At those words, Minho hesitated, then finally nodded and reluctantly let go. Na-eun patted his back, offering an encouraging smile, but the poignant shadow on Minho’s face continued to weigh on her heart. When Jiho let out a loud cheer, oblivious to the atmosphere, Minho burst into a small, tentative laugh.
Na-eun looked at Jiho with a gentle expression.
“Jiho, you’ll have yours after you eat. I’ll give it to you once you’ve finished your meal.”
“Aww.”
Seeing Jiho’s puffed-up cheeks, Minho chimed in.
“I’ll wait for you, Jiho.”
Minho waited until Jiho finished so they could eat the whipped cream cake together. Watching Minho happily eat, with a smudge of cream on his lips, Na-eun asked softly, “Minho. Do you like your father?”
Minho’s lips tightened. He didn’t say a word.
“Do you miss him?”
Again, silence. Was it the right thing to tell him his father had come?
“Your father says he misses you, Minho.”
Still, Minho offered no reaction, silently continuing his cake. Na-eun asked no further, simply wiping the cream from his lips.
“Minho, go along with Ms. Kim.”
“Right. Minho, let’s go.”
Ms. Kim led Minho away, leaving Na-eun alone at the table with Jiho.
“Shall we study our letters today?”
Jiho pulled his letter board toward him.
“Mom.”
He fiddled with the board, looking up with a mix of curiosity and a faint trace of worry.
“Yes?”
Na-eun stroked his hair, smiling softly.
“Why doesn’t Minho talk?”
Jiho’s hand stilled on the board. The movement of his tiny fingers, which had been searching for letters, froze, and his gaze drifted toward the bookshelf in the distance.
“He talks just fine. With you, and with me.”
Na-eun took Jiho’s hand to explain, but Jiho slowly shook his head. His expression was firm.
“No. He only talks when it’s just me and Mom. He doesn’t talk to other friends at Myeongseong Kindergarten either.”
Jiho pouted, lost in thought. On the board, an unfinished string of letters sat abandoned.
“Maybe that’s just because our Minho doesn’t feel like talking?”
Na-eun leaned in, meeting his eyes. They were still sparkling with worry.
“You don’t talk sometimes either when you don’t want to, right?”
Jiho paused, then nodded slightly. His fingers moved tentatively across the board before stopping again.
“But I don’t want to be quiet all the time.”
He muttered the words in a small voice. A sharp ache pierced Na-eun’s heart.
“Minho will change, too. We just have to keep being kind to him.”
Na-eun squeezed his small hand. Seeming reassured, Jiho nodded.
“Okay. I understand.”
With a smile, Jiho returned his focus to the board. Watching him carefully piece the letters together, Na-eun whispered a small prayer. She hoped Minho would open his heart enough to laugh with many more people.
Jiho stared at the board for a while, then looked up. A piece he had been holding fell from his tiny hand, hitting the table with a light click.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
Jiho moved his lips cautiously. His voice was small, but clear.
“But why doesn’t Auntie like me?”
Na-eun’s eyes widened in alarm. Her heart hammered against her chest, leaving her feeling suffocated.
“What?”
Her voice came out more startled than she intended. Jiho recoiled slightly, but tilted his head and spoke again.
“Why doesn’t Auntie like Jiho?”
Na-eun closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and moved closer. She gently cradled his hand and spoke with deep sincerity.
“It just seems like she doesn’t. But Mom loves you so, so much.”
Her eyes wavered. Jiho’s words held pure, innocent curiosity, but the wounds on his young heart tore her own apart.
“It’s enough if Mom loves you a lot, right? Do you need Auntie’s love too?”
Jiho hesitated, then shook his head.
“No, I don’t need it. I was just wondering.”
Na-eun smiled gently, holding his hand tight. She looked him in the eye.
“You are the most precious thing in the world to Mom, Jiho. And no matter how Auntie acts, you deserve to be loved. Because Mom will always love you.”
Jiho smiled and returned to the board. Na-eun swallowed back tears, stroking his hair.
Children sometimes say things that catch you off guard. To ask why Han Na-young didn’t like him—Na-eun felt a wave of resentment toward her. Even if she was the biological mother, it would be nice if she could at least show some affection, even just a look or a kind word. Her heart ached. A sigh escaped her lips. She made a silent vow: she would love them so abundantly that neither Jiho nor Minho would ever feel a lack of it.
Both Jiho and Minho. They were so young, and they broke her heart.
She hoped Minho’s condition would improve after having a meal with his father. He was his biological father, but could something have happened? Truth be told, not even the family could infer the origin of Minho’s selective mutism. Perhaps Minho’s father was the only one who knew the truth about that incident. That was the thought that crossed Na-eun’s mind.
* * *
A lavish feast was spread across the grand dining table. It was the first time in nearly a year that he had returned home. As Kang-Hyuk walked inside, he looked at the house, which hadn’t changed one bit. It had been two years since he was sent to an overseas branch. He hadn’t even seen Minho’s face since a brief visit last year.
Although Choi Kyung-Hye had occasionally sent him photos, he never imagined that seeing his son again after so long would be this terrifying. Everything was a result of his own karma.
As Kang-Hyuk entered, a smile bloomed on Choi Kyung-Hye’s face. She looked at him with pure delight.
“My son. How long has it been? You should visit more often.”
Kang-Hyuk bowed his head slightly and offered an awkward smile.
“Have you been well?”
Choi Kyung-Hye sighed lightly.
“Why are both of my sons so stoic? Choi Kang-Woo has always been cold, but you were never like that.”
Just then, Chairman Choi approached. He wore his usual stern expression, but it softened slightly when he saw Kang-Hyuk.
“You’re here. Let’s eat.”
At that moment, Ms. Kim opened the front door, holding Minho’s hand. The moment Minho saw his father, he turned pale and froze. His eyes wavered with instability, and his lips trembled.
“Minho.”
Kang-Hyuk called the child’s name gently. But that single word pressed down on Minho’s chest like a heavy boulder. Suddenly, Minho burst into loud wails and began to shriek. His tiny fists trembled as he lunged at Kang-Hyuk, beating him wildly.
“Aaaah!”
Minho screamed as if having a seizure, trapped in a state of fear and confusion, lashing out. Kang-Hyuk made no move to resist, simply accepting the blows with a wretched expression. Deep guilt and sorrow were plain in his eyes.
Choi Kyung-Hye’s face turned pale. She stepped forward, clutching her chest with a trembling voice.
“Minho, why are you doing this? What’s wrong!”
But there was no stopping the crying. Choi Kang-Woo approached with a tense expression and quickly scooped Minho into his arms. Even then, the boy continued to kick and twist. His small hands clutched Choi Kang-Woo’s shirt, trembling violently.
“It’s okay, Minho. It’s okay. Let’s go with me. Let’s go with your uncle.”
With a firm but gentle voice, Choi Kang-Woo whispered to the boy, carrying him out of the main building in a hurry. The living room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Only the echo of the child’s wails seemed to linger.
Kang-Hyuk’s face looked indescribably desolate.
Choi Kyung-Hye managed to open her mouth.
“What on earth happened…?”
Though she asked with a voice full of worry, those remaining in the house simply looked at one another in the crushing silence. Finally, Kang-Hyuk looked at Choi Kyung-Hye and said.
“That’s why I told you I wouldn’t come. I’m terrified of seeing Minho. I’m leaving.”
Just then, Choi Kyung-Hye grabbed his arm.
“Don’t go.”