Then, I saw Choi Kang-woo softly murmuring “Han Na-Eun” with his lips as he typed something in.
He didn’t really have to go that far.
Thinking this, Na-Eun patted Minho on the head.
“Minho, Han Jiho is inside.”
Na-Eun said gently.
“Yes, teacher. Jiho!”
As Minho called out to Han Jiho and went inside, an awkward silence fell between the two left behind.
A chilly draft seeped through the gap in the door, and Na-Eun pulled her collar tight, feeling a tingling sensation in her fingertips.
Feeling Choi Kang-woo’s gaze still fixed on her, her heart wavered under that inexplicably heavy look. Na-Eun instinctively tried to look away, but Choi Kang-woo’s presence was not something she could easily evade.
“Is Han Jiho your son?”
Choi Kang-woo’s low, firm voice broke the silence. The question, posed as a casual remark, carried a strange warmth and a depth that suggested he was looking for far more than a simple answer.
Na-Eun nodded, her expression stiffening. She felt uncertain how to navigate this interaction; his demeanor was at once favoring her and crossing a line. His energy, drifting through the cold air, was strangely magnetic.
Choi Kang-woo remained silent, his eyes holding a coldness tempered by an inexplicable attraction. Na-Eun felt a strange, frantic pulse in her chest, accompanied by the fear that if she let her guard down, she might simply melt into his atmosphere.
“Yes. Minho, Han Jiho. It’s cute that their names end the same way, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“They get along like brothers. It’s a relief.”
He stood there, stock-still, gazing at Na-Eun with an intensity that suggested he had more to say.
* * *
The hospital lobby was thick with patients in the late autumn chill. Choi Kang-woo moved quickly toward his appointment, reaching the office with perfect timing. His voice carried a heavy, authoritative weight during his brief exchange with the doctor.
“So, are you saying that Minho can get better?”
Choi Kang-woo asked cautiously. The doctor nodded, checked the chart, and looked at him with kind eyes.
“Yes. Representative Choi, for selective mutism, it is vital to create an environment where the child feels safe enough to open up. Especially when a child like Minho experiences anxiety due to their surroundings, having someone they can trust by their side is a great help.”
Choi Kang-woo fell into thought. He remembered the conversation Minho had with Na-Eun at the kindergarten. Although he was his nephew, he hadn’t paid much attention to the boy. Being here was merely a formality—a substitute guardian acting in place of his mother, who was abroad. Recalling how his nephew lost his voice in front of everyone else yet cautiously bared his inner thoughts to Na-Eun, complex emotions swept through him.
“Actually, I heard Minho talking to his kindergarten teacher. It seems he speaks quite freely with her.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“To the kindergarten teacher? I see.”
“There must be something about her that gives Minho such a sense of stability.”
“She might be the first person to whom Minho can truly open his heart. If he continues to spend time with her, his attempts to communicate with others may follow naturally.”
Choi Kang-woo lowered his gaze, pressing his lips together. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of embarrassment. It was humbling to realize that despite the presence of a wealthy household—a grandmother, a grandfather, an uncle, and a fleet of nannies—no one had been able to reach the child like a single kindergarten teacher.
Yet, a strange sense of relief washed over him. Na-Eun’s presence was clearly a comfort to Minho.
“Then it would be good if he could spend more time with her.”
The doctor nodded.
“Indeed. Continuity is key. Even if there is only one person with whom Minho can form such a bond, the possibilities for his recovery grow steadily.”
“I see. I understand.”
“Then, I will see you at the next appointment.”
Choi Kang-woo nodded silently and rose. As he walked outside, he chewed over the doctor’s words.
*If he can get better…*
If only Minho could recover, could he finally stop playing this ridiculous role of guardian?
* * *
“What do you mean by that? Bringing a woman into this house?”
As soon as Choi Kyung-Hye returned from South America with her husband, she knitted her brows upon hearing Choi Kang-woo’s words. Bewilderment and wariness warred in her eyes. She had been in a pleasant mood after her long trip, and she was in no mood to have her peace encroached upon.
Choi Kang-woo sighed, choosing his words carefully.
“I’m not trying to bring a woman in. I’m trying to bring in a teacher. And a boy, a peer to our Minho, will be coming with her. The teacher is a mother.”
“She has a child?”
Choi Kyung-Hye seemed subtly relieved. Her defenses eased slightly at the realization that the teacher was a mother, but she still looked at her son with a suspicious eye.
Choi Kang-woo sighed. What on earth was she thinking?
“Yes. And it’s not just a woman; it’s a teacher.”
He had intended to speak of Na-Eun with professional respect, but an unknown emotion bled into his tone. Why was he so fixated on her?
Choi Kyung-Hye hesitated, then asked again.
“Fine. That teacher, then. She must be quite talented. How is it that Minho, who doesn’t talk to anyone, manages to speak to that woman—no, that teacher?”
Choi Kang-woo nodded.
“That’s exactly why. I’ve been thinking: what if we brought her into the house as Minho’s tutor for the time being?”
He realized then that he had a desperate desire to keep Na-Eun close. At the same time, he knew he was trying to hide it. It was an inexplicable sense of discomfort. He framed it as being for Minho’s sake, but his own underlying intent to keep her nearby made him feel uneasy.
Choi Kyung-Hye crossed her arms, staring at him.
“How long is ‘for the time being’?”
Choi Kang-woo met his mother’s eye, his gaze earnest.
“I talked to the doctor, and he said that for someone like Minho, it would take at least three years to truly open his heart and find stability.”
His voice held a firm resolve. Choi Kyung-Hye knew that once her son set his mind on something, he wouldn’t back down. Knowing his temperament, she kept her mouth shut and waited.
“Even if the situation improves, it’s important not to separate him from someone he has already trusted. As he recovers, Minho will eventually attend school and continue to improve.”
Choi Kyung-Hye narrowed her eyes, lost in thought.
“Still, wouldn’t it be uncomfortable to live in the same house?”
“It’s the Annex. How about we move Minho to the Annex?”
His true intentions were buried in those words—a desire to keep Na-Eun at a distance that was not too far from his own reach. Ostensibly, it was for Minho’s care, but the desire to keep her close was growing.
Choi Kyung-Hye shook her head. “If you move him to the Annex, won’t it be uncomfortable for you? Won’t it be noisy?”
Choi Kang-woo firmly dismissed her concern.
“It doesn’t matter. Isn’t that better than you living here with a stranger?”
She pondered this. She didn’t want a young woman she didn’t know walking around the main house. And, truth be told, having a grandson who couldn’t say a word was uncomfortable, too. If Minho moved to the Annex, she would see him less. To avoid the headache, that might be for the best.
“Fine. Then, I’ll meet that teacher first and…”
“Don’t do that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Is this a situation where we need to interview her? We’d be lucky if she even accepts. Where would you find someone these days who would bring their own child and live in someone else’s house?”
“Why wouldn’t there be? If you pay enough money, anyone would…”
“Mother. That is exactly why you shouldn’t.”
Choi Kang-woo stopped there. There was no point in saying more.