The following Monday, I wake up with a renewed sense of determination. After finally breaking through the wall that Yul had built around himself, I feel like surely I must one step closer to mending the rift between him and Inha too.
As I get ready for work, I replay the events of our intimate night together in my mind. The way his hands roamed over my body, the heat of his kisses, the way our bodies moved together in perfect sync. It was like rediscovering a part of myself.
But now, the real challenge lies ahead: finding a way to bring Yul back into our home, and to repair the fractured relationship between him and Inha. I know it won't be easy, not if Inha has anything to say about it.
As I arrive at the office, my mind is already churning with ideas. I know that I can't just force the two of them together – that would only breed more resentment and tension. No, I need to approach this delicately, to find a way to slowly rebuild the trust and understanding that has been lost.
Maybe I could start by inviting Yul over for a family dinner, something casual and low-pressure. It would give him a chance to reconnect with the kids, and maybe even start to thaw the ice between him and Inha. Or perhaps I could suggest a family outing, something fun and lighthearted that would allow us all to bond and create new memories together.
Throughout the day, I find myself jotting down ideas in my notebook, sketching out potential scenarios and strategies.
I make my way to a scheduled doctor's appointment after work, my mind buzzing with a million thoughts. I'm a little apprehensive. The appointment is to check in on my progress since the procedure. I'm afraid the doctor might ask questions that I'll answer wrong and tip them off I'm remembering. I'm not sure yet I want anyone to know.
As I check in at the front desk, I'm greeted by a friendly nurse who ushers me back to the examination room. The walls are a calming shade of blue, and the air carries the faint scent of antiseptic. I take a seat on the crisp paper-covered table, my hands fidgeting in my lap as I wait for the doctor to arrive.
The door swings open, and a woman in her late forties enters, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners as she offers me a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Jang," she says, her voice gentle yet professional. "How are you feeling today?"
I take a deep breath, considering her question carefully. "I'm doing okay, I think. It's been a bit of an adjustment, but I'm starting to find my footing."
She nods, making a few notes on her tablet. "That's to be expected. The restart process is a major life change, and it's perfectly normal to feel a bit disoriented at first."
As she begins the examination, she asks me a series of questions about my physical and mental well-being. I answer as honestly as I can, avoiding any mention of the occasional bouts of confusion and the fleeting flashes of memory. In case she decides to do something to prevent more coming back.
I listen intently as the doctor goes over my medical history, double-checking the details to ensure everything is accurate.
"And let's see here, six pregnancies. Is that correct?" She checks.
"Ye—wait," I say, my brow furrowing slightly. "No. I only have five kids."
The doctor pauses, her gaze flickering back to the tablet in her hands. She scrolls through the information, her eyes narrowing as she reads.
"According to your records, Mrs. Kang, there were six pregnancies listed," she says, her tone firm yet gentle. "The most recent one was recorded in 2026."
A chill runs down my spine as the date sinks in. 2026? That can't be right. Seulgi, my youngest, was born in 2025. I rack my brain, trying to recall any hint of another pregnancy after that, but nothing comes to mind.
"That... that can't be correct," I stammer, my heart pounding in my chest. "My last baby was born in 2025."
The doctor regards me with a sympathetic expression, setting her tablet aside. "It's understandable that you might not remember, given the nature of your procedure. But the records are here."
I shake my head, my thoughts spinning. Another pregnancy? Another child? How is that possible? Surely, I would have some recollection of it, some lingering trace of memory.
And then, it hits me. The extra ultrasound. The one I found in the stack of ultrasound scans in my drawer, the one with the date that didn't fit. An unsettling feeling takes root in my gut. Why do I have an ultrasound of what to my untrained eye looked to be an almost full-term baby and a record of another pregnancy and no baby to show for it?
I can see the doctor's expression change as she scrolls through the records, a hint of unease creeping into her eyes. She's seeing something in my records too. I can tell. My heart races as I wait for her to speak, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing second.
"Is there... is there any other information about it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "About the pregnancy, I mean."
The doctor hesitates, her gaze flickering back to the tablet. "According to the records, the last pregnancy ended in a miscarriage," she says, her tone careful and measured.
I stab of pain slices through my chest, the weight of her words settling on me like a heavy stone. A miscarriage? Of course, I assumed, given that I only have five children. It didn't really register until she voiced it though. The thought is almost too much to bear, a wave of grief washing over me for a child I never even knew existed.
But as I look at the doctor, I can see that there's something more, something she's not telling me. "What is it?" I ask, my voice trembling. "What's wrong?"
She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, her shoulders sagging. "It's just... the records indicate that you were eight months along when you miscarried," she says, her voice low and gentle.
Eight months. The words echo in my mind, a hollow ache growing in the pit of my stomach. Eight months. How could that be? How could I have lost a child so close to the end of my pregnancy?
I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, the weight of my grief and confusion pressing down on me like a physical force.
I feel like the ground has been ripped out from under me. My mind races, trying to process this devastating information. A miscarriage – at eight months, no less. How could I have possibly forgotten something so traumatic?
Tears stream down my cheeks as I struggle to catch my breath. "Was there... an accident?" I manage to choke out, recalling Inha's cryptic words about Yul's mistake.
The doctor's expression turns somber. She consults the records again, her brow furrowing. "Yes, it appears there was a hospitalization around the same time as the miscarriage."
My heart pounds in my ears, a wave of nausea washing over me. An accident – one that cost me my unborn child, so close to delivery. The pain is almost too much to bear.
The doctor must sense my distress, as she quickly sets her tablet aside and places a gentle hand on my arm. "I'm so sorry, Yena. I had no idea this information was being kept from you. As your doctor, I should have been more sensitive."
Her apology does little to ease the anguish tightening in my chest. How could they have hidden something like this from me? Didn't I have a right to know, to grieve, to process this unimaginable loss?
"Why?" I whisper, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Why wasn't I told?"
The doctor shakes her head, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I can't speak to their reasons, but as your physician, I should have been upfront about your full medical history. This is a deeply personal matter, and the choice to disclose it should have been yours alone."
I leave the doctor's office in a daze, my mind racing as I try to process the devastating information I've just been given. A miscarriage – an unborn child lost, so close to delivery. The grief hits me like a tidal wave, crashing over me with unrelenting force.
How could this have happened? How could I have possibly forgotten something so traumatic, so life-altering? The weight of it all feels suffocating, like a vise tightening around my chest.
***
Without even realizing it, my feet carry me down the street, away from the sterile confines of the doctor's office and into the embrace of a nearby park. The fresh air does little to ease the storm of emotions raging within me – a tempest of grief, confusion, and anger all swirling together in a chaotic maelstrom.
I wander aimlessly along the winding paths, my vision blurred by the tears that refuse to stop falling. Memories that are both mine and not flood my mind, a jumble of emotions and sensations.
The phantom flutter of life within me, the excited anticipation of welcoming a new child into the world. The agonizing pain as it was all ripped away. The soul-crushing devastation of loss, the emptiness that followed.
It's all there, lurking just beneath the surface, like a deep, festering wound that's been ripped open anew.
I find myself sinking onto a park bench, my body trembling with the force of my sobs. How could they have kept this from me? It was my body. My baby. Mine to grieve.
Anger burns hot in my chest, intermingling with the sadness that threatens to consume me. How could Inha and Yul have hidden something like this? What other secrets are they keeping from me?
The questions swirl endlessly in my mind, a dizzying whirlpool of confusion and pain. I feel adrift, untethered, lost in a sea of emotions that I can't seem to navigate.
Time slips away, the world around me fading into a blur as I grapple with the weight of this revelation. It's only when the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, that I finally lift my head, my cheeks stained with the remnants of my tears.
I finally check my phone and my heart sinks when I see the barrage of missed calls from Inha. Hours have passed since I was supposed to be home, and a cold tendril of dread snakes its way through me. I lost track of time completely.
As I'm about to call Inha back, my phone vibrates in my hand, Yul's name flashing across the screen. I jolt in surprise– this is the first time Yul has ever called me directly. I quickly answer, my pulse quickening with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
"Yena?" Yul's voice is laced with relief, but I can hear the strain beneath it, the undercurrent of tension. "Where are you?"
"I'm... I'm at the park," I reply, my voice trembling slightly. "What's going on?"
There's a pause on the other end, and I can almost picture Yul running a hand through his hair, a gesture I've seen him make countless times when he's agitated. "Inha's been calling me nonstop," he finally says. "He can't get ahold of you, and he's panicking."
My heart plummets into my stomach, guilt washing over me. Of course, Inha would be worried – I've been completely unreachable for hours, without any explanation.
I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Yul, can you come to Inha's place right away?" I ask, my voice wavering slightly. "I need to speak with both of you."
There's a brief pause on the other end, I can feel Yul's hesitation through the phone. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he finally asks, his tone laced with concern.
I swallow hard, steeling my resolve. "Yes, I'm sure. This is important."
Another pause, and then Yul sighs. "Alright, I'll meet you there."
I end the call and take a moment to compose myself, wiping away the remnants of tears from my cheeks. I know that what I'm about to do is risky, but I can't keep living in the dark any longer. I need answers, no matter how painful they might be.
With shaky legs, I make my way back to my car, my heart and mind reeling. I don't know how to approach this other than total honesty and bluntness. I think they owe me that, at least.
By the time I reach the apartment, my heart is pounding in my chest, a mixture of apprehension and determination coursing through my veins. I let myself in, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort in the face of the storm brewing.
I prepare myself as I enter the apartment, bracing for the inevitable confrontation. Inha is already there, pacing the living room with a look of sheer panic etched onto his features. As soon as he sees me, he rushes over, his eyes wide and frantic.
"Yena, thank God you're alright," he breathes, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I was so worried."
I return the hug, slightly guilty in the face of his distress. "I'm sorry," I murmur against his chest. "I lost track of time, and my phone died. I didn't mean to scare you."
He pulls back, his hands gripping my shoulders as he searches my face. "Are you okay? What happened?"
I take a deep breath. "I'm fine, really. But there's something we need to discuss – all of us."
Inha's brow furrows, his confusion evident. "What do you mean?"
Before I can explain further, the doorbell chimes. Inha tenses, his jaw clenching as he glances towards the sound.
"That's Yul," I say quietly. "I asked him to come."
Inha's eyes widen, apprehension crossing his features. He opens his mouth as if to protest, but I shake my head, cutting him off.
"Please, Inha," I implore. "We need to have this discussion."
He regards me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease.
I cross the room and open the door, revealing Yul standing on the other side. His gaze immediately finds mine, a silent question in his eyes.
"Come on," I say, stepping aside to let him enter.
As Yul steps into the apartment, the air seems to crackle with tension. Inha's jaw is set, his eyes narrowed as he watches Yul's every move. But to my surprise, he doesn't utter a word of protest, doesn't even glare in Yul's direction.
Instead, he simply turns to me, his expression a mixture of fear and resignation. "What's going on, Yena?"
"This way," I gesture to the living room, "I think we need to be sitting down for this."
Inha and Yul exchange alarmed and bewildered looks. Inha follows first, hurriedly striding toward the couch. Yul shoves his hands into his pockets and uneasily follows
I inhale, gathering my strength for the conversation ahead. Inha and Yul sit across from me, their expressions a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
"I went to see my doctor today," I begin, my voice trembling slightly. "She went over my medical records, and there was something... something that neither of you told me."
Inha's brow furrows, but he remains silent, his eyes fixed on me with a guarded expression. Yul, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flickering between Inha and me.
"The doctor said..." I pause, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "She said that according to my records, I had a miscarriage in 2026."
The words hang heavy in the air, and I watch as the color drains from both men's faces. Inha's eyes widen, his mouth parting in a silent gasp. Yul goes completely still, his knuckles whitening as he grips the arm of the chair.
For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire. Then, almost imperceptibly, their gazes meet – a fleeting glance that speaks volumes.
It's a look I've never seen them share before, a silent communication that crosses the rift between them. In that single moment, their animosity seems to dissipate, replaced by a shared burden, a mutual understanding.
Inha is the first to break the silence, his voice strained and hoarse. "Yena... I..."
But the words seem to catch in his throat, and he falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. Yul shifts in his seat, his jaw clenched as he regards Inha with a mixture of sympathy and trepidation.
"It's true," Yul says finally, his voice low and grave. "You were eight months pregnant when you... when you lost the baby."
The confirmation hits me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. Eight months. So close to holding my child in my arms, only to have that dream ripped away.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself against the onslaught of emotions. My memories have been trickling back in fragmented flashes, but I've kept that fact hidden, not wanting to alarm Inha and Yul.
Now, however, the time for secrets has passed. I need to know the truth, no matter how painful it may be.
"I have to know," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "I need you both to be honest with me about one thing."
Inha and Yul exchange a guarded glance, their expressions taut with apprehension. Inha opens his mouth, but I raise my hand, cutting him off.
"Please, just let me finish," I implore. "Not knowing what happened, not understanding the circumstances surrounding my... my miscarriage, it's holding me back. It's like a weight around my neck, preventing me from truly moving forward."
I breath slowly, making myself say the words.
"I want to know how I lost the baby," I say, my voice low but resolute. "I want to know how I ended up in that accident, because I know there's more to it than just a simple mishap."
As I watch Inha and Yul exchange looks again, I can feel the tension in the room rising. Inha's expression darkens, his anger resurfacing, and his look at Yul turns into a harsh glare. "You tell her," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "This is your burden to bear."
Yul doesn't argue, but I can see the pain etched on his face as he turns to me. My heart aches for him, I sense something heavy coming.
"It was my fault," Yul begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "The accident, losing the baby, it was all my fault."
I feel the air leave my lungs, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew it had something to do with him, but hearing him confirm it is like a knife to my heart.
"It was because of me that you lost the baby," he continues, his voice breaking. "Our baby, Yena. The child was mine."
The room seems to spin around me, and I struggle to breathe. My baby. Our baby. Yul's baby. The child I had been carrying for eight months, the child I lost. It was Yul's.