Chapter 12

“It was a misunderstanding. I told him it wasn’t true, but he still misunderstood. I’ll explain properly—I promise, he’s never laid a hand on me since that day.”

Just once.  

That one time Taeheon had raised his hand against her—when she had come to apologize for lying.  

Since that day, he had been fiercely protective, refusing to let Yein meet with her mother-in-law again.  

“Please, just don’t throw me out.”

Park Gyeongju, who had been staring Yaein down, scoffed.  

Her thickly coated lashes fluttered with the force of it.  

“Throw you out? Let’s get one thing straight.”

Her sharp voice lacked its usual venom.  

“You know who I am, right? Before I latched onto your father-in-law, I was scraping by on a nightclub stage for ten years. I had to get rid of a kid and lost my damn womb in the process. Who am I to judge someone else’s background?”

There was bitterness in her words, but also something else.  

Something complicated.  

When she first heard a rich young lady was joining the family, Gyeongju had prepared to grovel.  

She had already humiliated herself enough trying to mingle with society women—now she had to *cater* to one?  

But the new daughter-in-law wasn’t what she expected.  

She had grace, yes, but she wasn’t arrogant.  

She was warm. Sweet.  

Too sweet for someone born into wealth.  

It was the opposite of the life Gyeongju had known.

Dragged away by a drunk father. Forced to do dirty work.  

She had crawled up from the bottom with nothing but sheer determination, biting back tears while people spat that she was *too stubborn to know when to quit*.  

She knew how to calculate.  

She knew how to survive.  

Marriage had been her insurance.  

She couldn’t sing forever, after all.  

So when Kwon Seonghwan—then a rising loan shark—took her in, she hadn’t expected much.  

She had only been concerned about the seven-year-old boy who had refused to call her *mom*.  

For over twenty years, she had watched that child, feeling more like a guest in her own home.  

*It would be a lie to say she never felt lonely.*  

Then Yaein had come along, calling her *Mother* in that soft, polite tone.  

Like Gyeongju was someone to be cherished.  

Like she was *family*.  

It was the first time in her life someone had treated her that way.  

Even on the worst days, when the other wives looked down on her, Yaein had stood by her.  

‘My first child was a girl, too.’

If she hadn’t aborted, would that child have been Yaein’s age by now?  

Gyeongju had wondered.  

Yaein’s biological mother had been a high-class museum director.  

She had been elegant, poised, and condescending.  

Whenever she attended family gatherings, she carried herself like royalty.  

‘How did that woman give birth to someone like Yaein?’

The older daughter was cruel—selfish.  

Yaein, however, had always been different.  

Perhaps that’s why Gyeongju had felt so protective.  

Only now did she understand why Yaein had been so out of place in her own family.  

Now, everything made sense.  

She had felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner.  

“Did I ever butter you up with fake kindness?”

Her anger had been genuine.  

The betrayal had been real.  

Gyeongju had felt *stupid*.  

*Used.*  

She had scolded Yaein harshly, letting out her own frustration along with the chairman’s.  

Even now, Seonghwan ranted about Yaein’s deceit daily.  

And she had joined in, spitting out words that stung.  

She had told herself it was righteous fury.  

But now that she was actually hearing about the divorce—  

It didn’t sit right.  

She should be relieved.  

She should want Yaein *gone*.  

She had been furious, hadn’t she?  

And yet—  

“I’m sorry. For lying.”

Yaein’s large, deer-like eyes lowered in remorse.  

She looked so small.  

So sincere.  

It was hard to believe she had been lying for years.  

“Is Taeheon saying the same thing?”

Gyeongju sat down, crossing her arms.  

“Did *he* ask for the divorce? Or was it just you?”

Kwon Taeheon—the man who used to glare daggers whenever divorce was mentioned.  

There was no way he had brought it up himself.  

Not a chance.  

For years, he had quietly obeyed his father in most matters, but now? He was defiant.  

The chairman, furious, blamed Yaein for everything.  

Said she had *bewitched* his son.  

That she had ruined the household.

Gyeongju half-agreed.  

Half-disagreed.  

Taeheon had never been *obedient*.  

If anything, he had always been… *strange*.  

Gyeongju frowned as she recalled the unease she had felt watching him grow up.  

“It was so sudden. He’s still struggling to accept it. But maybe if you help explain, he’ll understand.”

Yaein’s voice was steady.  

Gyeongju scoffed.  

“You really think so? Do you even know him? You trying to get someone killed?”

She shook her head sharply.  

“He fought the chairman tooth and nail over this. You think he’ll just accept it?”

“He will. Soon enough.”

“You’ve lived with him for years, and you *still* don’t know him, do you?”

That boy—he never let go of what he wanted.  

Even as a child, beaten bloody by his father, he would *still* get his way.  

He wasn’t some gentle husband who would just *accept* a breakup.  

Yaein, however, simply smiled.  

A quiet, wistful smile.  

“Why are you smiling?”

“I should’ve asked you more about Taeheon before.”

Why do we always assume good moments will last forever?  

Why do we always believe there will be more time?  

Regret always comes too late.  

Even more so when those moments were built on deception.  

“I wanted to know more about him.”

Taeheon had never spoken about himself.  

And Yaein hesitated to ask.  

Now, it seems ridiculous.  

She should have asked.  

She should have wanted to know.  

“Even if you go in there, you won’t hear anything pleasant. I’ll just tell him for you. Or let Taeheon do it.”

Gyeongju leaned back, her words blunt.  

Yaein only shook her head.

“It’s okay. I just want to say goodbye myself.”

Gyeongju clicked her tongue.  

“You’re really stubborn, huh?”

Yaein smiled faintly.  

Gyeongju still looked displeased, but she didn’t stop her.  

Yaein bowed her head and stepped forward.  

Through the vast living room—  

Into the hospital suite.  

A room larger than most apartments.  

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting an almost divine glow over the pristine white walls.  

The temperature was set perfectly.  

The room was so comfortable it was *unnerving*.  

Even bedridden, Kwon Seonghwan exudes power.  

“Hello, Father.”

The moment she spoke, his face twisted in disgust.  

“How dare you show your face here?”

His reaction was nearly identical to Gyeongju’s.  

Like husband, like wife.  

The thought was strangely amusing.  

She wondered—  

Did she and Taeheon resemble each other, too?  

There had been a time when Seonghwan’s outbursts had terrified her.  

Not anymore.  

The time for earning his approval was long over.  

“I heard you were hospitalized. I wanted to visit. And to speak with you.”

“What could you possibly have to say—”

“I’m divorcing Taeheon. I’ve made up my mind.” 

She cut him off before he could unleash his usual tirade.  

‘If that’s what you’ve decided, then get out of my son’s life already.’

‘You were never worthy of him.’

She had heard it all before.  

Countless times.  

“You were right all along, Chairman Kwon. I was foolish to hold onto him for so long.”

If she had agreed to the divorce the moment her secret was revealed, they wouldn’t have dragged out this war for a year.  

But then—  

This child wouldn’t exist.  

So maybe it hadn’t been a complete waste.  

“Please… don’t be too hard on him.”

Her voice softened.  

“He may seem fine, but he’s struggling too.”

Seonghwan scoffed, his glare unwavering.  

Yaein bowed deeply.  

If only Taeheon had been truly heartless.  

If only he had felt *nothing*.  

Then leaving would have been easier.  

But she had seen it.  

She had *felt* it.  

He was just as cruel to himself as he was to the world.  

“Please.”

Yaein lifted her head and met her father-in-law’s piercing gaze.  

His lips were pressed into a thin, stubborn line, his eyes filled with cold suspicion.  

“You trying to squeeze alimony out of us?”

For all their mutual disgust, Taeheon’s father and her own were eerily alike.  

To them, this marriage had always been about *money*.  

Yaein let out a barely-there smile.  

“It’d be nice if you did.”

They hadn’t even bothered with a proper prenuptial agreement.  

In the end, it was Taeheon’s family paying for everything—Yaein’s father had been the desperate one.  

Up until the wedding, her father had been anxious, terrified the arrangement might fall apart.  

“But if you don’t, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

She met his eyes steadily.  

“You know as well as I do—I’m not even his real child. My father wouldn’t dare anger you just to secure some money for me. And even if he *tried*, if you refuse, he won’t get a cent.”

“You have the power to make that happen, don’t you, Chairman?”

“How could I trust a family of con artists?”

Even as he spat the words, Yaein’s expression remained unchanged.  

‘What does it matter?’

She had been pushed down the stairs without reason.  

Being hated wasn’t new.  

Scorn, suspicion, accusations—none of it mattered anymore.  

“I’ll sign the divorce agreement and leave immediately.”

She exhaled slowly.  

“This is my final goodbye.”

Silence stretched.  

No curses.  

No agreement.  

Nothing.  

Yaein bowed deeply.  

“I’m sorry for everything. I hope you recover soon.”

Her posture was impeccable—ninety degrees, unwavering.  

She turned swiftly, forcing her spine straighter to suppress the tremor threatening to shake her.  

She had imagined this moment in countless ways.  

She had believed that finally *ending* things would bring relief.  

But instead, an odd emptiness settled inside her.  

Had she become *too accustomed* to this painful, twisted family dynamic?  

Had she mistaken even this for *belonging*?  

‘How pathetic.’

She scoffed at herself internally.  

“I said my goodbyes, Mother. I’ll be going now.”

She had already stepped past the threshold when Gyeongju’s voice stopped her.  

“Are you dying or something?”

Yaein turned, startled.  

“Some terminal illness, maybe?”

The words were gruff, almost accusatory—  

But beneath them was concern.  

That made it worse.  

That made the ache sharper.  

In front of Seonghwan, she had been steady, unshaken.  

Yet here—  

Hearing even the faintest *care* from her mother-in-law—  

Why did it feel like something was breaking inside her?