Chapter Text
The test was still sitting on the bathroom counter.
Dong-eun had been staring at it for ten full minutes, unmoving, the soft hum of the heater fan buzzing at the edge of her hearing.
Two lines. Clear. Undeniable.
She didn't cry. She didn't gasp or smile or sit down. She simply stared at it like it was some kind of mistake, like if she blinked enough times, it would change.
But it didn't.
She was pregnant.
There were little signs at first: persistent nausea, exhaustion, a yearning appetite that was far beyond her norm. Then her breasts were sore, her head hurt from time to time, and her patience ran thin with Yeo-jeong more than a couple of times, often leaving him with sad puppy eyes and confused thoughts. It was even spilling into her job, having to bite her tongue from time to time when she was at work, consulting at Jaepyeong Construction (a role she secured with no help from Do-yeong).
Now she stood in front of six tests all confirming her suspicions. Pregnant.
Her body felt... hollow. But her heart was thudding, fast and hard, like it was trying to wake her up from a dream.
She set a test down carefully, as if it might explode, and backed out of the bathroom with a quiet, disbelieving breath.
She didn't tell Yeo-jeong right away. She couldn't. Not yet.
Instead she grabbed her phone and found the one contact she knew she needed to call. She made her way into Seoul after where Seoul Joo General Hospital had buzzed with its usual quiet efficiency: nurses passing in soft-soled shoes, monitors beeping behind half-closed doors, elevator lights blinking in sequence. But none of it reached Dong-eun.
She sat in the private consultation room just outside the director's office, her hands clenched in her lap. Her knuckles were pale. A faint tremor traced up her wrist and into her shoulders.
The pregnancy tests — all six of them in a baggie — sat hidden in the deepest fold of her bag.
She'd found out. Alone. Staring at the bathroom tiles until the lines blurred.
And now she was here. About to tell her mother-in-law before she even told Yeo-jeong.
She'd agonized over it — whether it was right, whether it was too old-fashioned, whether it even mattered. But in the end, her instinct wasn't about tradition. It was about reassurance. About standing on steadier ground before she turned to him.
She wanted to know he wouldn't be alone in his joy or in his possible fear.
The door opened.
Sang-im stepped in with her usual poise, her sharp features softening when she saw Dong-eun. "You look pale. Are you okay?"
Dong-eun stood and bowed. "Dr. Park. Thank you for meeting me."
"'Sang-im' is fine now," she said gently with a smile, sitting across from her. "I think we're past titles."
Dong-eun hesitated, eyes flicking to her own fingers before she attempted to compose herself into her characteristic steel-walled nature.
"I came because I have something to tell you first. Before Yeo-jeong."
Sang-im raised a brow, tilting her head.
Dong-eun swallowed.
"I'm pregnant."
A beat of silence.
Then there was warmth. Real, visible warmth flooded Sang-im's face. Her shoulders loosened. Her lips parted in surprise and delight.
"Wow..." she exhaled. "Wow! Pregnant? Really?"
Dong-eun nodded, eyes unexpectedly full with tears that threatened to fall. "I found out earlier today. I haven't told him. I didn't know how. I was...scared."
"Scared?" Sang-im reached across the table, taking Dong-eun's hands in both of hers. Her grip was strong. Familiar. "You're not alone. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."
The slightest amount of tears adorned her face now. Not from sorrow but instead from the softest kind of relief.
"I thought maybe you'd be disappointed. That we weren't necessarily... trying. That we've barely gotten married. That I—"
"You're already family," Sang-im said, not letting her finish. "You've been family since the day my son looked at you like you were the whole world, since that night on the rooftop where I pleaded with you."
She squeezed her hand again.
"And now," she said, smiling through sudden tears of her own, "you've made him a father. And me — a grandmother."
Dong-eun covered her mouth, a gasping sob escaping.
"I don't know if I'll be good at this," she admitted. "I barely had a mother, if you could even call her that. I didn't have a model."
"You didn't need one to become one," Sang-im said. "You already are one. You were the moment you started worrying."
They sat in silence for a few long moments, hands clasped on the table between them.
Then Sang-im leaned forward.
"Do you want help telling him?"
Dong-eun nodded, breath shaking. "Yes. Please."
A spark of mischief lit Sang-im's eyes. "He'll cry. I guarantee it."
Dong-eun let out a breathy laugh. "He nearly cried when I told him the rice was still warm in his lunch."
"Exactly."
They shared a smile and for the first time, Dong-eun saw it not just as a gesture of politeness, but as something inherited. A glimpse of what her unborn child might someday grow into.
"I'll make an excuse to call him over. As you know, he's here for in-hospital consultations so I'll have him come after his current patient," Sang-im said, already planning. "We'll sit him down together. Or I'll leave you the room if you want to tell him yourself. But I'll be there, if you need."
Dong-eun cleared her throat and gave a slight, "Thank you."
Sang-im rose, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Make sure you're getting some rest. And eating well. You're not just living for yourself anymore."
She smiled again — gentle, knowing. "The first child changes everyone. Especially their parents."
And as Dong-eun stepped out into the hallway, the weight didn't disappear but instead shifted. She carried it differently now.
Not alone.
Later on, a knock came at the door. It was polite, quick.
"Come in," Sang-im called, her tone steady.
The office door opened, and Yeo-jeong stepped in, a clipboard in one hand, his white coat flaring slightly behind him. His face was calm but mischievous as he prepared to joke with his mother.
"If you love me so much, you could have just said so. You obviously can't get enough of — "
Then his eyes flicked to the side and saw Dong-eun, now seated in the corner of the office, her hands folded in her lap.
His whole expression shifted in an instant.
"Dong-eun?" He smiled, stepping forward, relieved. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, voice soft. "I just needed to talk to you."
Yeo-jeong blinked, the weight of his mother's silence suddenly registering. She was standing by the bookshelves, arms lightly crossed, watching them with something close to restrained joy.
"You're both being suspicious," he said, glancing between them now. "What's going on?"
Sang-im stepped forward with a small smile and gently took his clipboard.
"You won't need that."
He raised his eyebrows.
"I'll leave you two alone," she said before turning towards Dong-eun and giving a gentle touch upon her shoulder. "Take your time."
And with that, she slipped out the side door, as though she had never been there at all.
Dong-eun stood slowly. Her hands shook just slightly.
Yeo-jeong stepped closer, concerned now. "Dong-eun...what is it? Are you hurt? Sick? What's wrong?"
She looked up at him and her eyes were wet, but calm.
"No," she said. "Not sick. Just... different."
He froze.
"Different?"
She took his hand. Laid it gently over her stomach. It was still flat beneath the layers of her sweater, barely changed. But he felt the tremble in her fingers. The weight of what she wasn't saying yet.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered.
Silence.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move.
His hand stayed there, resting over her belly, eyes locked on hers as if trying to read a second meaning.
Then his lips parted. His breath hitched.
And he sank to his knees.
Dong-eun gasped softly as he rested his forehead gently against her middle, his arms wrapping carefully around her waist.
"You're sure?" he whispered, voice thick.
"I took six tests," she said, voice trembling. "And your mother scheduled bloodwork for this afternoon. It's real."
He let out a laugh: broken, amazed, almost disbelieving. "God..." he breathed. "Dong-eun..."
Then he looked up at her, still on his knees, tears glassing his eyes.
"You're carrying our child?"
She nodded.
"I don't know if I'll be good at this," she confessed, her insecurity spilling through. "I don't know how to be a mother. I'm scared."
He stood slowly, taking her face in his hands.
"We'll be scared together," he said. "And we'll learn together. Remember I've never done this either."
"But what if something goes wrong?" she asked, and her voice cracked. "What if my body—what if my past—"
"We'll be careful," he said. "We'll get the best care. I'll speak to OB today. You'll rest. We'll do this step by step."
His hands moved down to her shoulders, then her waist, then back to her belly again, holding her as if she were already carrying everything.
"I'm going to take care of you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers now. "Both of you."
And this time, she didn't cry from fear. Not entirely.
It was something else now: relief, hope, awe.
They stood there in the soft silence of the office, the weight of the world briefly lighter between their bodies.
Outside, through the glass, Sang-im watched discreetly from behind the blinds. Her smile was small but full, her eyes misted.
Her son.
A child on the way.
A new generation beginning in love.
...
Later that day, their Semyeong home had never felt this still or rather this alive.
Dong-eun sat on the couch, legs drawn up and a blanket tossed across her knees like she couldn't decide if she wanted comfort or needed something to fidget with. The barley tea beside her had gone cold. She hadn't touched it.
In the kitchen, something clattered — a spoon hitting the floor, followed by a mumbled curse from Yeo-jeong.
She smiled faintly. He was clearly rattled as he had the tendancy to cook especially when he needed to feel useful, and judging by the smell of scorched rice, usefulness had not exactly arrived tonight.
When he finally padded into the living room, he was holding two mismatched bowls of sliced Korean pear.
"This was the only thing I didn't ruin," he said, placing one in her lap. "Unless you want salted doenjang water and half-burnt rice."
"Tempting," Dong-eun said dryly. "But I'll pass."
He flopped onto the couch beside her, a little farther than usual as if he was still too careful, like the air around her was sacred now.
"You look like someone who just received a divine revelation," she said, eyeing his dazed expression.
"I did," he replied. "And then she told me she was pregnant."
Dong-eun snorted, then stifled it with a hand. "Don't make me laugh. You'll ruin the mood."
"I'm a doctor. I can ruin any mood," he said with mock solemnity.
They were quiet for a beat.
Then she broke it, "I thought you'd fall asleep by now."
"I thought I'd be able to," he said. "But I keep... seeing it."
"Seeing what?"
"You. With a bump. Then holding a baby. Then scolding them in that voice you use when I forget to buy eggs."
Dong-eun raised an eyebrow. "That's my nicest voice, Joo Yeo-jeong."
"I know. Terrifying."
He set his bowl down and turned toward her, more serious now, though a soft smile still hovered around the edge of his lips. "It's all mixed together. Joy. Panic. Wonder. Like some recipe I've completely messed up, but it somehow tastes amazing anyway."
She looked down, fiddling with the blanket's edge. "Saying it out loud did make it more real."
He nodded.
She hesitated, then added — voice lower, more vulnerable, "Do you think I'll be okay? Being a mother, I mean."
He studied her. "I don't think you'll be okay. I know it."
"That's a big claim from someone who still eats cereal with chopsticks when we run out of spoons."
"Okay, what? It's efficient! Less milk wasted."
She let out a small, reluctant laugh but her fingers trembled slightly.
"I didn't have a mother," she said. "Not really. I didn't grow up seeing what this is supposed to look like, I've only seen it from a distance with the parents of my students. I don't want to mess this up."
"You won't," he said, and his voice dropped, softer now. "You won't because you already love them. That fear you're feeling? That's proof."
He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly on her stomach. Still flat. Still quiet.
"But what if something goes wrong?" she whispered. "I'm not young. I'm anemic. My body... it's not exactly untouched."
"We'll be cautious," he said. "I've talked to OB and they set up an appointment with the women's clinic for tomorrow. And I'll monitor everything overall. We'll get the best prenatal care."
"Ever the doctor."
"And ever your partner first," he added, without missing a beat.
They went quiet again. She stared at his hand on her stomach, then reached out and laced her fingers with his.
"They're so small," Dong-eun murmured.
"They're part of you," he said. "That already makes them strong."
"They're part of you too," she replied. "Which means they'll cry when she sees a bunny commercial."
Yeo-jeong winced. "That was one time. And the bunny died, Dong-eun."
Her smile lingered as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm curved naturally around her, anchoring them both.
"I'm scared," she whispered again. One of the few times she was willing to admit it out loud and again, Yeo-jeong was able to bring it out of her.
He turned and kissed the top of her head. "So am I."
"You're not allowed to say that."
"I'm not scared of the baby," he said. "I'm scared of how obsessed I'm going to be. I'm going to be that dad."
"Yeo-jeong," she said. "Look at yourself, you already are that dad."
They stayed like that a long while, the glow of the floor lamp washing over them in soft gold. The weight of the day sat gently between them now — not heavy, just full.
When she eventually fell asleep, curled into his side, Yeo-jeong didn't move. He just sat there with one hand over her stomach, eyes closed, whispering thanks to no one in particular.