"I'll get you something from the café," she said, her voice quiet—closer to a peace offering than a suggestion. "We both look like we need it."
He blinked, a little surprised. "Don't you have a meeting soon?"
"Not until later." She offered a small smile—just the barest curve of her lips. "Besides, you're the one dragging your feet here."
He could have said no. He had rehearsal. A check-in with management. His phone had buzzed twice during lunch, no doubt reminding him of the list of things waiting.
But she saw the shift in his expression when their eyes finally met. This wasn't about coffee. They both knew that.
"Alright," he said, standing. "Lead the way."
They walked together in silence. The short path from the cafeteria to the café was one she could probably take blindfolded, but this time it felt different. The air between them wasn't awkward—it was suspended, like the quiet just before rain, when the wind holds its breath and everything feels expectant.
Mark held the door open, and she stepped inside. The café was calm, dotted with staff and a few trainees scattered around tables. Lexie ordered a hot drink for him—something simple, nothing with frills—and a cold brew for herself.
"Window seat?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded.
They settled at a small table tucked near the far side, beneath a wall of windows that framed the overcast Seoul skyline. Lexie slid his drink across to him without a word.
Neither of them reached for their cups. She looked out through the glass, at the thick gray clouds pushing against the horizon.
"I figured you'd run after lunch," he murmured.
She leaned forward a bit, still watching the sky. "Thought about it. Then decided not to."
A small breath of laughter escaped her. It didn't reach her eyes, but it was real.
"That's new." He didn't push, didn't offer anything more. Just stayed there—quiet, steady. Matching her pace.
"I didn't mean to overhear last night," he said eventually, his voice softer. "I really was just passing by. Thought I'd drop in. I didn't expect to hear the end of that call."
She nodded, fingers tightening around her cold brew.
"I know,"she said, shaking her head. "I didn't think you were."
A pause stretched between them.
"It was just a call," she repeated—words she'd used before. But now, they felt thinner. Less rehearsed. A little less like armor.
He didn't respond right away. She could feel him watching her, the tension in her shoulders not lost on him.
"I've been thinking about that," he said. "How you said it like it didn't matter. But it did, right?"
Her gaze finally found his.
And maybe it was the way the gray light fell across the table, or how his eyes didn't flinch away, that made her answer.
"I didn't plan on saying anything," she admitted. "I never really planned for any of it, honestly."
He didn't move. Didn't interrupt.
Lexie looked down at her drink, took a slow sip, then placed it back down with care.
"It was during college in Manila. I was barely getting used to everything again. Still figuring myself out."
Her voice stayed calm, but the edges trembled beneath it.
"I got a call from a hospital in Cebu. At first, I thought they had the wrong number. I didn't have any family there… not that I knew of."
She could feel his attention sharpen.
"They said a woman had passed. Just after giving birth. I didn't know her. They told me she was my half-sister. Fraternal. Different mom. She didn't know about me either, personally. But, she listed me as next of kin. A family of hers."
Lexie took a steadying breath.
"She died during childbirth. The baby had no one. No father on record. No other relatives."
A pause.
"I flew there the same day," she said. "Signed papers I barely understood. Held him before I realized what I was doing."
She turned fully toward Mark now.
"He was barely a day old. I was eighteen. Still studying architecture. Still trying to navigate my own adoption history. Still trying to belong somewhere. There was a lot to process—the hospital bill, the burial—and suddenly… he was mine."
"Ethan, " his voice came out gently. "Yesterday, I heard you call him that name."
She nodded, and though her eyes glistened, she didn't cry. She didn't need to. The weight of her silence filled the space.
"I didn't tell anyone. Not right away. Not even my boyfriend at the time."
Lexie's voice thinned, almost brittle.
"When I finally did, he walked out. Said he didn't sign up for it. That I was ruining my future."
Beneath the table, her fingers curled tightly around her cup. She didn't look to see Mark's reaction—didn't need to. She knew the kind of man he was. She knew he'd feel it.
"I even thought of telling Alexis about the situation, since he was studying in the same city," she added quietly, her gaze focused somewhere in the past. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't drag my new family into the mess left behind by my biological family. How messed up it was."
Silence lapped at the edges of the café again.
"I didn't ruin anything," she whispered, more to herself than him. "I tried to build a new one."
Mark didn't speak, but something in the way he leaned forward—gaze steady, unflinching—offered more than words. He was there. He was listening.
The words hung in the air, fragile and powerful all at once.
"I didn't have a choice," she added. "But I made one."
Outside, thunder rumbled low and distant. The sky pressed heavier against the glass, but somehow the café felt warmer now.
Mark finally reached for her hand. "Lexie…"
She met his gaze, steady and unflinching.
"You didn't have to go through all of that alone," he said.
Her smile was faint. Tired. Almost amused. "But I did."
"And now?"
Lexie leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling slowly. "Now I'm here. He's in Vancouver with my parents. And I'm working on bringing him home. Here in Seoul."
She paused, eyes dropping to her drink.
"I've been doing the paperwork for months. Quietly."
There was no pity in his expression—only something deeper. She could feel it in the way his posture shifted, how his voice softened.
"You've been doing this all on your own," he said.
She nodded once. "That's why I couldn't deal with… everything else. You. Us. Back then."
Silence fell again, but this time it wasn't painful. It was settled. Understood.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to tap gently against the glass.
"Tell me about him," Mark said, breaking the quiet.
She blinked. "Ethan?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I want to know."
The request startled her—but not in a bad way. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"He's stubborn, yet sweet," she said first, and that alone made Mark smile. "Smart. Too smart, sometimes. He asks questions that make me look up parenting articles at midnight."
Mark chuckled, and the sound caught them both off guard.
"And he sings," she added. "Not just hums—he sings. Loud, dramatic. You'd love it."
"I already do," he said, before he could stop himself. "Just hearing how you describe him."
Lexie looked at him again.
Neither of them spoke after that. Outside, the rain picked up—soft and steady against the windows. Between them sat two half-finished drinks and a thousand things still unsaid.
But for the first time in a long while, they were speaking the same language.
Not forgiveness. Not yet.
But truth. And trust.
~~ 끝 ~~