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Episode 2
The hospital’s automatic doors opened, and Yeoreum rushed inside.
The hospital was crowded with patients and visitors during peak consultation hours.
Even as her breathing came in ragged bursts, her eyes darted around frantically until they found the woman sitting on a chair.
“Teacher!”
“Oh, you’re here, ma’am?”
“Yes, haah… How’s my Yegyeom?”
“He’s inside. Luckily, it seems to be just a simple feverish cold. His breathing is normal now, and since he’s taken medicine, his fever should go down soon.”
“Whew…”
Yegyeom had weak lungs ever since birth.
Because of asthma-induced breathing issues, he often relied on an inhaler. During seasonal changes, he sometimes had to be hospitalized with pneumonia. Compared to other children, his growth was slower, and his small body made Yeoreum extremely sensitive to even the slightest symptoms.
This worry came not only from love, but also from guilt—she hadn’t taken folic acid or basic supplements diligently while pregnant, and she feared her negligence had caused her child’s frailty.
The teacher explained, “You must have been shocked when I called. Since he said he couldn’t breathe well, I worried it was an allergic asthma attack like before… Please, go in. The doctor is with him.”
Yeoreum, pale with fear, only nodded and hurried into the ER.
She spotted Yegyeom easily—Hwapyung, wearing his doctor’s coat, was waiting beside his bed.
“Oppa.”
“Oh, Yeoreum.”
Before Hwapyung could greet her properly, she rushed past him and grabbed Yegyeom’s hand. The tiny hand had an IV inserted, already bruised.
No matter how many times she saw him sick, she never grew immune to the sight.
“Don’t worry. We ran all the tests just in case, and his lungs are fine. It looks like throat inflammation caused the fever. We just gave him some light nutrients.”
He spoke calmly to reassure her. Listening to him, Yeoreum finally let out a shaky sigh.
Then Hwapyung noticed something else.
“But your hand—what happened?”
“Huh?”
“That looks like a burn. Did you scald yourself?”
She looked down and noticed the blistered skin on her hand. It must have been from when she collided with the secretary earlier.
Hwapyung fetched disinfectant and bandages, treating her hand with practiced care. The sting of alcohol made her flinch, and he blew gently on the wound like she was a child.
Embarrassed, she pulled her hand back.
“I’m not Yegyeom—don’t blow on it like that.”
“If possible, keep the wound away from water. Come back tomorrow for proper cleaning. You need daily care.”
“For such a small burn? I can manage.”
“Small burns leave scars if ignored. At least take a few extra dressings.”
Hwapyung had known Yeoreum since childhood—he was her brother Seon-gyu’s best friend. Now a pediatrician, he often helped with Yegyeom’s health, stepping in whenever emergencies happened.
“Thank you again.”
“Don’t be formal with me.”
She felt guilty—he was busy with patients, yet always helped. As she pulled out a guardian’s chair, he looked hesitant, as if holding back words.
“When Yegyeom wakes up, I can take him home for you. You should rest.”
“I’ll stay. You go finish work.”
“I’m almost off duty anyway.”
“Then go home early.”
“Yeoreum…”
“Yes?”
He fidgeted, then asked softly, “Should I bring you dinner?”
She shook her head. “I’ll eat with Yegyeom later. Don’t worry about me.”
“…Alright.”
After he left, Yeoreum finally exhaled. What a chaotic day. It wasn’t even evening yet, but she felt as drained as if days had passed.
She stroked her sleeping son’s face. And once again, she saw overlapping images: Suha and Hyunjae.
It was natural Yegyeom resembled Suha—he was Suha’s child. But realizing her son also reminded her of Hyunjae, the man she had just met, tangled her heart.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Myeongjun, Hyunjae’s chief secretary, instructing her to prepare documents for her work ID tomorrow.
She had expected her breakdown earlier would cost her the job, but apparently not.
Looking at Yegyeom, her resolve shifted.
“My driving force. My jewel. My reason for living.”
Until Yegyeom grew up and became independent, she had to provide for him. She couldn’t afford to pick and choose jobs.
Even if temporary, working as an interpreter for a conglomerate would strengthen her career.
Hyunjae is not Suha. I don’t need to waver. I just need to focus on work.
She repeated this like a mantra, steadying her resolve.
Meanwhile, Hyunjae emerged from the shower, tied his robe, and collapsed onto the sofa.
On days he visited his family’s mansion, he spent longer scrubbing himself clean—especially today, after his stepmother Ra-yeong had dared to touch his face.
The reason for his visit was always the same: to act out a happy-family farce.
Recently, his father, CEO Ki Seongjun, had grown addicted to using the company’s official YouTube channel to polish his image. Cooking for employees, throwing surprise birthday parties for Ra-yeong—it was endless. Hyunjae found it nauseating.
The public had long forgotten his father’s past: drunk driving, beating his first wife, and cheating.
“You seem so close to your son!”
“Of course. We always have dinner together after work, and when I travel, Hyunjae keeps his mother company.”
“How thoughtful!”
“Hyunjae, you’ve lost weight—are you overworked these days?”
They played their roles like a rehearsed play. Hyunjae didn’t care about their act—it only angered him that they forced him to join in.
He wanted to ask the staff filming: did they really believe this was a loving family? Could they imagine being close to a stepmother only seven years older than him?
Remembering Ra-yeong’s hand on his cheek gave him a headache. He filled his glass with wine, his only escape from the constant pain.
As he raised the glass, his tablet pinged—a message from Myeongjun. Attached were the résumé and interview video of the interpreter from earlier.
Another woman who had dared touch his face today. What was her name again? Ryu…
He opened the file.
“Yeoreum.”
The résumé filled the screen, her photo staring back: neatly tied hair, a white blouse under a black jacket, an awkward smile—slightly younger, softer-looking.
Normally, résumés bored him, but he couldn’t look away.
Next, he played the interview video.
Yeoreum spoke fluent Chinese, her tones crisp and precise even to his untrained ear. Her soft-spoken Korean answers carried quiet conviction.
“I know this role isn’t just about translating words—it’s about building trust between two countries. I’ll do my best to convey your intentions faithfully.”
Hyunjae replayed the 15-minute video over and over.
