CHAPTER 40 – THE END
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Day 3 – Sleepless
The hospital room was dim, the air warm, humming softly with machines and shadows.
Seo-Ah hadn't slept more than two hours. Her body ached in places she never knew could ache. Her milk had come in, and everything was swollen and sore. She felt like a storm cloud wearing skin.
Min-Jun had refused to leave.
Even when the nurses said, "You should rest, sir."
Even when his mother called, offering to come take over for a night.
He sat in the corner chair, baby Hae-Won nestled in his arms — small, pink, wrapped in a moon-patterned swaddle. His eyes were tired, but his posture stayed alert.
"I think she likes being held more than her crib," he whispered when he noticed Seo-Ah watching him.
"Who wouldn't?" she rasped. "You're warm and steady. That's the dream."
He smiled faintly.
Then Hae-Won squeaked.
Not cried.
Just… made a sound like a startled baby bird.
Min-Jun froze.
Seo-Ah laughed softly. "That's normal."
He blinked. "She sounded like she was choking."
"She wasn't."
"…Are you sure?"
"I promise," she said. "She's fine."
He looked down at the baby again like she might vanish.
And just like that, he was undone.
---
It happened in the nursery.
Seo-Ah had finally gotten ten minutes alone in the shower — and when she came out, towel wrapped around her, she found Min-Jun pacing.
Holding Hae-Won.
Muttering.
"Her breathing sounds off," he said.
Seo-Ah frowned. "Min-Jun, she's just—"
"No, it's different than earlier. It's too shallow."
"Babies breathe like that. It's—"
"I'm calling the pediatrician."
Seo-Ah stepped closer. "Min-Jun."
His hands tightened around the baby, not hard, but protective. "I can't lose her. I won't."
And there it was.
The crack.
Not in his voice.
In his soul.
He didn't cry. Not the way most people did.
But his shoulders trembled.
And his words, once perfect and controlled, began to stumble.
"I keep thinking… what if I miss something? What if I'm not watching closely enough? What if something happens when I'm asleep—"
She took Hae-Won from his arms, slowly, gently.
Then pulled him down onto the rocking chair beside her.
And she held him.
As he finally let go of the fear.
---
It was accidental.
Maybe gas.
But Min-Jun would never believe that.
He was sitting on the floor, legs stretched, cradling Hae-Won against his chest. His eyes were closed. He was humming — something old, maybe from his grandmother's records.
And then… she smiled.
Wide. Toothless. Beaming.
Seo-Ah was in the doorway and saw the whole thing.
She didn't speak.
She just stood there, hand pressed to her heart, watching a man who once dealt in contracts and vengeance now frozen by a moment so pure it nearly broke him.
He stared at Hae-Won like she'd just invented color.
Then, finally, he whispered:
"I'd kill a thousand kingdoms for that smile."
---
The First Fight
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't even loud.
But it was real.
Min-Jun had insisted on doing everything himself — changing diapers, burping, preparing bottles, cleaning up, even trying to rock her at 3 a.m. while his eyes burned from fatigue.
"You're not a robot," Seo-Ah said one night.
"I don't trust anyone else to get it right."
"Min-Jun, she's not a project. She's not a deal to close."
That hit him.
Hard.
He stared at her for a long time, then looked away. "I just want to be good at this."
"You already are," she whispered. "But you don't have to earn this. You don't have to prove anything. You just have to be here. Human. With us."
He nodded slowly.
Then sat down beside her.
And let her take Hae-Won from his arms.
---
Three weeks later, the villa was still and golden with afternoon light.
Seo-Ah sat in the garden, baby asleep on her chest, her eyes half-closed.
Min-Jun joined her, bringing a thermos of warm barley tea and two blankets.
"She's peaceful," he said, glancing at their daughter.
"For now," Seo-Ah replied with a smirk. "Give her ten minutes."
They sat in silence for a long time, not needing words.
The wind rustled the blossoms.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird called once and fell quiet.
Min-Jun looked at the two women who were now his life, his breath.
And for the first time since he was a child…
He felt safe.
Not because the world had changed.
But because he had.
----------------------
Five Years Later
The garden was alive again.
Not in the way it had been before — not manicured, not curated for photos or guests — but full. Wild with color. Overgrown with joy.
Tiny white blossoms clung to the edges of the stone path. Wind chimes danced lazily on the breeze. The pond had been filled again — not by landscapers, but by Min-Jun and a very curious five-year-old with a pink shovel.
"Hae-Won!" Seo-Ah called gently from the kitchen window. "It's almost bedtime."
A giggle echoed back.
A small figure in a yellow dress darted behind the plum tree, her hair loose and tangled, her feet muddy. "I'm still digging, Eomma!"
Seo-Ah sighed, smiling as she dried her hands on a linen towel. "She gets that from you, you know."
Min-Jun looked up from the table where he was slicing fruit. "The dirt obsession?"
"The rebellion," Seo-Ah replied.
He smirked. "She's five."
"She's you in a dress."
"She's you in fire," he countered. "With my eyes."
---
An Ordinary Evening
The dining table was smaller now.
Not the marble slab from the old penthouse. Just cedar. Worn edges. Hae-Won had painted a corner of it pink with nail polish and they never sanded it down.
They ate simply — rice, grilled fish, soft eggs for Hae-Won.
Seo-Ah talked about the art project she was helping with downtown. Min-Jun listened while feeding Hae-Won kimchi she didn't like but still tried to eat for her appa.
There were no guards.
No board meetings.
No whispered threats.
Just a home with messy shelves and a half-written poem on the fridge in Hae-Won's crooked handwriting.
The sky is blue.
Appa makes stew.
Umma is pretty.
I love you.
---
After Dinner
Min-Jun found Hae-Won asleep on the floor of her room, surrounded by picture books and her toy sword — "for monsters," she'd told him once.
He carried her to bed, tucked her in gently, kissed her forehead.
"Appa," she murmured sleepily, "tell me about the stars again."
He smiled, sat beside her bed.
"A long time ago," he whispered, "Appa lived beneath stars that were cold. They looked beautiful, but they couldn't warm him. He didn't know anyone who could."
"But then?" she asked, eyes half closed.
"Then one day, I met a girl," he said softly. "A girl who made me feel warm again. Like the stars were burning just for us."
"Was it Umma?"
He nodded. "Always."
---
Later That Night
Min-Jun found Seo-Ah on the back steps, wrapped in a shawl, watching the stars.
He sat beside her, their shoulders touching.
"She asked for the story again?" Seo-Ah said without looking.
"Every time the stars are clear."
They sat in silence.
Then she asked, "Do you ever miss it? The city. The chaos?"
He thought about it.
The power. The danger. The intensity of a life lived in a glass tower, sharp as a blade.
Then he looked at her.
At the soft glow in her cheeks. At the woman who once bled for his heart, who forgave him when she shouldn't have, who gave him a daughter who now ruled his entire world with muddy feet and drawings of dragons.
And he said, without hesitation—
"No. I don't miss any of it."
---
The Final Lines
Above them, the sky was full.
The stars no longer cold.
Just watching. Glowing. Holding the lives below them in quiet reverence.
Min-Jun pulled Seo-Ah closer and kissed her temple.
"I used to think love was a weakness," he whispered.
"And now?"
He looked toward the window, where their daughter slept, small and safe and endlessly loved.
"Now I know it's the only reason to fight."
Seo-Ah I promise to love you forever, no matter how many times we fight or argue, I will never leave you or our home. I love you.
THE END