Divorce Contract C47

Chapter 47

Go Igyeol’s hand twitched, stirring faintly. His eyelids fluttered as though about to open. Aside from the hiss of mist spilling from the humidifier and the steady beeping of machines, the room was quiet. There was nothing strange, except perhaps a faint sense of suffocation on his face. Or—wasn’t everything strange? Igyeol moved the hand that had been neatly resting outside the blanket, fumbling over his stomach. The belly that had been so round and swollen was now flat.

“……”

He rubbed over it again and again, but it was gone. As if nothing had ever been there, it had sunk away completely. His mind cleared little by little. He blinked rapidly to sharpen his vision and sat upright in a jolt. His head spun, dizziness swirling before slowly settling. He lifted his hand and pulled off the respirator covering his face just as the door opened. Igyeol’s head turned instinctively toward the sound.

“Ah, Go Igyeol.”

“……”

“How is your body?”

“I…”

Seo Dohyeon frowned at the voice, rough and hoarse like metal scraping. He had only stepped away briefly to take a call, and in that short span Igyeol had awakened. The timing was, to his mind, utterly fucked. He looked at the bloodless, pale face, and stepped closer.

After the emergency surgery, Igyeol had drifted in and out of sleep for two full days. Not knowing that, he had recklessly sat up and pulled the respirator off on his own.

“…Today… what day is it…?”

“Two days have passed. I asked how your body felt.”

“Two days… ah. Then the baby… the baby…”

The gentle eyes filled with tears the instant they opened. Igyeol raised his weak, trembling hand, struggling to wipe his cheek, and looked at Seo Dohyeon.

“I’m asking about you, whether you’re all right, but it’s always so hard to get an answer.”

“…I’m… not all right. Not even a little. But what does that… what does that have to do with you, Seo Dohyeon?”

Though his voice was soaked with sobs, there was no resentment in it. Igyeol was asking sincerely. Since Dohyeon didn’t care if he was fine or not, why pretend to ask?

“They said your body has taken a lot of damage. Malnutrition, apparently. From now on, make sure you eat properly.”

“……”

“You’ll need to be hospitalized for about two weeks.”

His slack gaze drifted toward Dohyeon. Each slow blink brought a heavy stream of tears sliding down his cheeks. It seemed the contract’s clause would be kept to the letter—nothing about the child was to be shared with him. It was merciless.

“…I don’t mean I want to see, but just… if it’s alive… if it’s safe, could you… could you just tell me that much?”

“Go Igyeol.”

“I just… I’m so… please… I’m so afraid the baby… the baby might not have made it… just tell me that much—”

“And if it hasn’t, what does that matter to you?”

The blunt retort closed his trembling lips. Only the broken sobs and hiccups spilled out after. Dohyeon stepped closer, pressed the nurse call button, and reached out to wipe Igyeol’s wet cheeks, lifting his bowed head.

“From now on, focus only on recovering.”

“…Ah.”

There was something almost relieved in Dohyeon’s expression, though it vanished quickly. Of course he would feel unburdened, now that a troublesome problem had been swept away. Still… wasn’t this cruelty? Igyeol’s face crumpled with grief.

“You haven’t seen, have you. The baby… no one… no one has seen the baby…”

He pushed Dohyeon’s hand away from his cheek. He didn’t want to be alone with him. He knew there was no one to help him, but still wished not to be left in this man’s presence. His stomach churned. His breath caught raggedly in his throat. Igyeol clawed at his neck, gasping, choking. His face flushed red, veins bulging on his thin neck as if he were being strangled. Dohyeon, panicked, hit the call button again and tried to fit the respirator back onto his face.

“Kek, kuh—kugh!”

Igyeol thrashed, leaving long red scratches down his own neck with short nails. At that moment, the door burst open. A nurse, hearing the distress, rushed inside.

“How long ago did I press the call button? Why are you only arriving now?”

“I’m so sorry. Excuse me, let me check the patient.”

The nurse set the tray of medicine on the table, pulled Dohyeon away, and quickly secured the oxygen mask on Igyeol’s face. She tilted his chin to keep the airway open, guiding him to breathe steadily.

“Patient, are you all right?”

“Hhhu… hhhu… ah—aaah…!”

“Exhale deeply, slowly now. Hoo, exhale.”

“Hhh, hhhuhh.”

Shaking violently, Igyeol forced himself to breathe with her voice. His eyes were wet, bloodshot veins bursting in them. His sobbing didn’t cease easily. Once his breathing calmed somewhat, the nurse turned back to Dohyeon with another apology.

“It looks like the hyperventilation was temporary, but I’ll make sure to report it to the attending physician so they can order additional tests. There’s a round later today—then you’ll get more detailed explanations.”

“Yes.”

“Ah, and… when would you like to review the test results?”

“Do I have to do that myself?”

The icy question made the nurse swallow nervously. Normally, guardians had to check results directly. But VIP patients often bent those rules.

“By policy, the guardian should go to the consultation room to review them, but since this is VIP, I’ll check if the attending physician can bring the documents and explain them during the round. I’ll change the IV and disinfect the incision site now.”

Smiling gently at Igyeol, though wiping sweat from her brow, the nurse moved smoothly. She replaced the empty IV and gently lifted his hospital gown. Below his navel, a scar the length of a pinky marked his body.

Following orders, she said nothing about the child, quietly disinfecting the wound. The patient only stared vacantly out the window. Perhaps because he was so thin, the swelling common after surgery was nearly absent. Or maybe it was just not visible. His legs, faintly visible under the gown, looked slightly swollen but hardly noticeable. He didn’t look like someone who had just given birth. Even the stomach, which should have remained distended, was nearly flat; no abdominal binder was necessary.

“I’ll remove the catheter now. Please don’t sit up too quickly—have the guardian help you move slowly. From now on you’ll need to use the bathroom yourself. If you feel any difficulty, call for us.”

The nurse addressed Igyeol, but received no reply. Dohyeon’s glance dismissed her. Gathering the tray, she bowed again and left. The room fell silent once more.

Until the attending physician came on rounds that afternoon, Igyeol never left the bed. Dohyeon didn’t ask if he needed help, and silence thickened between them. From time to time, the sound of quiet sobbing broke through, which Dohyeon found excessive and tiresome.

Soon enough, work demanded his attention. He checked emails, sent replies, reviewed documents Jaeseon was to bring later, and even handled an urgent video meeting. All the while, Igyeol’s body prickled with goosebumps just from hearing Dohyeon’s voice. He didn’t know why. His skin itched unbearably. He scratched at his arms, over his gown, until the irritation wouldn’t stop, then slipped his hand beneath the sleeve.

“Go Igyeol!”

At some point, Dohyeon’s sharp call made his head jerk up in fright. His light brown eyes brimmed with fear of what words might come next. Dohyeon strode over and seized his wrist. Igyeol flinched, shoulders hunched, and twisted weakly, trying to pull free.

“What are you doing.”

“…What?”

“Don’t you see you’re bleeding?”

Only then did he glance down. His arm was raw from scratching, tiny beads of blood seeping through the broken skin. Dohyeon’s words seemed to ask if it hurt. Igyeol shook his head.

“…It doesn’t hurt.”

“What?”

“It just itches. So… could you let go of me? It itches.”

Now even the spot where Dohyeon touched burned with irritation. Grunting, Igyeol pulled his wrist from his grasp and went right back to scratching furiously.