Divorce Contract C79

Chapter 79

When Dohyeon stood and bowed his head, Eunsuk didn’t even look at him—just brushed past like he was dust on her sleeve—and left.
The moment the door shut, he stepped into the room.

Igyeol, who’d been lying still like he was trying to drift off, instantly tensed.
At the sight of Dohyeon, he shrank back and yanked the blanket up to his eyes, hiding everything but the small wary sliver of brown peeking out.

“Until Madam Eunsuk returns, I’ll stay here,” Dohyeon said, scanning him—taking in how much better he looked than the day before.

“…Why? Why stay? Do you think I’ll do something reckless? That I’ll run away?”

“No. It’s not that. I’m worried… worried about you being alone.”

“…My well-being? Why would you worry about me?”

He didn’t mean it sarcastically. He was genuinely confused.
This man—who had never once cared for him—was now talking about concern?
It made no sense. None.

“Aunt said she’ll be back quickly. She told me that if I sleep, she’ll return soon, so I’m going to sleep now. You don’t have to stay. I won’t do anything wrong. I haven’t touched my ears. I won’t leave the room. I promised Aunt. I’ll keep it.”

He touched each healing wound as if proving it, hands shaking, begging Dohyeon to leave.
But, as always, Dohyeon ignored him. He sat right beside the bed, eyes fixed on the spots Igyeol had just checked.

“…It’s true.”

Of course—never once had Dohyeon listened to what he wanted.
And now again, he didn’t.

The light drained from Igyeol’s eyes immediately.

“Did you see the baby?” Dohyeon asked.

“…Yes.”

He didn’t want to talk about the child with him.
His stomach twisted with fear.

Dohyeon had once said he could raise the baby—but what if he changed his mind just like that?
To Igyeol, Dohyeon wasn’t just someone he disliked.
He was someone he had to placate, or else he might lose his child.

“Ah… is that why you came?”

His mind flashed back to his last heat, to the cruel words he’d shouted.
Surely Dohyeon was upset.
Maybe there were nail marks still on his cheek?
Had he scratched him?
Maybe that was it.

“That…?”

“I’m sorry.”

Before Dohyeon could even ask, Igyeol threw out the apology.

“That day— I’m sorry. None of it was real. I don’t know why I said it. It wasn’t from my heart. I don’t resent you. Please don’t pity me.”

He hated that Dohyeon chose the exact moment when Eunsuk wasn’t here to come in.
He tried to hide it—but his face twisted oddly, half-smile, half-grimace, begging forgiveness.

Then he got out of bed and dropped to his knees.

Thank god Eunsuk wasn’t here to see it.
It would’ve shattered her.

“What are these sudden apologies?”

“…From now on, I’ll eat whatever you give me. I’m sorry for back then. For pushing you away. For saying I disliked you. I won’t dislike you again. I’ll try.”

“I don’t know why you’re suddenly apologizing, but it isn’t necessary. I only came to ask about the baby’s registration. We need a name, and I wanted your— Hah.”

He cursed inside, covering his face with one rough hand.

One horrible thing after another.

Igyeol was apologizing in fear he’d lose his child—begging forgiveness for mistakes he’d never made.
He wasn’t the one who should be apologizing at all.

“I came to talk about a name. That’s all.”

“The baby’s… name?”

“Yes. A name is needed for his registration. Have you thought of any?”

At that, Igyeol froze.

His eyes shook like the floor dropped out beneath him.
The old taunt echoed in his head:

Do you want to do everything mothers do just because you’re pregnant? Even naming the baby?

His hand crept up toward his ear—the ear he hadn’t touched even once while Eunsuk was around.
His nails scraped at the half-healed skin, tearing whatever progress had been made.

“…No. I have nothing in mind. You can decide. It doesn’t matter to me.”

A dry crackle sounded as he tore the scab open.
Hearing it, Dohyeon’s voice dropped, low and gentle.

Igyeol bit his cheek, lowering his head, hiding his ear like a child caught misbehaving.

Without noticing, Dohyeon pulled a folded paper from his pocket.

“I gathered some options. Maybe none will please you, but… here.”

Igyeol’s gaze dropped to the paper.

He’d expected one name.
Maybe two.
But there were five—six—each neatly written with Chinese characters and meanings.

“If there’s one you like, tell me. If not, I can look for more… Igyeol.”

“…What? Why? Why are you— If you would just repeat what you said—”

Dohyeon reached and gently tugged down Igyeol’s sleeve, revealing his wrist.
Blood seeped from the ear again.
His clean nails were streaked red.

“What words are you hearing now?”

“…”

“What do you think I said?”

“Even if you did… it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Dohyeon bowed his head, shoulders slumping under the weight of everything he hadn’t known.

Igyeol pulled weakly at his wrist, unsure if he should explain.
He rubbed his ear with the back of his hand and whispered:

“You said, ‘Do you want to do everything others do? Even name the baby?’ That’s what you said. So I never thought of a name. I wanted to give him a cradle name, but I didn’t. I thought you’d hate it. And later… I thought I’d never be allowed to raise him, so I stopped imagining anything. Truly, choose whatever you want. I don’t mind. I mean it.”

Dohyeon couldn’t speak.

He remembered everything—the night Igyeol swore never to forgive him.
The tears in his eyes.
And Dohyeon snapping at him to stop crying, to eat what he was given, to stop acting like someone entitled to joy.

Because of those words:

Igyeol never named the baby.
Never whispered to him.
Never let himself bond with him.
He’d carried the child in complete silence.
Not even allowed the smallest happiness expectant parents cherished.

If only Igyeol could forget.

But every detail—every painful thing—had carved itself into his memory.

“…Every day my thoughts change,” Dohyeon finally whispered.
He hadn’t spoken honestly in so long.

“Should I keep the shattered Igyeol I created… and try to live with him?
Or should I let him go?”

“…Did I do wrong? If I did, I can fix it. I can fix everything. It’s all my fault. Please… I’ll make it right.”

To Igyeol, it sounded like a farewell.

And if they separated—he wouldn’t be allowed to raise the baby.
That was the rule.

His pale brown eyes filled with tears.
His hand lifted, then dropped—afraid to reach out.
He grabbed the hem of Dohyeon’s coat instead, crying silently.

Dohyeon looked at the tears, and a bitter, pained smile crossed his face.

“Don’t cry like that. I can’t even wipe your tears.”

“…”

“This morning, I thought… even if you’re broken, I’d still keep you.
But now…”

Each blink of Igyeol’s wet lashes made his lips tighten.

“…Now I think maybe I should let you go.”

“…I—”

“Your wishes never mattered to me. Not from the beginning.”