Divorce Contract C74

Chapter 74

Go Igyeol tilted his head faintly to the side. No matter how closely he looked, the man before him bore little resemblance to his children. Even with Park Gihyeon’s hopeful gaze awaiting the expected reply, Igyeol could not bring himself to utter the lie. His eyes turned away, and Park Gihyeon tucked his phone back into his pocket with a hearty laugh.

“You truly cannot tell a lie, can you, Igyeol. Tell me then—whom does your child resemble?”

“I… do not know. I have only ever seen him asleep.”

“Well, infants do little else but sleep all day. As they grow, their hours of slumber lessen, and they spend more time awake.”

“I see…”

At his explanation, Igyeol nodded faintly. His lips parted as if to speak, then pressed closed again. His gaze, which had furtively observed Park Gihyeon, dropped toward the floor. And still, the man spoke on, offering answers to questions Igyeol had not voiced—when a babe first meets one’s eyes, why they say infants are most beautiful in sleep, when they first learn to roll, and when at last they take their first steps. He wove such words with ease until, all at once, he fell silent. Igyeol, straining to hear the softer tones, lifted his head when the words ceased.

“Psychological care is far less daunting than it seems. It is merely… to speak aloud those things one could not share elsewhere. The words that linger, the hurts one swallowed, the shames that weighed heavily upon the heart. To speak them is to feel a little lighter, to find the burden less suffocating. Just as the body’s wounds must be treated before they fester, so too must the wounds of the heart. At times, merely giving them voice allows them to heal. If you wish, I shall be the bamboo grove that listens to all you dare not tell another.”

It was a subtle, honeyed temptation. His voice, clear and mellifluous, was so sweet it felt as though to swallow it would bring peril. Yet Igyeol’s hesitation was brief. He bit down upon his lip, and at last, as if exhaling a long-held breath, spoke.

“…I wished to eat peaches.”

The words emerged faint and small, nearly extinguished. Park Gihyeon glanced up from his notebook, meeting Igyeol’s gaze, then inclined his head, inviting him to continue.

“At times… I longed to walk the garden beneath the scorching sun, to feel the heat upon my skin. I wished to buy the baby’s first clothes. For I had nothing else to offer but the act of giving birth, and so I wanted, at the very least, to clothe him in something I had chosen with care.”

“……”

“My aunt once told me, when carrying life within, one ought only to see beauty, to hear only gentle words, to eat what is fair and wholesome. She said the child would know and feel it all, and thus it must be so. But I could not. Each day, I was too full of sorrow. Rather than beauty, the babe must have heard only my anguish. And so, whenever I go to see him, his tiny face is always drawn, as if he might cry at any moment.”

His fingers tore and picked at themselves, short nails digging at broken skin until it reddened. His voice was soft, but his hands betrayed his unrest.

“…I wished to give him a tender name while in the womb, to call him often by it. But I never did. In truth… I never even chose one. I did not think of it. When I said I wished to, I was told, must you do every little thing others do when they are with child? Such words left me unable. I could not.”

From behind the handkerchief came a hollow laugh. His lashes, heavy and damp, curtained eyes already brimming with tears. They clung quickly to the long, delicate lashes.

“I wished to call him by it when he stirred within me, when he hiccupped in the womb. I wished to soothe him, to say, ‘It is well, it is well.’ But later… it seemed as though, knowing I would not, he ceased altogether. No matter how he strained, I would not reach out, would not stroke him.”

The words were delivered too calmly, and that calmness cut more deeply than any wail. Park Gihyeon, heart heavy, noted each confession, though from time to time curiosity pressed too strongly to be held back.

“Why did you not soothe him?”

“When I woke, it was ever in the dead of night. And in those hours… it was never only myself and the babe.”

The pen slackened in Park Gihyeon’s hand, but his smile remained practiced and gentle.

“Then, tell me, Igyeol—what name would you have given your child?”

“…Ah…”

The memories of that time, the guilt of never naming his child, the shame of neglecting even the smallest of tender rituals—all of it rushed upon him. His body shook violently, and his hands clapped over his ears. His sobs thickened, tears pouring ceaselessly to soak the handkerchief.

“…I do not wish to speak of this. No more. I wish to stop. I want only to stop…!”

His fingers clawed at his skin with a compulsion that grew frenzied, digging beneath the gauze at his ears. Park Gihyeon tried to stop him, but he would not be stilled. His voice, urging calm, could not drown out the jeering whispers. The more Igyeol bared his heart, the louder the scorn grew within his head. Who are you, to dare give the child a name? The taunt broke him, and he sobbed aloud.

“Be silent! Silence!”

“Igyeol, breathe slowly, breathe deeply. It is nothing. All you hear is nothing—none of it is real.”

“Why? Why must I alone suffer so? Why—why must it be me? I cannot… I cannot do this. You said to speak, and it would bring ease. But it does not! The more I speak, the more it tears at me. Why does it hurt more? Why… why does it never cease to ache?”

Clutching his ears, curling into himself, he shut Park Gihyeon out. Even beneath the quilt, with his ears stopped, the torment did not relent.

And then—

“What nonsense is this, that you all stand outside gawking!”

The door burst open, her voice, loud and unmistakable, filling the chamber. Footsteps struck sharp upon the floor. Startled, Igyeol lifted his tear-drenched eyes from the pillow. At once, that longed-for visage filled them. Hair bound hastily, an old jumper draped over her shoulders—Shin Eunsuk’s eyes swept him, sharp and swift.

The IV lines dangling, the blood-soaked gauze clinging ragged to his ear, the nail-scratched nape marred with red welts, the ruined hands and arms—and his face, cruelly hidden from sight.

“What have they done to you…”

“…Aunt…”

“That wretched cur—!”

She strode toward the bed, but midway dropped the bundle from her arms with a violent thud. Though Igyeol called to her, she spun swiftly about, wrenched the half-closed door open, and the moment she stepped into the hall, her arm swung.

Not a slap, but a blow—the dull, resounding thud echoed through the corridor.

“Speak! Tell me why the boy who was once whole lies in such a state! You told me he was well, that he was resting, that he was smiling—did you not!”

“……”

“You told me you would take him with care, that he was safe with you—did you not!”

Her hand struck again, reddening his cheek, and still her wrath was unspent. She beat her clenched fist upon his chest.

“Speak! What sin of his could warrant such torment, that you have left him like this! Speak, I say!”

“P-please, madam, calm yourself—”

“And who are you! Release me! Release me, I say! How could the mother of a child be left in such misery, how could he be—like this—!”

Her voice rose in fury, filling the hall until the nurses at the desk craned their necks in alarm, whispering if they should intervene, debating whether to summon the guards.

With eyes that promised murder, Shin Eunsuk glared at Seo Dohyeon, then thrust open the ward door and stormed inside.

Her strides faltered. Each step slowed as she neared Igyeol. At last, her feet would not move.

“…I thought you would leave, and never come back.”

Park Gihyeon, standing in the corner, bowed slightly, gathering his bag. With a tactful glance, he slipped quietly out, leaving the two alone.

Within the vast chamber, only aunt and nephew remained. Shin Eunsuk scrubbed roughly at her eyes, then at last closed the distance. At the edge of the bed, Igyeol fumbled weakly, but she swept him into her arms. She held his frail body, stroked the bones sharp against his back, and smothered her sobs. Not a part of him was left unscathed. His fair face hidden, his ears ruined, his hands broken—she could not bear to ask how. She could only hold him.

“Aunt… Aunt, I longed for you. I longed for you so.”

“They said you bore a child.”

“Yes… I bore him, Aunt. But he… he came too soon.”

“And you—are you well? After the birth, I told you never to dress so thinly. You must wear warm clothes, or you will suffer. Did I not say so? Did I not warn you…”

At the warmth of her hand upon his wrist beneath the hospital robe, Igyeol smiled faintly. For the first time, he felt as though he might live. For the first time, he could breathe. The tears that had flowed unceasingly during his talk with Park Gihyeon ceased at last. Though his nose was clogged, it did not stop him from breathing in the scent of Shin Eunsuk.