Divorce Contract C115

Chapter 115

The faint clatter of dishes was the only sound that occasionally disturbed the quiet space. Go Igyeol moved his spoon slowly, glancing now and again at Seo Dohyeon and the peacefully sleeping Seo Ihyeon. Dohyeon had deliberately positioned himself at an angle so that his body would not obscure the baby, as though he knew Igyeol would want to see. His hand stretched toward the child, then faltered and withdrew before touching.

Igyeol’s brow furrowed. Was it distaste? Or simply unfamiliarity? Why had he pulled his hand back just before contact? Unable to find an answer, Igyeol’s chopsticks stilled above the side dishes.

Fingers, once neatly folded upon his lap, curled inward. A clenched fist pressed against Dohyeon’s mouth. From where he sat, Igyeol could not see his expression, but he realized—it was not dislike, nor strangeness, but pain. Dohyeon turned his face away from the baby.

Was it guilt? Of course it must be, if he was human. Igyeol too sometimes felt sudden pangs of guilt when looking at Ihyeon. Surely Dohyeon was no different. Perhaps his guilt was even greater. After all, the abuse had not been directed solely at Igyeol, but at the child within his womb as well.

And yet, paradoxically, Igyeol also felt guilty for making Dohyeon carry that weight. Half the burden of guilt had been forced upon him, unasked. Watching the infant’s tiny form peek from behind Dohyeon’s shoulder, Igyeol’s thoughts spiraled.

Would things have been different if he had been honest from the beginning? Would Dohyeon have found a solution? Would he have allowed the child to be aborted? Or supported him through the birth? Sent the baby far away through an adoption agency? Every question led to an answerless void.

His eyes drifted once more to Dohyeon’s back. Even now, asking would not bring forth the truth of his heart at that time. Dwelling on it was absurd—it was all in the past. Yet he could not stop revisiting it.

If he had not run, if he had confessed everything openly—would their lives be different? Would his own wounds be less deep?

Laying his chopsticks down on the table, Igyeol exhaled a faint sigh, signaling the end of his meal. Attuned to every shift behind him, Dohyeon waited a beat before turning. Their eyes met—Igyeol’s gaze heavy with sorrow. Though brief, the moment felt endless. It was Igyeol who looked away first. Dohyeon allowed him space to compose himself before rising. With a few steps, he stood before him and held out the untouched glass of water.

He urged him to drink, his eyes straying to the barely touched food. Uneasy, Igyeol stumbled into excuses.

“…It was good, but I wasn’t hungry. Thank you for the meal.”

“I was worried you might not touch it at all. As long as you had a little, that’s enough.”

“I’ll clear the table.”

“I’ll do it. Could you just… stay seated a little longer?”

The cautious request made Igyeol, who had half-risen, settle awkwardly back into his chair. Quietly, Dohyeon cleared the table. He sealed the lids of the small containers, stacked them neatly into the paper bag, and placed the bowls and plates into the sink. Even the scraps he gathered together to carry away.

“I brought coffee and tea as well, just in case.”

“……”

“Not to drink together—there’s some in a tumbler. Have it later. I’ll be outside. Call me if you need anything.”

Igyeol’s eyes flicked to the window. Snow had begun to fall here, just as it was in Seoul. The flakes were thick. Would he really wait outside in such weather? There was nowhere to shelter—where would he even stand? Worry shadowed his face.

“I’ll be fine.”

Was he saying the snow was fine, or that waiting outside was fine? Igyeol couldn’t tell. Watching Dohyeon take the bag and move to leave, he instinctively reached out, catching his arm just as he opened the door.

“…Outside….”

It’s snowing. The words came out in averted murmurs. Loosening his grip, regret flashed across Igyeol’s face. He bit his lip, chastising himself for reaching.

“So it is,” Dohyeon answered, as if it were nothing at all, as if the falling snow was of no consequence. With only a faint smile tugging at his lips, he left.

Descending the steps beneath the falling snow, Dohyeon was met by Yoon Jaeseon rushing from the car. Under the shelter of a large black umbrella he offered, Dohyeon handed him the bag, then took the handle himself. Mid-conversation with Jaeseon, his head turned—toward the window where Igyeol stood.

Their eyes locked: Igyeol, close to the glass, his gaze laden with worry; Dohyeon, caught, unable to conceal it. And then, he looked away first.

In recent days, reports suggested Kang Mijin’s movements were growing suspicious. For this reason, Dohyeon had taken to staying at a newly opened resort near Shin Eunsuk’s pension, handling most of his work from its rooms, café, and his car. That morning too, he had stepped out to observe the surroundings and happened to witness Shin Eunsuk’s car leaving. He thought little of it, assuming she had some errand early in the day. He had not imagined two people would be inside.

He had lingered, unwilling to return immediately, hoping perhaps to catch a glimpse of Igyeol out walking. When the unexpected message came, he had raced there without hesitation—and the look in Igyeol’s eyes when he appeared remained etched in his mind.

Relief that should not have been there, and confusion at his presence, mingled in that gaze. But in the end, Igyeol had thrown the door wide without question. Together they rushed to the hospital, and afterward, while Igyeol remained inside, Dohyeon kept his vigil outside. He had even asked Jaeseon to fetch food from a place Igyeol once ate heartily.

As he laid out the meal and pressed the spoon into his hand, guilt deepened within him. Yet the faint possibility of reconciliation seemed thinner than ever. Why, then, did his heart keep surging with foolish hope, only to crash and ache all the more?

Unconsciously, his hand had stretched toward the peach-tinted cheek. But his fingers froze, shame burning. With what right had he thought to touch him, to look at him? He turned away sharply, stifling breath against his fist until his breathing steadied. At last he lowered his hand and strained to listen.

The sounds of eating had ceased.

Straightening, he walked quickly back toward Igyeol. The faint gleam in Igyeol’s eyes as he looked up—bright despite the gloomy weather—cut deep.

“…It was good…”

Not the rebuke Dohyeon expected, but the habitual excuse of a man eating too little. He answered softly, asked if Igyeol could stay seated while he cleared the table. And Igyeol, instead of rising, remained.

Even as he finished tidying, when he moved to leave, Igyeol reached for him again. Not out of lingering affection, surely. Perhaps his hatred had softened just a fraction? No—that couldn’t be. The pale hand released him, the gaze dropping.

Suppressing the desperate urge to remain in that shared space, Dohyeon stepped out. Regret crushed him instantly. He should have stayed. Should have stirred the confusion, forced him to reach again. Down the stairs, under the umbrella Jaeseon held, he glanced back at the window.

Their eyes tangled once more. And once again—it was Dohyeon who looked away first.

Snow fell thicker, then thinner, as Jaeseon reported on his assigned tasks. Hearing him, Dohyeon grew serious, even considering replacing the babysitter. The son who’d been in the accident was already grown; why had Shin Eunsuk gone with her?

He knew well why Igyeol had agreed—his empathy. To Igyeol, every withered flower or stray cat scavenging for scraps was heartbreaking. How much more so a babysitter with a suffering child? It was precisely his tender, selfless nature that had swayed him. And Eunsuk, too, had obeyed Igyeol’s word. It grated at Dohyeon.

In every way, he wished for Igyeol to be put first. And yet nothing unfolded as he hoped.

“The sitter,” he said.

“Yes, Director.”

“Find another.”

“…Sir? It was an unavoidable circumstance, perhaps you might—”

Dohyeon cut him off.

“Not to replace her. To add another. I don’t want Go Igyeol-ssi left alone again, as he was today. What happened was unforeseeable. It shows we’ve been too lax.”

Though he was glad Igyeol had turned to him for help, knowing the full story left him far from pleased.

“…Understood.”

“Not just anyone. Choose carefully.”

“Yes, sir.”

Listening to the answer, Dohyeon moved on, drawn ever closer—wanting nothing more than to remain at Igyeol’s side.