CHAPTER 37 – COMFORT
Fourteen Weeks Along
Seo-Ah stood in front of the mirror, her hands resting just under her belly, the curve finally visible — no longer just a whisper of change, but a promise.
She wasn't hiding it anymore.
She had started wearing flowing dresses and soft knits that embraced the growing life inside her, and every morning Min-Jun found a new reason to fall in love with her all over again.
"You're glowing," he said from the doorway, arms crossed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She rolled her eyes. "That's code for 'you're rounder.'"
He walked toward her, slipped his arms around her from behind, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "You're radiant. Round, yes. But radiant."
Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I think it's starting to feel real."
"It was always real to me," he whispered. "But now it's visible. That's dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because now the whole world will know I'm the luckiest man alive."
---
Later That Week – A Sudden Stillness
They were in the middle of organizing the nursery — sorting tiny clothes, labeling boxes, and Min-Jun attempting to build a rocking chair without following the instructions.
Seo-Ah laughed at his frustration, playfully tossing a sock at him.
And then—
Her laugh stopped.
Her hand flew to her lower abdomen.
She winced. Froze.
"Seo-Ah?" Min-Jun stood instantly, chair forgotten, voice tight.
"I—I don't know. It's like a cramp, but sharp." Her voice was strained. "And I think I—"
She looked down.
There was blood.
Not much, but enough.
Enough to send a chill through both of them.
Min-Jun's world tilted.
He didn't panic. He couldn't afford to. But something inside him cracked. He scooped her into his arms without a word and carried her straight to the car.
"I'm okay," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
"You don't say that," he said, jaw clenched. "Not until we know."
---
The Hospital – Held Breath
She lay in the dim hospital room, monitors beeping quietly. Min-Jun sat beside her, holding her hand so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
The doctor returned with a small smile of relief.
"No miscarriage. The baby's heartbeat is strong."
Min-Jun exhaled slowly, like he hadn't breathed in hours.
"Likely a subchorionic hematoma," the doctor continued. "Not uncommon. But she'll need rest. No stress. No lifting. Lots of hydration."
Seo-Ah nodded, eyes brimming.
Min-Jun said nothing.
He only leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her palm.
Later, when they were alone again, she looked at him. "You didn't cry."
"No," he said, his voice low. "Because if I did, I wouldn't have been able to stop."
---
Three Days Later
They were still recovering from the scare when the call came.
It was his grandmother.
"I heard," she said gently. "And I want to see you both."
Min-Jun hesitated. "Is it a family gathering?"
"Only the ones who matter. Your mother. And maybe your father if he learns to behave."
He smirked despite himself.
"Come. This child you're bringing into the world is already part of our legacy. Let us bless the life you're building."
He looked at Seo-Ah, curled on the couch in one of his sweaters, her hair messy, her eyes still tired but smiling faintly.
"We'll be there."
---------
The garden at the Lee estate was in full bloom — soft cherry blossoms, manicured paths, and the scent of tea and memory floating on the air.
Seo-Ah wore a soft cream dress, her slight bump cradled by a silk sash Min-Jun had tied for her himself. She looked ethereal. Tired, but glowing.
They were greeted at the gates by his grandmother, who hugged Seo-Ah without hesitation, murmuring blessings into her hair.
"I dreamed of this," she said. "Of you carrying new life into this family."
Min-Jun's mother appeared next, her expression tender as she ran her hands gently over Seo-Ah's shoulders. "You look like peace."
The dinner was long and elegant — traditional dishes, soft conversation, no business talk. Just laughter, gentle teasing, and candlelight reflecting off fine china.
Even Min-Jun's father arrived late — silent, reserved. But when he saw Seo-Ah, he bowed his head slightly.
A silent offering.
He didn't stay long, but for once, his presence didn't cast a shadow. Not tonight.
---
Min-Jun's grandmother led them to the small shrine in the inner garden, surrounded by plum trees and stone lanterns.
She handed Seo-Ah a folded silk cloth. Inside, a pair of jade bangles — family heirlooms.
"These were my mother's," she said. "And now they belong to you. And one day, your child."
Seo-Ah's voice trembled. "I don't deserve—"
"You do," the elder woman interrupted gently. "You've brought back something this family lost a long time ago: warmth."
Min-Jun stood beside her, hand in hers.
He'd been to countless galas, signed billion-won deals, survived betrayal and blood.
But nothing — nothing — compared to the feeling of Seo-Ah beside him, glowing with new life, being blessed by the only family that had ever truly mattered.
---
That night, back at home, Seo-Ah lay in bed, one hand on her belly, the jade bangles resting on her wrist.
Min-Jun climbed in beside her, brushed hair from her face, and whispered, "We're going to be okay."
She nodded sleepily. "Even when we're scared."
He kissed her.
"Especially then."
And outside, the stars shimmered — not cold anymore.
Just light.
---Nineteen Weeks
The sonogram appointment had been scheduled for days, but Min-Jun still woke up that morning like a man on the verge of some great, irreversible journey.
He stood in front of the mirror in his dress shirt and tie, adjusting the knot for the third time until Seo-Ah emerged from the bedroom, wearing the softest blush-colored dress and a smile that tugged the air from his lungs.
Her bump had grown, undeniable now, perfectly rounded like the moon. He stared at her as if she were more miracle than person.
"You're going to crease your tie if you keep adjusting it," she said, brushing past him to grab her earrings.
"I'm meeting my child today," he murmured. "I want to look like someone worth meeting."
She paused, then turned to him, touched his chest. "You already are."
---------
The room was quiet, save for the beeping monitor and the rustle of medical gloves. Seo-Ah lay back on the table, Min-Jun holding her hand tightly, eyes locked on the screen as the technician moved the wand gently across her abdomen.
"There's your baby," the technician said warmly. "Strong heartbeat. Great development."
Seo-Ah let out a shaky breath. Min-Jun couldn't speak — he was staring at the little curve of the baby's nose, the tiny hands already forming fists.
"And... would you like to know the gender?"
They exchanged a glance.
"Yes," Seo-Ah said, breathless. "But..."
Min-Jun finished for her. "Could you write it down instead?"
The technician smiled knowingly. "Of course."
She slipped a folded card into a gold envelope and handed it to Min-Jun.
"Don't open it in traffic," she warned playfully.
Min-Jun didn't laugh. He held the envelope like it contained the universe.
Because in many ways — it did.
---
The Reveal – Just Them
They didn't invite family.
No balloons. No cameras.
The sun was setting when Seo-Ah curled up beside him on the balcony, waves crashing gently below.
"You ready?" she asked.
"No," he replied truthfully. "But let's do it anyway."
She handed him the envelope.
His hands trembled slightly as he opened it.
Pulled out the card.
Read the single word.
He froze.
Seo-Ah's voice was barely a whisper. "What does it say?"
He looked up, eyes glassy, voice rough.
"It's a girl."
Seo-Ah gasped.
And then she laughed — soft, broken, joyful — burying her face in her hands as tears spilled down.
"A daughter," she whispered.
Min-Jun moved toward her and dropped to his knees in front of her, placing his forehead gently against her belly.
"Little light," he whispered to their child. "You're going to change everything."
---
Seo-Ah lay in bed, unable to sleep. Her hand rested over the curve of her belly, while Min-Jun sat across the room with a baby name book, glasses low on his nose.
"We need to pick something strong," he said, flipping pages. "Something that means something."
Seo-Ah smiled. "We've got time."
He looked up, expression softer now. "I just want her to have what I didn't. A name filled with love, not legacy. One we chose. Not one someone gave her because of a bloodline or a dynasty."
"She already has that," Seo-Ah whispered. "She has us."
He crossed the room, slid into bed beside her, and wrapped his arms around both her and the life growing between them.
"I didn't think I'd ever have this," he said. "I didn't think I deserved it."
Seo-Ah reached up and touched his face. "You earned it, Min-Jun. Every second of this… you bled for it. Loved for it. Fought for it."
He kissed her, slow and deep, their hearts tangled in silence.
---
A week later, Seo-Ah stood in the nursery, holding a paintbrush while Min-Jun worked behind her, measuring where to mount the floating bookshelf.
She dipped the brush in a soft lavender hue and began painting soft petals near the corner window.
"What do you think of the name Hae-Won?" she asked.
Min-Jun looked up.
"It means graceful garden," she said. "And won — the circle. Wholeness."
He walked to her, touched the small of her back, and smiled.
"Hae-Won," he echoed softly.
She nodded. "It feels like her, doesn't it?"
"It is her," he said.
And together, they painted — two people who had come from broken beginnings, now building a world full of color, softness, and a name that would one day be whispered in lullabies and laughter.