Chapter 45 …
After losing my memory, I started noticing some behaviors that could be considered strange.
“Dad!”
No matter the age of the one calling, whenever I heard the word “Dad,” my gaze would instinctively turn toward the source of the voice. My reaction speed varied each time, but the younger the child—especially if it was a little girl—the faster my body responded.
Of course, I knew well enough that the “Dad” being called wasn’t directed at me. When I turned my head toward the sound, there was always a man responding to his daughter’s voice. The little girl would smile and run into his arms, and he would smile back and pick her up.
I had lost my memory; it wouldn’t be strange if some part of my brain had gone a bit haywire too.
Even though I found my reaction odd, it didn’t feel unpleasant, so I let it be. There was far too much happening in my life to dwell on trivial responses, and no time to think about it.
“Are you Dad?”
Her name was Choi Ji-hye, if I remembered correctly. A four-year-old little girl, calling me Dad without knowing her father.
The moment she called me Dad, a strange reaction stirred deep in my chest. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her not to call me that. The feeling was different from when I thought of a woman named Lee So-jung. It wasn’t irritating; rather, a hollow, almost screw-loosened emptiness spread through me.
I was certain there had been a louder, more boisterous child’s voice before.
“Daaaad!”
That voice came faster than I expected. This one was Choi Ha-rim, I think. Like the previous child, she didn’t know her father and called me “Dad.” That explained, to some extent, why I had grown so used to the sound of being called Dad. Even that loud, commanding voice.
And yet… it felt strange.
If she wasn’t in my sight, I became uneasy. If it suddenly went quiet, I felt tense. If she cried, it was even more troublesome. Despite having so much to do, my gaze kept drifting to the child, and I couldn’t help it.
“Is the child’s dad Mr. Choi?”
Normally, I wouldn’t have cared much, but I asked about her father. The man who was supposed to be her real dad didn’t even know she existed. At that moment, an odd mix of anger and frustration welled up inside me. Was this just the instinct of an uncle worried for his niece?
I hadn’t been particularly fond of children, so would I really care for a niece? But the child, always smiling brightly at me, had somehow made me want to give her something, even if it was just a piece of blood sausage. I even discovered that the sight of her chubby cheeks puffed out as she urged me to try some herself could actually be kind of cute.
That must have been it. The overwhelming anger that erupted when I saw the man I thought was her father. But the shock when I realized the child was actually my daughter was indescribable.
It hit me like a tsunami, a wave of emotion and confusion sweeping over me, leaving me clutching my head, powerless.
My child?
I had promised myself I would never have one. Yet here she was, standing right in front of me. Even if I tried to reason whether this was real or not, I knew there would be no answer. So I turned to the one who would understand best: the woman who had hidden her existence from me, the mother of my child.
Once I knew she existed, the journey home became easier. That was when I realized sending me to the villa wasn’t purely for rest. And realizing that for the first time didn’t feel particularly pleasant.
The woman at the door wasn’t alone. A little girl, probably around kindergarten age, was chattering excitedly, clearly thrilled. The scene was the picture of a tender mother-daughter moment, and I let out an involuntary breath.
“Let’s talk somewhere else.”
She tried to separate me from the child, glancing nervously at her. Slowly, a wave of anger crept over me. She cared so much for her child, yet… why? Why did she want to treat me as if I didn’t exist? Did she hate me that much?
“You can call me selfish if you want. Just don’t deny Ha-rim.”
I was allowed to deny her, her role as my wife, if I wanted. I could hear anything she said. But there was one thing I couldn’t deny: our child. The woman who appeared strong and steadfast everywhere else had bent everything for the sake of the child. Lee So-jung was strong, and at the same time, fragile.
“Ha-rim… we can’t be without our Ha-rim.”
“Choi Ha-rim!”
“Dad!”
“Choi Ha-rim!”
My breath caught, my legs went numb. And yet, oddly, the voices of these two people stirred an unknown strength inside me. Suddenly, a series of images flashed before my eyes.
I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or some unconscious memory. A man was standing, a woman before him announcing her pregnancy. The man was startled—he hadn’t intended to have a child. Yet he could not say anything negative to the nervous woman, unwilling to see her sad face.
Next, a maternity ward. A man in a suit, seemingly having finished work late, headed straight to the nursery. A nurse held something small and red, a tiny bundle like a drop of blood. The man looked at it awkwardly, unable to act. The tiny bundle cried out loudly.
The cry pierced the man’s ears, announcing its arrival into the world. The nurse stepped closer and placed the child in his arms.
The little one, fragile as an arm, cried incessantly, trying to live. Realizing he had not fully welcomed this child brought a pang of guilt to the man. Unaware or not, the child kept crying. Finally, he could look at her face.
The eyes, nose, and mouth, moving and squirming, weren’t only created by the woman. Yes. This child was both the woman’s and the man’s. A child he could not deny. His shoulders trembled as he held her.
If something troubled the child, he would fight it off. If she cried, he would bring back her smile.
Holding his child gave him an inexplicable confidence and strength. He called out her name.
“Choi Ha-rim. Ha-rim.”
As if she understood, the child stopped crying, her eyes wide and alert. The man, his eyes red, smiled warmly at her, curious about the day she would first call him “Dad.”
“Dad!”
“…”
The images scattered. My vision cleared, and before me stood a child calling “Dad” more loudly than anyone else.
“Dad!”
Hyun reacted faster than anyone to the word. He spun around, and the bushes rustled as Ha-rim emerged.
“….”
Hyun stopped completely, catching his breath, though his eyes followed Ha-rim. One shoe was missing, her clothes covered in dirt. His eyes widened momentarily, but seeing no serious injuries, he slowly walked toward her.
“Dad… you see, this…”
“You…”
Ha-rim approached with a bright smile, but Hyun, still breathing heavily, kept his face tense. Ha-rim seemed to realize her mistake and stopped, glancing nervously at him.
“Who told you to wander around like this?”
“….”
“Look at yourself. Why are you covered in dirt?”
Seeing her unharmed, a mix of emotions ran through him. Ha-rim, trembling, held something out to him.
“This… Mom and Dad fought, so…”
In her hand was a small dandelion, dirt-stained from searching for it.
“It’s what Mom and Dad like best. I wanted to give it as a peace gift…”
Her trembling made the flower wobble. Finally, she burst into tears.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dad.”
“….”
“So please don’t fight with Mom.”
Crying, she kept offering the flower. Finally, Hyun bent down slowly to meet her gaze.
“Choi Ha-rim.”
Hearing her name, her crying quieted. Hyun reached out.
“You wanted to give this as a gift, didn’t you?”
“….”
“You’re not going to give it to me?”
As Hyun held out his hand, Ha-rim wiped her tears and ran into his arms.
“Dad, Dad. Waaahhh.”
Wrapped in Hyun’s embrace, her emotions surged as she cried out repeatedly. Hyun held the dandelion and gently patted her back. Then, finally, he spoke.
“…I’m sorry too. For fighting with Mom.”
The man and child, first met in the maternity ward, were now reunited in a quiet corner of the park, holding each other tightly.
As if vowing never to be separated again.
