Chapter 11 🥑
The doctor looked solemnly at the pale-faced teenager seated before him. He sighed quietly in his heart. Young people nowadays—so impulsive, so vulnerable to the consequences of their choices, yet so afraid to seek help. He softened his tone and leaned forward, trying to meet her gaze.
"Is there a problem?" he asked gently. "You can talk to me about it."
His eyes flickered with sympathy as he thought, She's only nineteen... probably still in school.
Milim's fingers were cold and trembling as they gripped the edge of a chair. Her knees buckled under her, and she slumped into the seat. A chill seeped into her bones despite the summer heat. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Doctor... must my parents sign? Can't it be done without them knowing?"
Her voice cracked as her eyes filled with dread. "If my parents found out… they'd kill me. I've always been a disappointment to them, ever since I was born."
The weight of guilt crushed her chest. She couldn't breathe properly.
The doctor removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses slowly, more as a way to offer comfort than out of necessity.
"Yes," he said patiently, "either your parents must sign, or your legal spouse." He looked at her with concern. "And considering your physical condition, I strongly advise you not to hide this from them. It's serious, and it's dangerous to go through it alone."
Milim's expression shifted at his words. Legal spouse… She thought of Dylan. But could she even call him that? They weren't in love. There had been no vows, no romance. Just a drunken night that turned her world upside down.
"I suggest," the doctor continued kindly, "you either talk to your parents or your boyfriend. One of them might be able to support you."
Milim's fingers dug into her skirt. Her breathing grew heavy, and she clutched her chest. It felt like someone had tied a rope around her lungs and was pulling tight.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell her parents. Their disappointment would be unbearable, and the consequences even worse. The fleeting thought of seeking a back-alley clinic flitted through her mind—but the doctor had said such places were risky. She could die on the table, and her parents wouldn't even know why.
There's only one option left.
She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, trying to think. The minutes she had spent with the doctor had already stretched too long. She composed herself, stood slowly, and said with a forced smile, "Thank you, Doctor. I'll… think about it."
Outside the hospital, the sun blazed mercilessly overhead. The air was thick with heat, and the concrete under her feet radiated warmth. Yet Milim felt as though she were standing in the middle of a snowstorm. Her fingers, wrapped tightly around the test results, were icy.
Pregnant… How could this happen?
Her heart pounded in her ears as she bit her lip. Part of her wanted to turn back and ask for a retest—but she couldn't. She was too ashamed. Too scared.
With shaking hands, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. She remembered Dylan had saved his contact in her phone. She scrolled through her contacts until her eyes landed on his name.
Dylan.
She hesitated for a moment, then pressed the call button.
Thirty kilometers away, in a high-end apartment, Dylan had just finished lunch. He reclined on the plush leather sofa, eyes half-closed in the post-meal calm. The buzzing of his personal phone drew his attention. He reached over lazily and checked the screen.
Milim.
His brow furrowed. The name barely rang a bell—just a distant memory, like a ripple in water that had long since faded.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then let the phone ring out. He wasn't angry or bitter; he simply didn't want to get involved. He knew from experience that entanglements like these never ended well.
The call ended.
Milim remained frozen on the sidewalk, phone still pressed to her ear. Her eyes stung with tears. The silence was worse than rejection. It was as if she didn't matter at all.
But life didn't stop. The bus she had been waiting for rolled to a stop beside her, and she stuffed her phone into her pocket and moved to board. The crowd surged around her. Her legs were unsteady. She was jostled from all directions, nearly falling before she found her balance.
One misstep could have harmed not just her—but the life inside her.
The bus was crowded and stifling, filled with the smell of sweat and bodies pressed too close together. Milim's stomach churned. She gripped the handrail tightly, her knuckles white. Regret swelled in her gut.
Back in Dylan's office, the phone buzzed once more before falling silent again. He didn't pick it up.
On the bus, Milim was suffocating. When she finally stepped off, she barely made it to the sidewalk before doubling over and vomiting.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her younger brother. "Lin," she rasped, "come get me… I'm dying."
The boy didn't hesitate. He bolted from their apartment and raced to the entrance of their community.
Lin found his sister pale and weak, barely able to stand. He rushed her home.
Milim collapsed into bed and slept until evening.
---
Later that night, her sister May came home. She flicked on the bedroom light and walked in, her work clothes still on.
"Milim, your brother said you were sick today. What happened?"
Milim shielded her eyes from the light. "It's nothing. Just a little heatstroke."
May touched her forehead, worried. "Are you sure?"
"I'm okay now. Just hungry."
May sighed in relief. "Dad cooked dinner, and Lin boiled some corn. Come eat, then take a bath and rest."
Milim nodded silently. She avoided her parents' eyes at dinner, feeling the weight of guilt in every heartbeat. They mistook her silence for lingering illness.
After a warm shower, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The weight in her heart grew heavier.
I can't have this child. Not now. Not like this.
She touched her abdomen, whispering softly, "I don't want you… but…" Her voice trailed off.
She wasn't ready to be a mother. She couldn't even take care of herself.
Only one person could share this burden.
She picked up her phone again and dialed Dylan's number.
This time, in the luxury apartment, Dylan had just stepped out of the shower. The name flashed on his screen again.
His fingers hovered over the screen. He sighed—and declined the call.
Milim stared at the screen in disbelief. He rejected me.
But this was no time for shame or pride.
She sent a message instead:
> Mr. Dylan, I'm sorry to bother you. But I have something important to discuss. Please.
Dylan picked up the phone, reading the message with mild curiosity.
> What is it?
Milim felt a flicker of hope.
> Can we talk in person? It's serious. Too complicated to explain through text.
Dylan paused for a long time. Then, finally replied:
> Do you need money? Or work?
Milim closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.
> Please. Meet me. I'll wait for you at Kia Castle Hotel tomorrow. Or name the time. This is more serious than you think.
There was no reply.
Still, she didn't give up. If he refused, she would go to the clinic. But she had to try one more time.
Before bed, she called her boss at the bakery and asked for the day off. Then she closed her eyes and let exhaustion take her.
---
The next morning, she woke at 8:30. Still groggy, she pulled herself together. She dressed neatly, washed her face, and stepped out to find Lin studying.
"I'm going out," she said, grabbing her wallet, keys, and pulling a cap over her hair.
"You won't be back by noon?" he asked, frowning.
She shook her head. "No. Don't wait for me."
Lin watched her go, unease written across his face.
---
At Kia Castle Hotel, luxury cars filled the lot. In one of them, a man sat quietly, eyes scanning the road.
At last, a slender figure appeared in the distance.
Milim walked slowly, her heart pounding.
The man in the car opened his door and stepped out. The polished leather of his shoes touched the ground with quiet weight. His face was unreadable, but his presence radiated power.