TCE 40

Chapter 40

He entered the study and, for a brief moment, brushed his hand over the faint smile curling on his lips.

“Artificial respiration.”

He hadn’t thought she’d remember that. But he definitely hadn’t expected her to use it as an excuse—let alone say it so brazenly.

[Why did you put it in?]

The flesh he had forced into her—betraying reason, succumbing to impulse.

“……”

Just recalling it made his body burn all over again, as though eagerly reliving that moment.

The faint taste of her tongue intertwined with his—so soft, so vivid—had stirred more than just his senses; it had touched something primal.

That instant, when one human could taste another, Yoon-jae had nearly lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the intoxicating flavor of her—of something that reached deep into his core.

If she hadn’t been struggling to breathe, if she hadn’t been on the verge of suffocation—if she’d simply been fine—he might have forgotten they weren’t alone and just kept going.

That’s how dizzying their kiss had been.

A stimulation beyond any he’d ever known.

A shudder unlike anything life had ever made him feel before.

An unexpected event, one he hadn’t imagined or even wanted—but one he himself had caused.

A perfect act of willful negligence.

He had known the chaos his choice would bring, yet he’d done it anyway—and now he was suffering its aftermath no less than she was.

“Phew.”

And what an aftermath—it was his body, not his mind, betraying him most.

He had pretended to stay calm, but inside, he was utterly disoriented.

Only now, another thought began to tangle up his mind.

“She said ‘today,’ didn’t she…”

He remembered clearly. ‘Today.’

A casual word, easy to miss—but one packed with meaning, a clue Yoon-jae couldn’t possibly overlook.

To collapse like that without any visible injury—there was no way it was something simple. If anything could have caused such a shock, it would be…

‘Family.’

The shackle that had always bound her heart from the beginning.

[I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.]

That had been the moment—the first time the dull, waterlogged eyes that looked ready to drown suddenly sparked with life.

Ae-jung hadn’t asked a single question about his proposal. She’d only asked for money after he said he would give her whatever she needed.

She had always seemed… broken somehow.

No different from the first time he met her—when she’d bitten her fingernails until they bled.

When he’d given her a considerable amount of money, Ae-jung had handed it all straight to her family. Even after the marriage, she had likely given away the rest of what she received.

He hadn’t bothered to dig deeper into her situation.

Knowing more about her unfortunate circumstances wouldn’t change anything—nor was it his place to interfere.

But now…

Seeing how different things had become, he realized he might have overlooked something. Maybe something had gone wrong between her and her estranged family.

[It suddenly felt like someone was choking me. I couldn’t breathe, and I got scared. That’s all.]

If she’d really had difficulty breathing, that feeling made sense.

What mattered now was why—what had caused it.

It felt like someone was strangling her. Like hands around her throat.

“Strangling…”

Yoon-jae’s fingers stopped mid-motion as he absently skimmed a page.

“Like choking…”

And then, in the middle of that repeating thought, something strange—a flash of familiarity—pierced through him.

And he remembered.

[Go Woo-ri. The one who died on the plane yesterday.]

[Some psycho strangled me to death, and when I opened my eyes, I was in this body. Can you believe it? Does that kind of thing actually happen in real life?]

After fainting at the wedding and waking up, she had said something absurd like that.

He’d thought she must’ve hit her head.

[You don’t believe me, right? I don’t either. Who would?]

Why had that ridiculous conversation suddenly come back to him now?

Maybe her nonsense had rubbed off on him. He scoffed briefly at his own absurd thoughts.

“Insane.”

A sharp verdict for the kind of ludicrous imagination even a child wouldn’t indulge in.

<…Due to the sudden setback, stock prices are also fluctuating sharply. Experts have expressed concerns about Ha-sung Apparel’s next quarter’s performance…>

The TV news droned busily as “we”—Go Woo-ri—pushed our glasses up indifferently.

<The main reason for the stock volatility seems to be Vice President Go Young-hoon’s recent business presentation, which failed to inspire investor confidence, leading to continuous sell-offs…>

As the report continued, someone in the room spoke up.

“Even big companies can shake like that all of a sudden.”

“They’ve been having bad luck lately. Did you hear? The daughter from that family died recently.”

“Oh my, really? How?”

“Some kind of accident, I think. It was all over the news.”

“Goodness… losing their daughter and now the company too. How tragic.”

Listening to the kind-hearted middle-aged women chatting away, we joined in lightly.

“Don’t worry about them. They say even when the rich go broke, it still lasts three generations.”

The women blinked at the sudden interjection, then nodded.

“You’re right. Why should we worry about the rich?”

“Exactly. My own son graduated college and just lounges around all day—that’s the real disaster.”

“Didn’t you say he got a job?”

“No! That little brat—ugh…”

As their conversation drifted away, so too did the news broadcast.

We sat there, legs crossed, with the same indifferent expression.

‘Yeah. None of it’s my problem.’

Even seeing Ha-sung Apparel’s reputation plummet, even hearing that their projects were collapsing—it didn’t bother us at all.

It only showed how big the void left by Go Woo-ri really was.

We had already let go long ago, decided to leave, to be done. Still, to see the cracks form so visibly—

We briefly thought of Go Kyung-chul, but merely shrugged.

‘It’s over, after all.’

That’s what it means to have no attachment left.

Whatever faint emotion lingered at the memorial was all that remained between father and daughter.

“Ms. Joo Ae-jung.”

Then, as if to dispel those thoughts, someone called out her name.

Sitting in the crowded hospital lobby, we turned toward the voice.

A man in a white coat was walking toward us, handsome and intelligent-looking.

Department of Neuropsychiatry — Dr. Jang Joo-ho

He was a doctor quite close to Ha Yoon-jae—and, as far as we knew, had counseled Ae-jung a few times before.

Though she had never met him personally, she greeted him with polite familiarity.

“It’s been a while. How have you been?”

The good-natured Dr. Joo-ho extended his hand with a smile, and we nodded lightly as we shook it.

“Thanks to you. And thank you for arranging this.”

By “this,” we meant today’s LASIK surgery.

Yoon-jae had offered to schedule it, but through Joo-ho’s connections, it had been arranged much sooner.

“Oh, not at all. You’re my sister-in-law, after all.”

The joking title made us chuckle faintly.

“I doubt Ha Yoon-jae would agree with that.”

At that calm reply, something flickered in his eyes before he smiled again and gestured toward his office.

“Let’s go up and wait. The attending surgeon will come as soon as they’re done with the previous patient.”

Accepting his considerate guidance, she followed him to the elevator.

“But why the sudden decision to get LASIK? I thought you said wearing glasses made you feel more comfortable.”

He broke the silence pleasantly, smiling as our gaze met his.

Maybe it was just his nature—or maybe it was the way doctors are—but he looked especially kind.

Which made it clear.

‘So this is a counseling session.’

No wonder he’d wanted to meet briefly before the surgery.

Maybe that was even why Yoon-jae had chosen this hospital.

Pretending not to notice the undertone, she replied smoothly.

“It just became inconvenient. And… I wanted to see the world with new eyes.”

“…New eyes?”

Her uncommon phrasing made him echo the words, and we smiled softly.

‘Different.’

Even through that brief conversation, he could tell. The relaxed, easy smile—he understood now what Yoon-jae had meant when he’d said:

[She wants to be like someone else.]

This wasn’t a simple coping mechanism. It was a far more complex stage.

As they waited for the sluggish elevator, Joo-ho spoke again.

“I heard you visited the columbarium.”

“Yes.”

“Did it help?”

“Very much. I learned something important.”

She spoke with quiet certainty, her tone light but firm.

“It’s easier once you let go.”

Letting go—usually a negative phrase—but this time, it meant something different.

The acceptance of what cannot be undone.

Moving forward as the only way left.

But Joo-ho seemed to take her words another way.

“You mean… Yoon-jae?”

“…What?”

“You’ve held on for such a long time, haven’t you…”

He trailed off, seeming startled by his own assumption when he met her clear, uncomprehending eyes.

“……”

There was no trace of understanding in them—just calm, transparent confusion.

Ding.

Just then, the elevator arrived.

“Never mind. Let’s go up.”

Leaving only that cryptic remark, Joo-ho stepped into the elevator.

‘What does Ha Yoon-jae have to do with any of this?’

What connection could there possibly be between “letting go” and him?

The sudden mention of his name irritated her for some reason, but Joo-ho simply gestured for her to step inside.

‘Birds of a feather, indeed.’

If someone like Ha Yoon-jae counted this man as a friend, then they were probably alike in more ways than one.

With a faint sigh, she let the unreadable conversation drift away and stepped into the elevator.