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It had only been two days since she last went to work, but…
Her team seemed to be struggling significantly without her.
The incessant ringing of her phone was proof enough.
[Sorry, Song Joo-eun. This is really the last call.]
How many times had Choi Manager called just that afternoon? He chuckled awkwardly.
“It’s fine. Call me if you have any questions, even late.”
Worried about waking her mother, Joo-eun quietly stepped out of the hospital room for some fresh air.
[Ah, no! Just one thing. One thing—help me with this. They’re asking for a detailed analysis of the market share in the Americas. What am I supposed to do?]
“The domestic portion is already automated, but for the Americas, we haven’t set it up yet. You’ll need to talk to Team Leader Jung Chul from the IT department and create a new program.”
[Haa… I’m going crazy. How am I supposed to do this by tomorrow?]
“You can structure it similarly to how we derive the domestic figures. If you reference that, it’s not impossible to finish by tomorrow.”
[That’s easy for you to say! I don’t even understand what you’re talking about. How am I supposed to do this by tomorrow?]
Statistical analysis was a complex task within the marketing team, and Joo-eun had primarily handled it.
Without her, there was no one else to take over.
“I’m sorry. I need to get back soon.”
[Ah, no! Don’t feel pressured. Your mom’s health comes first. Is she feeling better?]
“Yes. I think I’ll be able to return to work next week.”
[Oh, good, good. That’s a relief. We’ll try to manage until then… Ugh.]
“Who assigned this task?”
[Who else would demand it by tomorrow?]
Right. There was only one person who could be behind this.
Just thinking about him darkened Joo-eun’s mood.
“Director Minhyuk… Lately, he’s been… busy, hasn’t he?”
Unable to ask directly about his well-being, she tossed out a meaningless question instead.
[He looks like he’s on the verge of collapse but refuses to show it, thanks to that proud face of his. It’s heartbreaking to watch. I thought he’d slack off as the chairman’s son and eventually move to DK Electronics, but he’s truly surprising us.]
She tuned out everything else he said.
All she heard was heartbreaking to watch .
“Is Director Minhyuk… looking very stressed?”
[Yeah, it’s pitiful. He left early today to meet with investors. According to Secretary Byun, those meetings require drinking even when you don’t want to—it’s tough.]
Joo-eun, walking through the small garden outside the hospital, slowly came to a halt.
[Song Joo-eun, are you still there?]
“…”
[Song Joo-eun?]
Her wide eyes trembled in shock.
Minhyuk, whom Choi Manager described as looking incredibly stressed, was stepping out of a taxi just 10 meters away.
“Ah… Yes. Go ahead.”
[Oh, thank goodness. I thought you’d hung up. Anyway, thanks for the help. Take care of yourself, see you on Thursday!]
“Yes… Call me again if you have more questions. I’ll hang up now…”
After ending the call, Joo-eun stared at Minhyuk standing in the distance.
The taxi drove off.
Alone, his body swayed unsteadily.
Her hand instinctively reached out to support him, but she slowly pulled it back.
If she approached him now, all the effort she’d put into holding herself together would crumble completely.
I have to endure… I must…
Her trembling hand tightened into a firm fist.
He staggered again, heavily this time.
Her body flinched, ready to rush to him, but she forced herself to stay put.
‘Please, pull yourself together…’
Joo-eun bit her lip hard.
How much had he drunk? It wasn’t even 6 p.m. yet.
Unaware that she was watching him, Minhyuk pressed the call button on his phone.
Of course.
Her phone vibrated softly in her hand.
The sound was faint—perhaps imperceptible if he were sober.
But with half-closed eyes struggling to focus, he didn’t notice the gazes around him.
“Ha… Song Joo-eun. At least let me hear your voice. Let me… let me breathe.”
His sorrowful muttering made Joo-eun’s bitten lips quiver.
Staring at the softly vibrating phone in her hand, she couldn’t ignore it any longer and finally pressed the call button.
Just like before, knowing he was dangerous but unable to resist, she answered.
“Hello…”
A brief silence followed.
[…]
“Director Minhyuk. If you called, then speak…”
[You… really picked up?]
Hearing his trembling voice, Joo-eun clenched her teeth to hold back tears and responded coldly.
“Just tell me what you need.”
Instead of stating his purpose, he clung to her with his heated breath.
[I’m sorry.]
That single word softened the walls she had built so firmly.
No. I won’t waver anymore…
Joo-eun gritted her teeth and held on.
“There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Director Minhyuk. I know better than anyone how difficult things have been for you because of that incident. So please, stop apologizing.”
[No. I’m sorry for not finding you sooner. For not figuring it out earlier. I’m sorry for everything…]
“If that’s what you’re calling about, consider it heard. I’m hanging up.”
[I miss you.]
His low voice and ragged breathing were unbearably sorrowful.
Afraid her emotions might betray her, Joo-eun covered her mouth with her palm.
“I’m hanging up.”
With a decisive tone, she quickly ended the call.
Turning sharply, she walked away.
‘Don’t look back. Don’t look back…’
She scolded herself repeatedly.
But the more she urged herself forward, the slower her steps became. Eventually, her body stopped entirely, and she slowly turned her head.
Far away, he stood alone, gazing up at the highest-floor hospital room with his head raised high.
The sight of him—someone who seemed prepared to stand there forever, watching over them—only deepened the ache in her heart as she realized she had to reject him.
Whipping her head back around, she fled the scene, hiding her tearful expression.
She wanted to go anywhere—to escape the sound of her own sobs.
________________________________________
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Time passed agonizingly slowly in the hospital.
Yesterday felt like today, and today felt like yesterday—an endless loop of time.
“Where did you go?”
Hye-joo, whose condition had improved significantly over the past few days, greeted Joo-eun with a brighter voice as she entered the room.
“I was discussing the surgery schedule. They’re trying to move things along as quickly as possible. Mom, what would you prefer?”
“If it’s surgery paid for by that man’s money, I refuse.”
Hye-joo continued to repeat her refusal as if it were part of her daily routine.
“It’s not like that. We’ll pay for it with the money we’ve saved.”
“What savings do you even have?”
“We do. Don’t worry.”
Though it was technically Minhyuk’s help funding the surgery, Joo-eun pretended they had substantial savings to prioritize her mother’s treatment.
“This VIP room costs a fortune. Ask to move to a six-person ward.”
“Alright. Stop worrying about that.”
“Haa… To think the first man my daughter ever brought home belongs to that cursed family. It’s infuriating.”
While Joo-eun understood her mother’s anger, she couldn’t help but feel pity for Minhyuk being trampled on so mercilessly.
“Mom… Honestly, I’ve been listening to you because of your health, but… Director Minhyuk isn’t at fault here.”
“What?”
“He’s suffered a lot too. I know that better than anyone…”
“How can you say he’s not at fault? He’s that woman’s son! That’s his fault!”
Her shrill voice echoed loudly, utterly incongruous with the luxurious VIP room.
A caregiver passing by was startled and quickly closed the door behind them.
“Mom…”
“I should’ve poured another bucket of water over him. Ugh, I regret not using sewage water instead!”
“What… What did you do? You poured water on Director Minhyuk?”
“Yes.”
Joo-eun’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to form words.
“How… How could you do that? How could you go so far!”
“Are you taking his side now? Do you forget what that woman did to your father…”
At the mention of her father, Joo-eun fell silent for a moment.
But her belief that Minhyuk wasn’t at fault remained unchanged.
“Mom… He’s suffered too. He’s been through so much pain. How can being someone’s son be considered a sin? It’s not his fault, Mom…”
“You… You!”
Hye-joo’s trembling finger pointed accusingly at her daughter.
“They tried to make an effort. They visited the pension and searched for us. They just didn’t know you changed your name, so they couldn’t find you.”
“If they truly wanted to find me, why couldn’t they? They didn’t want to! They were afraid of being extorted for money! Yes, I’ll go confront them. I’ll make them compensate us for all the suffering they caused!”
Hye-joo, hastily shoving her feet into shoes, stormed toward the door in her hospital gown. Joo-eun grabbed her desperately, tears streaming down her face.
“Please, stop. Please… I won’t see him again. So please, stop… I’m sorry, Mom…”
“Ughhh…”
As Hye-joo collapsed onto the floor, Joo-eun sank down beside her.
Their sorrowful cries filled the spacious hospital room.
Every night afterward, Minhyuk continued to visit the hospital, enduring Hye-joo’s harsh treatment or Joo-eun’s cold rejection.
‘Please, stop… Please stop coming…’
Despite her fervent wish, he returned the next day, silently staying for a while before leaving again.
A decision had to be made.
Joo-eun went to the hotel where he was staying for a conference.
When she rang the bell, the door opened after a long pause.
“I didn’t request anything.”
Behind the open door stood Minhyuk, looking utterly exhausted—just like the day they first met.
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