Parenting First, Love Later

Kang-hyuk looked toward Choi Kyung-hye, his posture stiffening when she forbade him from leaving.

“Mother.”

Chairman Choi glanced at Kyung-hye, then turned to his son. “Just let him go.”

“No. Something is wrong. Minho isn’t usually like this. He used to greet us; he was a normal child. But seeing him get so agitated the moment he saw his father… Kang-hyuk, don’t go now. Wait and try to meet Minho’s teacher first.”

“Mother.”

Kang-hyuk wore a dejected look. His face was a mask of exhaustion, signaling that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But Kyung-hye was unmoved.

“You are the child’s father. Now that he is here, shouldn’t you help him grow into a man who can stand on his own feet? I don’t know what happened, but I cannot condone you simply walking away. Minho is your son, but he is also my grandson—the eldest of our family. Are you going to leave him like this? To be a child who stops speaking to everyone but his live-in tutor for the rest of his life? What about his future? He has to start school, navigate adolescence, and eventually build a career.”

“Please, stop. I understand. I’ll go rest in my room on the second floor for now. I’ll see how things settle and try to meet the teacher later. I don’t have an appetite.”

With that, Kang-hyuk retreated upstairs. The dinner, intended to be a harmonious affair, had dissolved into shambles.

* * *

Choi Kang-woo walked quickly toward The Annex, holding the child. By the time they reached the door, Minho’s screams had faded into rhythmic, broken sobs—the exhaustion of a storm that had spent its fury. As they stepped inside, Han Na-Eun looked up, startled.

“Minho? What happened?”

“He cried quite a bit.”

At the sight of Han Na-Eun, Minho’s lip quivered, and he began to wail again. She gathered him into her arms and retreated to his room. Once the door clicked shut, the heavy silence of the bedroom seemed to soothe him. His crying subsided into shaky breaths. Han Na-Eun didn’t press him; she simply held him, her embrace a silent anchor. After a long moment, Minho whispered, “Water….”

“Is our Minho thirsty? Do you want some?”

He nodded.

“Okay. The teacher will be right back.”

When Han Na-Eun returned, Minho took the cup and drained it in one go.

“Is our Minho hungry? I made fried rice. Shall I decorate it with a ketchup smiley face for you?”

Minho nodded again.

“What a good boy. Let’s go out together.”

As she led him back to the living area, Han Jiho and Choi Kang-woo turned to them.

“Minho, did you cry?” Han Jiho asked.

Minho offered a small, solemn, “No.”

“Okay.”

Han Jiho didn’t linger on the subject, moving to his mother’s side. Han Na-Eun quickly plated a serving of fried rice, drizzling the ketchup into a cheerful, crooked grin.

“This is really delicious. I had some earlier,” Han Jiho said, flashing a bright, encouraging smile.

Minho finally mirrored it. Even with his eyes still rimmed with red, the sight of his friend and his teacher seemed to break through his gloom. Choi Kang-woo exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours, his heart having plummeted when he saw the boy’s earlier distress.

“Our Minho, let’s eat with the teacher. I haven’t had any yet, either.”

“I want to do the ketchup,” Minho whispered.

“Alright. You put the ketchup on my plate.”

Guided by the child’s small, shaking hands, a wiggly red line decorated the rice. Choi Kang-woo sat quietly, watching Han Na-Eun.

*What on earth is she doing differently? What is it about this woman that makes the child trust her more than his own father?*

Just then, Han Na-Eun’s phone rang.

“Yes, Chairman.”

She patted Minho’s head, rose from the table, and walked toward the window to take the call.

—Minho was in a total frenzy when he saw his father. He cried as if having a seizure and even lashed out at him. I’ve never seen him like that. I think it would be good for you to meet with Minho’s father.

Han Na-Eun paused. “Yes. I agree. There are things I need to ask regarding Minho.”

—His father said he would only speak to you. But if he comes to The Annex, I fear Minho will have another fit. Would it be alright to meet off-site?

“Yes, that is fine. If seeing his father is a trigger, it is best to meet elsewhere.”

She hung up, her face thoughtful. Choi Kang-woo looked at her, his curiosity piqued.

“Are you meeting my brother?”

“Yes.”

“Is he coming here?”

“No. He asked to meet outside.”

Choi Kang-woo’s expression soured. “Outside? What could you possibly have to discuss that requires such secrecy? I’m going, too.”

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Han Na-Eun said, her voice gentle but firm. “There are things a brother might not want to voice in front of his sibling. Family matters are incredibly delicate. I am hoping to find a clue as to why Minho is suffering like this.”

Choi Kang-woo reluctantly nodded, subdued by her logic. *Why does she always sound so reasonable?*

“I suppose you’re right.”

A short while later, Han Na-Eun met Kang-hyuk at a cafe near the estate. He was already waiting, standing as she approached.

“Teacher Han Na-Eun.”

“Hello, Minho’s father.”

The resemblance between the two brothers was striking, though Kang-hyuk possessed a smaller frame and a heavier, more melancholic presence.

“Thank you for taking such good care of our Minho,” he said.

“Not at all. Minho follows me well. I am the one who is grateful.”

“I heard he speaks with you.”

“He does. He expresses his needs, and when he plays with Han Jiho, he seems like any other child.”

Han Na-Eun hesitated before asking, “I heard Minho wasn’t always like this.”

Kang-hyuk closed his eyes. Outside, the winter branches swayed, casting jagged, dancing shadows against the window. He took a sharp breath, his lips pressed into a thin, white line.

“Minho was a bright, clever child. He was always full of laughter. But then… that laughter just disappeared.”

Han Na-Eun watched him, her head tilted slightly. The residual sorrow in Kang-hyuk’s eyes was haunting. The warmth of the cafe was insufficient to thaw the chill emanating from him.

“At that time, I…” He trailed off, his fingers trembling against his cup. The clinking of the porcelain betrayed his agitation.

“If I know what happened, I might be able to help him,” Han Na-Eun urged softly.

Kang-hyuk hung his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. “I caused my child such a deep wound. That day… a major incident happened at home, and Minho saw it all.”

Han Na-Eun nodded, her silence an invitation. She could see the agony of regret in his eyes; he was a man hollowed out by his own guilt.

“But could you tell me exactly what happened? It is vital for his care.”

He hesitated, then repeated, “It is because of me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said calmly.

“My wife… she was having an affair with my junior. I witnessed it, along with my mother.”

“I see.”

“When she asked for a divorce, I think I would have felt less broken if she had at least begged for forgiveness. Instead, she took her alimony and left as if she’d been counting the minutes. I truly loved her.”

The air between them grew heavy. Outside, the wind rattled the glass, and in the silence, the rhythm of their breathing felt overly loud.

“I can understand how painful that must have been,” Han Na-Eun said softly. “But it was likely impossible for Minho to process the complexities of adult betrayal.”

Kang-hyuk stared at his coffee, his fingers hovering over the rim as they shook. He opened his mouth, the words coming out as a strained whisper.

“That day, Minho walked into the room… and he caught me in the middle of a suicide attempt. He screamed and clung to me, and I… I had no choice but to stop.”