After Lim Chun-gyu and Shin Young-hwa left, Yu-yeon finished the rest of her joint mobility exercises and sent the caregiver home early.
Yesterday had been spent listening to her sister and the caregiver recount everything that had happened over the past two years and four months. Today, the moment she woke, she went through a battery of tests, squeezed in rehabilitation sessions between them, spent the afternoon preparing an apology while waiting for Choi Hyeon-myeong, and the second he left, Lim Da-mi’s parents came calling.
Perhaps it was because she had spent two years and four months in a quiet world of her own before returning to this clamorous one. Bombarded with so much information and having to face so many people, her body and mind felt thoroughly exhausted.
Living was such an exhausting business. It really was.
‘And Dad left me all alone in a world like this.’
Sighing, Yu-yeon let out a long, heavy breath into the empty hospital room.
A knock broke through the silence. Through the cracked door, a broad shadow fell across the floor.
She answered already on edge, wondering what test could possibly be left.
Yet the person who pushed the door open and stepped inside was—
At this exact moment, he was the very last person she wanted to face.
Her creditor. Healthy, handsome, filthy rich, and with time to burn—Choi Hyeon-myeong.
A Choi Hyeon-myeong who even had a wonderful father.
Yu-yeon let out a hollow laugh.
In front of this man, she needed to show determination to recover, but her body refused to obey her will. She simply didn't have the energy left to deal with another person.
Step, step.
The sound of his slow footsteps filled the quiet room. Just like before, he crossed deeper into the room and took the empty chair to her right.
Yu-yeon cast a detached glance toward him. If he had something to say, she just wished he would say it and leave.
For some reason, however, he kept his mouth shut for a long time.
Just as Yu-yeon, unable to bear the prolonged wait any longer, was about to snap at him—
“…”
He opened his mouth with an entirely unexpected topic.
His gentle tone sounded as calm as ever, but there was a strange resonance in it that inexplicably frayed her nerves.
Unable to take it any longer, Yu-yeon bristled at his gentle voice. If she didn’t, she felt as if she would expose her pitiful weakness.
Yet he didn't seem particularly bothered by her cold reaction.
“…”
A silence so deep it felt as if even the air had stilled blanketed the hospital room.
As if running along the paths her legs could not walk, her heart—which had been thumping wearily away—now echoed hollowly in her chest. Shrouded in the dim light, Yu-yeon’s face twisted, caught completely adrift.
She knew.
She knew her grief had arrived far too late.
“…”
She knew that after everyone else’s wounds had formed and barely begun to scar over, she, trailing two years and four months behind, could not gouge them open again.
She knew that two years late, she had no right to come whining now that she was hurting too.
Even so.
“…”
Like a childish fool, I wanted to be comforted.
A shuddering breath escaped me.
Before I could even try to stem them, tears spilled over like a burst dam.
“…”
Because I had so much to do ahead of me, and a little sister who had only me to look to.
Because I hadn't been able to do a single thing during the agonizing years my young sister endured.
Because the time for mourning had ended long ago.
I thought I had to bundle up my sorrow and face the present with resolve.
Yet even though I was twenty-nine, I was still twenty-six inside.
To me, I had just lost my father yesterday, and this world without him terrified me. In truth, I didn't know what to do.
Unfiltered, disorganized words tumbled out in a relentless rush.
Dad, who still called his grown-up daughter his princess; Dad, who rushed over in the middle of his busy day just to buy dinner for my boyfriend; Dad, who grew playfully jealous and begged to go on dates with him too; Dad, who always indulged my whining…
Every single memory cut deep into my heart.
I'm so sorry, Dad.
Dad, I'm so terribly sorry.
I wept like a fool. A twenty-nine-year-old crying like a nine-year-old. Crying as if I never wanted to become an adult.
The truth was, I never wanted to grow up. A world without Dad was just too terrifying.
I needed time to let out every bit of that grief and weep.
Waaah…
The man simply stayed by her side.
Without a word, he watched her cry, as if telling her it was entirely all right.
Dad had lived such a hardworking life.
Nine and one. In place of Mom, who had passed away leaving behind two young daughters, Dad had always carried the weight of both parents. He did everything in his power to ensure his girls never went without.
Having quit his job to look after his newborn baby, Dad went back to work only once my sister was old enough to attend daycare. Because his daughters always came first, his options were limited, yet he strove to be the best he could in the time he was allowed.
Even with such a heavy burden on his shoulders, Dad never gave up on his dreams and began planning a business. So, by the time Yu-yeon was in the sixth grade, he founded his company. Though faced with countless hardships in the beginning, Dad, who put his whole heart into everything, steadily built it into a solid venture.
He had never once shown weakness. So that his daughters would not crumble or feel lonely, he always smiled brightly for them. With his own life, he showed them just how joyful living could be, and how full of promise the world was.
Dad had been like steel, a mountain of strength.
Without a single exception, he had always been Yu-yeon's pride.
Sniffling back tears and a runny nose, Yu-yeon poured out memories of her father just as they came to her.
Entrance ceremonies, graduations, sports days, recitals… Dad somehow found out about every single event, even the ones she intentionally kept to herself, and showed up without fail. There were times she loved it, and times her younger self felt embarrassed by it.
When she was little and cried because everyone else had their mothers there, saying she missed her mom, Dad would head out into the late night and bring back an armful of pastries to comfort her. Once she realized that crying meant Dad bought her pastries, she started whining about missing Mom whenever she simply craved something sweet.
Choi Hyeon-myeong quietly listened to every trivial memory between Yu-yeon and her father. He spoke little, merely offering water from time to time and handing her tissues.
In the warmth of Hyeon-myeong’s quiet, composed comfort, Yu-yeon spoke to her heart's content.
There are times when one pours out deeper thoughts to a stranger who hardly knows them at all. Times when a blank, unburdened gaze from someone unfamiliar offers a far deeper solace. Much like writing secrets into an anonymous journal.
Yu-yeon’s tears finally stopped about an hour later.
Once she finished crying, a wave of embarrassment belatedly rushed over her. She had exposed far too much of her vulnerability to this man. He might have been a stranger until now, but she had no idea how often she would have to see him going forward.
Covering her eyes with a tissue as if dabbing away remaining tears, Yu-yeon stole a glance at Hyeon-myeong's profile.
The man’s face was utterly blank, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. He looked like nothing so much as an exquisitely carved statue.
Only then did Choi Hyeon-myeong’s appearance properly register with her.
Even while seated, his towering height was unmistakable from his broad, commanding frame. His features were so finely sculpted—as if god had taken a chisel and carved out every line with painstaking care—that they drew a helpless breath from her.
‘Haah. I’m far too weak for handsome men…’
She had dated Do Yong-tae for his looks, too, but this man was even more handsome. What was she supposed to do about this?
Yu-yeon dabbed away the rest of her tears, silently chiding herself for being so shallow as to pour out her past just because she was swayed by a man's good looks.
Though Hyeon-myeong had come under the pretext of offering Yu-yeon his condolences, he had ended up staying in the hospital room far longer than intended. Not knowing how to comfort anyone—nor having any natural inclination for it—he had done the only thing he could: sit quietly and listen to Hong Yu-yeon pour her heart out.
After crying for so long, she looked considerably relieved.
Hyeon-myeong answered, his expression relaxed.
There had been a time when he wondered what it was about this woman that unsettled him so much.
Back then, even her bright, spirited voice had set his nerves on edge, but now, a voice so thick with crying that he could barely make out her words brought an easy smile to his lips.