Chapter 87

Faced with Shin Eunsuk’s grave and almost tragic expression, something inside Seo Dohyeon hollowed out entirely. The despair swelling in his chest made it impossible to utter anything close to the truth. He opened his mouth to speak—but no confession, no explanation came.

After agonizing in silence, the only thing he managed was a pathetic excuse:

“I… will go ahead first.”

Cowardice, plain and simple.
He slipped past Eunsuk, eyes fixed on the empty spot where Igyeol had stood only moments earlier, and retreated into the study. The door shut behind him with a soft click. Leaning his back against it, he closed his eyes.

Why, he wondered, does clarity only arrive when the damage is already irreversible?
Why does understanding always strike too late?
And why… why is the life Go Igyeol faces always so unbearably cruel?

A cold realization settled in his bones. Everything—everything—was collapsing beyond his reach. Every attempt he’d made to fix things was nothing but a sandcastle, washed away in a single wave. And he had come to understand this far too late.

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Chapter IV

To ordinary couples, a child might be the symbol of love.
But to Seo Dohyeon, the child was proof—undeniable proof—of his sins.
And to Go Igyeol, the baby remained an open wound that refused to heal.

Around that time, the child’s birth registration was finally completed.

For Igyeol, today was no different from yesterday, or the day before that. His days passed quietly, uneventfully.
But misfortune, as always, struck him when he least expected it.

Leaving the NICU after seeing the baby, heading home as usual—
that was when he encountered the first calamity of the day.

“Our dear Igyeol looks so much healthier now. Ah, of course—you had just given birth when we last saw you. So frail you looked then, like you might collapse if I so much as nudged you. Truly… you were weak. That slap I gave you must’ve hurt quite a bit, didn’t it?”

Go Daesik elbowed Kang Mijin with a laugh, urging her to play along. With her bare face, not a trace of makeup on, she rushed up and hugged Igyeol tightly.

“What part of this thin little body is even fit for hitting? And yet this man actually struck you—completely insane! And you call this recovery? Heaven help us, you’ve suffered terribly. Childbirth isn’t easy, especially alone. Without your mother there—how did you endure it?”

Her expression twisted into a mask of tragic compassion—except not a bit of true feeling lay behind it. Her brows tightened, her eyes glimmered theatrically, not a single tear produced despite the display. She dabbed the corner of her dry eye with the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were pregnant? Why suffer without a word? How could you keep such news from your parents? But anyway… how have you been? Your face is half what it used to be. This is what happens when you don’t rest properly after childbirth.”

“…How did you—”

Only Igyeol stood frozen, blindsided by their sudden appearance.
Shin Eunsuk, however, instantly understood who they were—the brother and sister-in-law who had raised him after his parents’ death. Even so, she held back. This wasn’t a moment for her to step in lightly.

Her eyes flicked over Daesik’s filthy beard, the way he chain-smoked in front of someone who’d just given birth.
As for the woman calling herself “Mother,” her honeyed tone rang empty, utterly devoid of sincerity.

“…Shin Eunsuk.”

“Kang Mijin. Igyeol’s mother.”

Mijin beamed, clutching tighter onto Igyeol’s arm.

As if she had any right to call herself that.

“Let’s go then, shall we?” she chirped.

Daesik burst into rough laughter.

“Yes, where’s this new place you moved into? I went by the old one and nearly had a heart attack seeing it empty! And this seaweed soup—I made a fresh batch twice! But at least we met today. Now that Mother is here, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Chattering nonstop, she pulled at Igyeol as though he were luggage and not a person. Behind them, Eunsuk followed reluctantly, her face tense. She could see clearly how distressed he was—but what right did she have to interfere? She was an outsider; they were “family.”

Dragged along, Igyeol’s steps faltered. He turned back, meeting Eunsuk’s gaze—full of concern and helplessness—and his chest twisted painfully.

“…May I… call Seo Dohyeon?”

The moment he said it, Daesik and Mijin lit up like lanterns.
Of course. If Dohyeon came, the door to money opened.

If they played this right, they could:

move into the new house
pretend it was for “postpartum care”
get paid for their “help”
and, if need be, use the infant as leverage

Mijin’s face brightened with greedy anticipation.

“Yes! Yes, call him. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen our dear son-in-law. Quick, here—use my phone.”

She shoved her device at him—meaning he was to dial from her number.
Nervous, Igyeol punched in Dohyeon’s number.

On her screen, his contact name was saved coldly as “Seo Dohyeon (Go Igyeol).”

Not “son-in-law.”
Not “family.”
Just a label tied to whatever money he represented.

“…It’s a bit cold today, isn’t it?” she muttered, trying to look casual.

“Yes… it is.”

But the words meant nothing.
The truth was obvious: she had never once regarded him as family.
She only ever saw him as Daesik’s income source.

Igyeol lifted the phone. It rang once, twice—

“This is Seo Dohyeon.”

“…It’s Go Igyeol. I’m… in front of the hospital right now…”

“I’m already on my way. Wait there.”

The call ended.
How he knew, why he was already nearby—Igyeol didn’t know.
But relief washed through him like warm water.

“He said he’s coming,” he whispered, handing the phone back.

“In this cold? You should’ve told him to go straight home after work!” Mijin scolded. “Why make him come here—”

But she grabbed Daesik and started walking anyway, already imagining the payout. Spotting a row of café signs, she motioned for him to follow.

“…Aunt, maybe you should go home first. As for me…”

“Igyeol.”

“It would be better if you went ahead. Please. Just this once… please go first.”

There was no embarrassment in showing weakness to Eunsuk.
Only shame—shame that she might witness how those who called themselves his parents treated him.

“I’ll stay close,” she promised. “See that blue sign? I’ll wait there until you’re done.”

“……”

“We said we would walk together today, remember? Look around the neighborhood? Visit the baby shop?”

“…Next time, Aunt. Next time…”

He placed a trembling hand on her shoulder—just a touch, brief—and pulled away again. Then, feeling as though iron weights were shackled to his ankles, he trudged toward the café where Daesik and Mijin waited.

Though the ground beneath him was solid, he felt like he was sinking—down, down, into dark water, unable to breathe.