Divorce Contract C116

Chapter 116

Soothing the awakened Seo Ihyeon, Go Igyeol had entirely forgotten the presence of Seo Dohyeon that lingered in his mind. As dusk fell, the baby’s whimpering grew worse. Just as he lifted the child into his arms, a call came from Shin Eunsuk. A sudden heavy snowfall had blocked the roads. She asked anxiously if everything was well and, upon hearing Ihyeon’s cries, fretted over what to do.

“Ihyeon keeps crying… but I’m calming him, so don’t rush. Just drive carefully, alright?”

– “Aigoo, of all days…”

“It’s hard managing just the two of us, but we’re fine. I’ve got him in my arms, so I can’t stay on the phone long, Auntie.”

– “Oh, oh. Yes, yes. Then let’s hang up.”

Repeating again and again for her to be careful, to drive slowly, Igyeol finally ended the call. He set the phone upon the table and looked into Ihyeon’s tear-filled eyes, shimmering with light. What was troubling him? he asked softly. As the crying grew louder, he checked the diaper, then his temperature.

“What’s wrong? Hm? Where does it hurt?”

If only he could answer. If only the child could tell him what ailed him, what was causing the tears. Hugging the inconsolable baby, Igyeol paced the room, round and round, his mind a whirl of helplessness. Ihyeon stiffened and wailed harder, flailing in his arms.

I want to cry too. The thought crossed Igyeol’s mind—just as a knock sounded at the door. His name was called. He hesitated, then stepped toward it. The lock undone, the door clicked open. A face pale from the cold appeared—Seo Dohyeon. His eyes swept from the wailing child to Igyeol’s tear-streaked face.

“The baby kept crying. I thought perhaps his fever had returned.”

“…I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t tell what’s making him cry.”

His sagging voice drew a frown from Dohyeon. The baby, tears dangling from his large eyes, gazed at the newcomer before burying his face back into Igyeol’s chest with another sob. Igyeol’s shoulders rose and fell in great shudders as he sighed and began pacing again. The baby calmed more when he moved than when he stood still. Dohyeon lingered at the threshold, uncertain. Should he remove his shoes and enter? It was always better with two—but if that second person was him, would it truly help? He wavered, wondering if it would be wiser to summon Yoon Jaeseon instead, when Igyeol’s voice came first.

“…Please, hold him for just a moment. He cries if I put him down. It might not be time for a feeding yet, but maybe he’s hungry. I’ll try giving him milk.”

His voice was small and weary. Dohyeon shed his coat, went to the washroom to wash his hands, then accepted the baby. Though Ihyeon cried the instant he left Igyeol’s arms, the moment Dohyeon began to move, he quieted. Relieved that the child took to him without fuss, Igyeol hurried to prepare the formula.

Cradling the baby, Dohyeon patted his back gently, pacing slowly. He paused before the window, showing him the snow cascading down. Still, Ihyeon whimpered faintly, and Dohyeon, unsure how to soothe with words, was flustered—until Igyeol returned with the bottle ready.

“…Would you like to feed him?”

The question was careful, tentative. The baby’s plump cheeks trembled, his small lips opening eagerly. Dohyeon had never seen such a sight before—never even imagined it. His eyes moved from the infant to Igyeol, mind in turmoil.

What shamelessness, one voice scolded. Leave at once. Another retorted—you are his father, should you not, at least this way, take part?

“If you don’t wish to, I’ll do it,” Igyeol murmured.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I thought perhaps… you would dislike it.”

The reply came too swiftly, betraying his own heart. Startled, Igyeol’s eyes widened. Then he spoke again.

“I don’t mind. You’re Ihyeon’s father too… Try. If he refuses, if it feels strange, I’ll take over. But when he eats, it’s… beautiful. Truly beautiful. You’ll see—it’ll be beautiful to you too.”

And so Dohyeon followed his guidance. He sat upon the bed, leaned back, and placed the nursing cushion across his lap. Ihyeon was laid down, and the bottle placed in his hand.

“There’s no need to be nervous. Just hold it steady—he’ll do the rest.”

The baby opened his mouth, rooting instinctively. With Igyeol’s help, the nipple touched his lips, and Ihyeon latched, suckling greedily.

“He must have been hungry,” Igyeol said softly.

As if in response, Ihyeon’s eyes lifted upward while he drank, his tiny arms twitching with effort to reach. The sight was irresistibly endearing. Smiling, Igyeol brushed a cheek with his finger, gaze brimming with tenderness.

Dohyeon found himself staring—at Igyeol, not the child. He had never seen him smile like this. The sight was unfamiliar, unbearably sweet, making his chest ache and prickle. Affection radiated from his every glance; it was wondrous, and it was cruel.

“So beautiful… truly.”

The words slipped from him, husky, weighted with sorrow. Each time, every moment like this, he regretted. But never more than now, when he thought it would hurt less if the heavens themselves collapsed than to endure this longing.

“They’re beautiful when they eat. When they smile, when they sleep, even when they cry. Always beautiful. I don’t know how it’s possible… but they’re always beautiful,” Igyeol whispered, smiling down at his child.

But when his gaze lifted and found Dohyeon’s eyes fixed not on Ihyeon, but on himself, he faltered. His body, bent toward the baby, straightened sharply.

“I meant… the baby is beautiful…”

The unfinished words trailed, muttered in embarrassment. Color rushed up his neck, flooding his face. He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand, eyes darting around the small room for refuge before fleeing to the washroom.

Gripping the sink, he stared into the mirror. His face was flushed red. Crazy. I’ve gone crazy. He splashed cold water over his cheeks again and again, trying to quell the turbulent stir within. It refused to settle, leaving him hiding there for a long while.

When he emerged at last, Ihyeon had nearly emptied the bottle, and Dohyeon was waiting, uncertain what to do next.

“He needs to burp. I’ll take him—it’s better if I do. He often spits up…”

Igyeol wiped his damp jaw and stepped closer, deftly lifting Ihyeon. He draped a cloth over his shoulder, placed the baby against it, and stroked the tiny back in long, slow motions while pacing. Dohyeon watched, then cautiously spoke.

“Have there been any strangers around? Anyone unusual?”

“…Pardon? Who… do you mean?”

“Cars you don’t recognize. Strange visitors at the pension. Anything like that.”

Igyeol blinked, thoughtful.

“No… nothing like that. Though I did notice a car parked across the way for quite some time. At first I didn’t recognize it, but when we returned from the hospital, I looked again… and it seemed like your car. It was there nearly the whole day.”

So sharp-eyed? Dohyeon forgot to deny it convincingly, lips parting and closing again as he turned away.

“No. You’re mistaken. It wasn’t mine.”

It was an unconvincing denial, born of fluster, not persuasion. But Igyeol let it go, asking nothing more.

“…And Auntie called. She’s on her way back now. So… you should go too, Seo Dohyeon-ssi.”

A reprieve from questioning, but the dismissal struck bitter. Dohyeon placed the nursing cushion aside and rose, face clouded. He had no excuse to linger.

“I’ll wait until Shin Eunsuk returns. Rest.”

“She’ll be back soon—you can just—”

“I’m worried. I can’t leave you alone, not like this.”

It was pitiful, this clinging. But if humiliation was the price to stay by his side, he would pay it gladly.

“I’ll leave after she comes. I’ll keep out of sight—you won’t have to explain. Pretend I’m not here.”

Igyeol’s expression showed he meant to refuse, but before the words could form, Dohyeon turned and left. Without looking back, he told him to call if anything was needed. He opened the door, stepped into the cold, and shut it firmly behind him.

He lifted his face to the snow-heavy sky, his expression etched with weary emptiness. The flakes kept falling, silent, endless. He prayed they would not stop—that they would pile and pile, delaying Shin Eunsuk’s return just a little longer.