”

It was only small talk as they headed to the dining room, but Igyeol’s eyes brightened with interest. Surprised, Heekang grew more animated than usual.

“It’s harder to recover when it’s hot. The baby needs to stay cool, but the mother—or father—must be kept warm. In the sweltering heat you’ll have to wear thick clothes and socks, while the child’s temperature runs high. They say if postpartum care is neglected, either parent can suffer the consequences for life. I even heard the joints ache whenever the wind blows.”

“Really? I didn’t know.”

Igyeol’s eyes gleamed. No one had ever told him such things. If he’d been with Shin Eunsuk, or if he had access to a phone, he might have learned. But he had no phone, no computer, no tablet. His maternity booklet had long been lost, and at the obstetrician’s with Dohyeon, he’d been too intimidated to speak.