MHD - 42

Chapter 42: Degas’ Ballerina  

The <Hae-dam> Art Museum, located on the outskirts of Seoul, was renowned for its meticulously maintained gardens. 

Stepping out of his car, Jae-hyuk slowly walked through the garden where cherry blossom petals fluttered in the breeze, heading toward the museum's main entrance. The garden was filled with the fresh scent of grass, likely due to the morning rain. 

At the end of the path stood a sleek metal plaque engraved with the museum’s name: 

Hae-dam Art Museum 

The name—“Hae” meaning "to embrace" and “dam” meaning "deep"—had been chosen by Jae-hyuk’s maternal grandfather, also the father of Ji-seon. 

This museum, created from a collection of 2,000 artifacts originally housed by the Yeon Cultural Foundation, underwent significant expansion when Ji-seon married into the Kangrim family. A large pond was dug, and the grounds were expanded, giving rise to the picturesque garden beloved by photographers. 

The massive construction costs were fully funded by Kangrim—a symbolic collaboration between the two families. 

The press had buzzed with talk of cultural rediscovery and corporate social responsibility, but the truth boiled down to one simple reality: 

A wealthy merchant family devoid of honor joining forces with an impoverished noble family clinging to prestige. Something like that. 

Jae-hyuk always thought this way whenever his mother tried to romanticize her own arranged marriage. Why all the fuss? His mother needed money; his father craved a refined image. 

In fact, after Ji-seon’s marriage, the Hae-dam Art Museum gradually erased traces of the Yeon Cultural Foundation, replacing it with the Kangrim Cultural Foundation. It was more advantageous to promote the museum under the prestigious Kangrim name for sustained operations. 

True to form, Ji-seon removed the title “Director of Yeon Cultural Foundation” from her credentials and replaced it with “Director of Kangrim Cultural Foundation.” 

The world turned on such equivalent exchanges. 

Even love—something people prattled endlessly about—could be sold for a few coins. First love? How laughable. 

So, Seo Hee-soo. That must have been your deal with my father, wasn’t it? Trading love for money, like swapping candy. And then erasing me, laughing at my foolishness as you fell into another man’s arms. 

Me, who pursued you without knowing a thing. 

The softness that had bloomed in his heart under the spring breeze hardened the moment he stepped into Yoon Ji-seon’s museum. Facing reality sobered him up. 

With a bitter smile, Jae-hyuk entered the museum. 

Thud. 

His footsteps echoed in the silence, reverberating through the empty space. He walked deep into the museum before finally finding Ji-seon in an inner office, busily issuing instructions. 

“Jae-hyuk.” 

Ji-seon’s face brightened unusually as she turned to her son. 

After her husband’s death, Ji-seon had taken over as chairwoman, and this museum had been temporarily closed. That was already five or six years ago. 

Now, Ji-seon was preparing for its long-awaited reopening. 

“Is everything going well?” 

At Jae-hyuk’s question, Ji-seon beamed with an expression he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

“Thanks to you. I haven’t had the energy to focus on this place until now.” 

“You look happiest when you’re here, Mother.” 

“Do I? You’re not secretly resenting me for slacking off while making you work, are you?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Want to see something?” 

Ji-seon scrolled through her tablet, showing Jae-hyuk a list. After lengthy negotiations with a French museum, they had secured several high-value paintings for a special exhibition. Ji-seon grinned widely as Impressionist works flickered across the screen. 

“It looks like Degas’ L’Étoile will be coming. Isn’t that incredible?” 

“It is.” 

Jae-hyuk’s gaze lingered on the image displayed on the screen. 

A ballerina in a snow-white tutu posed in the corner of the painting, while behind a large curtain stood a man in a black tailcoat, only his lower body visible. The man’s face was obscured, leaving room to imagine his hidden, leering gaze. 

Jae-hyuk remembered Jeong-chul scoffing about Degas’ famous ballerina paintings, claiming they depicted the prostitution practices of French ballet troupes at the time. 

If Jeong-chul were still alive, he would undoubtedly mock Ji-seon’s refined tastes, spouting his usual merchant logic: the value of art lay solely in the billions people were willing to pay for it. 

Ji-seon saw these remarks as insults, viewing her husband’s inability to appreciate art as soulful creations as vulgar. 

But outwardly, she said nothing, only sneering inwardly. 

A relationship devoid of any attempt to understand or be understood. That was the dynamic between Jae-hyuk’s parents. 

Jae-hyuk’s eyes remained fixed on the ballerina in the painting. 

“She told me, ‘In your house, the most common thing is money. But I was the despised one.’” 

The ballerina in the painting seemed to take on Hee-soo’s face, speaking directly to him. 

Hah. Shaking his head slightly, Ji-seon took a half-step forward and pulled Jae-hyuk toward the second floor. 

“What are you thinking about, son?”

"No." 

At her son’s question, Ji-seon fell silent for a few seconds before answering softly. 

The weight of the word hung in the air between them. Jae-hyuk had expected many possible answers—evasions, justifications, or even silence—but not this direct admission. 

Ji-seon set the tablet down on the table and leaned back against the chair, her gaze drifting toward the garden visible through the glass wall. Her expression was calm, yet tinged with an indescribable weariness. 

"Love... wasn’t something I ever thought about when it came to your father," she continued after a pause. "It wasn’t part of the equation. For me, marriage was a duty—a way to secure stability, legacy, and mutual benefit. Love? That was a luxury neither of us could afford." 

Jae-hyuk remained silent, his eyes fixed on his mother. He didn’t know what to say. The honesty in her voice unsettled him. It wasn’t bitter, nor was it filled with regret—it was simply matter-of-fact, as if stating an immutable truth. 

"But you’re different, aren’t you?" Ji-seon turned her gaze back to Jae-hyuk, her tone softening slightly. "You’ve always been different from us. Even as a child, you had this... intensity about you. Like you were searching for something we couldn’t give you." 

Her words stirred something deep within Jae-hyuk, though he kept his face impassive. Searching for something? Perhaps. But what exactly was it that he sought? 

"I don’t know what kind of life you want for yourself," Ji-seon continued, "but I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Just... don’t make the same mistakes I did." 

"Mistakes?" Jae-hyuk finally spoke, his voice low and measured. 

Ji-seon hesitated, then nodded faintly. "Yes. Mistakes. Thinking that love—or the lack of it—didn’t matter. Thinking that duty and obligation could fill the void. They don’t. Not really." 

She paused again, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "Your father and I... we lived separate lives under the same roof. We tolerated each other because it was convenient, because it served our purposes. But there was no warmth, no connection. And now, looking back, I wonder if it was worth it." 

Her confession caught Jae-hyuk off guard. He had never seen this side of his mother before—this vulnerability, this raw honesty. It made her seem almost human, rather than the distant, composed figure she had always been. 

"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly. 

Ji-seon smiled faintly, but it was a sad smile, devoid of joy. "Regret is a complicated thing. If I hadn’t married your father, I wouldn’t have you. And despite everything, having you... that’s something I’ll never regret." 

Jae-hyuk looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Her words stirred conflicting emotions within him—gratitude, guilt, confusion. He had spent so much of his life resenting his parents’ cold, transactional relationship, yet here she was, admitting its flaws and acknowledging the pain it had caused her. 

"What about you, Jae-hyuk?" Ji-seon’s voice broke through his thoughts. "Do you think you’ll ever find someone who makes you happy?" 

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his mind drifted to Hee-soo—the way she used to look at him, the way she laughed, the way her presence seemed to fill the empty spaces inside him. But those memories were tainted now, overshadowed by doubt and betrayal. 

"I don’t know," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Ji-seon studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she reached out and placed a hand over his. "Don’t settle for less than you deserve," she said gently. "And don’t let pride or fear keep you from reaching for what you truly want." 

Her words lingered in the air long after she withdrew her hand. Jae-hyuk stared down at the coffee cup in front of him, lost in thought. 

Outside, the tender new leaves swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant green contrasting sharply with the dry, gnarled branches they clung to. The scene was peaceful, almost serene—a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him. 

For the first time in years, Jae-hyuk allowed himself to wonder: What did he truly want? And more importantly, was it still within reach?

"I gave birth to you, so that’s enough for me." 

An evasive answer. Jae-hyuk found it suffocating how Ji-seon always tied her life’s justifications to him in this way. 

Even so, he thought bitterly, my existence shouldn’t be treated like the final trophy of your strategic marriage. 

But Jae-hyuk swallowed the words he wanted to say. 

"Next time, let’s meet with Chae-won. I hear she’s been taking oil painting classes—our conversations might flow well together." 

"All right, Mother." 

Jae-hyuk readily agreed, deliberately prolonging his mother’s misconception. After all, it was a future that would never come to pass.