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The restlessness in her room had driven Joo-eun outside, where the chilly night air seeped through the gaps in her clothing.
The wind was cold, yet her heart raced feverishly.
The thought of what he might say upon rushing over in such urgency made her nerves taut.
From a distance, the blinding headlights swayed anxiously as they approached.
Squeal—
The screech of tires against the pavement echoed loudly in the otherwise silent alley.
The car door opened, and Minhyuk stepped out, visibly disheveled.
“Ha… Can you tell me more in detail? What did my mother say?”
Skipping any formalities, his hands clutched her arms tightly, his urgency palpable.
“D-Director…”
“Did she say anything other than about the pension?”
This desperate tone was unlike the usually composed and deliberate Minhyuk.
“She just… asked me not to abandon you because of her. I thought it was an unreasonable request, but she begged me to take good care of you.”
“Ha…!”
He let out a sound that could have been laughter or a sigh.
Yes, even I think it’s a bit unreasonable, but…
Mocking me so openly like this is making me feel quite embarrassed…
Joo-eun bit her lip, her face flushing red.
“It was you.”
I had expected him to mock me, saying there was no way his mother would make such a request of me.
But you were the one? What…?
“Excuse me…?”
“The child from my dreams—it was you.”
What?
Her already large eyes widened further, nearly bulging out.
Her parted lips struggled to form words before finally managing a sound.
“The child who saved you? Ha… No, that can’t be. Both the Chairwoman and you must be mistaking someone else for me. I don’t remember saving anyone.”
Minhyuk was grateful she didn’t remember.
It was too cruel a scene for a young child to carry in their memory.
Living with the memory himself had made life unbearably painful.
His sharp gaze shimmered with overflowing tears.
Joo-eun, who had been speaking through labored breaths fueled by anxiety and frustration, froze at the sight of his tears.
“Director…”
The question—are you crying? —lodged in her throat, unable to escape.
“I’m sorry.”
With his strained apology, Minhyuk pulled her into a tight embrace.
Tears spilled from his trembling eyes, soaking her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry… for meeting you so late. For recognizing you only now.”
She didn’t understand a word he was saying, but her own eyes brimmed with tears.
All she had wanted was to untangle this suffocating confusion and understand what was happening.
But now, all she wanted was to comfort his sorrow.
Without knowing the reason or backstory, she felt an overwhelming urge to hold him.
Slowly, her arms wrapped around his back. His firm muscles quivered irregularly with each sob.
The sorrow of this towering man flowed fully into her palms.
As she cautiously stroked his back, the trembling grew stronger, wetting her own eyes.
“Please don’t cry, Director… If I was that child, then you were just a boy too. That child wasn’t at fault. You weren’t at fault…”
“I’m sorry… I should’ve met you sooner. I’m so sorry…”
Hearing the sincerity in his sobs, Joo-eun shook her head gently.
Even now, meeting you feels like a blessing I’m deeply grateful for.
I don’t even dare hope for a happy ending with you—but just experiencing happiness I’ve never known before is enough for me…
Her tears spilled over, streaming hotly down her cheeks.
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How many minutes had passed since she’d started tossing and turning?
Lately, her daughter had seemed absent-minded and listless, worrying Hye-joo so much that she couldn’t fall asleep easily.
“Is something going on with the Director…?”
Muttering softly in the dark, she slowly sat up.
She was saddened that her daughter’s relationship wasn’t going well, but even more concerning was the possibility that her workplace superior might be bullying her.
“I was so happy when she said she was dating someone great. Is he using his position to look down on our daughter?”
Thinking about it made her throat suddenly dry.
Grabbing the water bottle by her bedside, she gulped it down before clutching her chest.
“Ah… This damn pain.”
Hurriedly setting the cup down, some water spilled, lightly wetting the back of her hand.
Staring at her damp hand in the darkness, a bad feeling washed over her, prompting her to get up.
She needed to check if her daughter was sleeping peacefully to ease her mind.
Heading to Joo-eun’s room, Hye-joo’s eyes widened in shock.
“Oh my. What time is it, and why isn’t she here?”
Frantically, she tried calling, but there was no answer. The pain she’d been feeling earlier intensified.
“Why isn’t she answering her phone… Oh, this is driving me crazy.”
Stomping her feet in frustration, Hye-joo wondered if Joo-eun had gone to the convenience store and impulsively stepped outside.
It was late at night, and she was still in her pajamas, having just lain down to sleep, overwhelmed with worry about her suddenly missing daughter.
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Joo-eun’s slender fingers brushed his back dozens of times, gradually calming his trembling.
Finally regaining control of his emotions, Minhyuk slowly loosened his arms, letting the cold night air seep into the space where their bodies had been pressed together.
Their gazes met awkwardly.
His reddened, tear-streaked eyes still looked sorrowful.
“…Are you okay?”
“This is embarrassing.”
He gave a bitter smile, lowering his gaze.
“You don’t need to think like that.”
“I’m sorry for startling you so much.”
“No, it’s fine. I was just thinking about my own frustration and impulsively asked. If it’s hard, you can tell me later.”
Minhyuk slowly raised his gaze again, brushing her hair back as he replied softly.
“Later, huh… What if I can’t sleep until then?”
“To be honest, I think that’s likely.”
Joo-eun chuckled faintly, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile along.
He knew the story he had to tell her was immense.
From the moment he began, he understood neither of them would ever return to how things were before.
His sharp Adam’s apple bobbed slowly.
“What I’m about to say may keep you awake ten times more. Do you still want to hear it?”
“Yes. If it concerns me. Especially if it involves your mother.”
There was no hesitation in her response.
Her resolute answer made Minhyuk draw in a deep, cold breath.
He couldn’t feign ignorance or avoid it any longer.
‘Even if it’s terrifying… even if everything might shatter… I have to face it.’
It was his desire to avoid the issue that had allowed it to grow into something unbearable.
He couldn’t do that anymore.
Even if it meant opening Pandora’s box, he had to do it—for both of their sakes.
Minhyuk’s wavering eyes steadied as they locked onto hers.
“When I was ten… my mother attempted suicide at a pension in Gangwon-do.”
“…!”
“That pension was Elvoice Pension, operated by Song Joo-eun’s parents.”
Joo-eun’s jaw and lips trembled violently.
The story she had heard countless times from her mother—the tale of those hateful people—was now being recounted by him. It was unbelievable.
“Thanks to Song Joo-eun’s mother’s quick actions, my mother was rushed to the emergency room and survived. We should have gone immediately to express our gratitude, but I was young, and my father was indifferent. My mother… instead of gratitude, harbored resentment toward those who saved her.”
“How… how could she…?”
Joo-eun’s eyes welled up again as soon as they dried.
Her trembling tears overflowed.
“When we finally went to find the pension, it had already closed and disappeared.”
“This can’t be…”
“I’m sorry. I should have found them, apologized, and repaid their kindness. I have no excuses, even if I had ten mouths to speak with.”
“Because of that incident… because of that incident… my parents had to shut down the pension. Rumors spread that someone had died there… And yet, resentment? Not gratitude, but resentment?”
Her trembling voice carried the bitterness of her family’s struggles after the pension failed and the pain of her father, who drank himself to death blaming the world.
Overwhelmed by the weight of facing this truth, Minhyuk bowed his head.
In the midst of the sorrowful silence, a soft thud broke the stillness.
Startled, Joo-eun whipped her body around.
A black, worn-out wallet lay on the ground.
It was the wallet her father had bought for their 10th wedding anniversary—a treasure she had always kept safe.
Not long after buying it, her father had passed away from acute liver cancer, leaving behind his wife and daughter.
Hye-joo, who had dropped the wallet, trembled violently.
“What… what did you just say…?”
“Mom…!”
Joo-eun stood frozen, unable to move closer.
Hye-joo, looking back and forth between the two, lashed out fiercely at Minhyuk.
“So you’re telling me… the person who ruined our pension… was your mother?”
“Madam…”
“Who are you calling ‘madam’? Who!”
Her scream-like cry cut through the cold night air, filled with sorrow.
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