CHAPTER 39 – ONE LAST ESCAPE
"You're sure about this?" Seo-Ah asked, blinking against the sunlight spilling through the villa windows.
Min-Jun nodded, tossing a leather duffle bag onto the bed. "It's not a business trip. Not a medical appointment. Not another Lee family function."
He looked at her.
"It's just us. Just you."
She smiled, a little unsure. "You realize I'm seven months pregnant, right? I can't exactly hike a mountain."
"I'm not asking you to," he replied softly. "I just want to give you the one thing we've never had: time."
---
The Hidden Villa by the Sea
The car ride was long but gentle, winding past cherry blossom trees and quiet roads, until they reached a tucked-away coastal town that didn't show up on any of Min-Jun's corporate maps.
The villa was perched on a private bluff, with a panoramic view of the sea. It smelled like salt and hibiscus. The waves were just far enough to whisper instead of roar.
There were no guards. No surveillance systems.
Just stone paths. Hammocks. Glass windows that stretched from ceiling to floor.
And peace.
Seo-Ah's eyes widened as she stepped inside. "You've been holding out on me."
Min-Jun smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "I bought this place long before I met you. I think… I was saving it for something good."
---
Lazy Afternoons and Quiet Mornings
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no plan. No agenda.
Just them.
They woke slowly. Ate fresh fruit and warm rolls from the town bakery. Napped in hammocks like children. Min-Jun rubbed oils into her lower back when it hurt, his hands always gentle, always knowing when not to speak.
At night, they lit lanterns and danced barefoot in the sand — no music, just heartbeat rhythms and laughter.
Seo-Ah began to sketch again. Min-Jun read aloud to the baby, poetry in a low, thoughtful voice that made her smile even when she was half-asleep.
They wrote possible baby names in the sand and let the waves erase the ones they didn't love.
And when it rained one afternoon, they lay under the skylight and talked for hours — not about fear or business or revenge, but about books, childhood, the first time they ever truly noticed each other.
---
The Night Before They Left
Min-Jun built a fire in the hearth.
Seo-Ah wore one of his shirts — oversized, falling over her bump like a gentle curtain. She sat cross-legged on the rug, sipping ginger tea, while he stared at her like a man hypnotized.
"I used to think I'd never find this," he said. "A quiet life."
"It's not quiet," she said with a sleepy smile. "It's full of noise. Just softer noise."
He crawled to her side and kissed her slow, like the ocean was still inside them both.
She leaned against his chest. "Do you ever get scared?"
"Terrified," he admitted.
"Of what?"
"Not being enough," he said. "Missing something. Letting her down. Letting you down."
She took his hand and placed it over her belly. "You already saved us. Over and over again. That's enough."
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years, he believed her.
---
When they left the villa two days later, they didn't rush.
Min-Jun stood outside a moment, holding Seo-Ah's hand as the breeze kissed their faces.
Behind them: the house where they had found stillness.
Ahead of them: the life they had built.
"You ready?" he asked.
"No," she said with a smile. "But let's do it anyway."
He opened the car door for her.
And they drove toward the city — toward parenthood, toward sleepless nights, toward a love that would stretch in ways they couldn't yet imagine.
But together.
Always.
1:43 a.m. – The Pain Begins
It started with a cramp.
Not the kind Seo-Ah had grown used to — not the dull, low stretch of ligaments or the occasional ache. This was sharp. Sudden. Deep.
She sat up in bed, breathing hard.
"Min-Jun?" she whispered.
He stirred instantly. Even in sleep, he sensed her.
"What is it?" His voice was groggy but alert.
She reached for his hand and guided it to her belly. "I think…"
Another wave hit her. Harder this time.
Min-Jun sat up completely. "Seo-Ah."
Her face twisted, not in fear — but pain. "It hurts."
He was out of bed in seconds.
---
2:10 a.m. – The Rush
The hospital was 23 minutes away — and Min-Jun broke every law between their home and the emergency wing.
Seo-Ah sat in the back seat, clutching her abdomen, teeth clenched. "It's too early," she kept saying. "Min-Jun, it's too early. She's not due for another month."
"You're going to be okay," he said, one hand reaching back blindly to touch her knee. "She's going to be okay. I promise."
"Don't promise," she gasped. "Just get me there."
---
2:41 a.m. – Arrival
Doctors. Nurses. Lights.
Everything was moving.
Min-Jun stayed close. Never left her side. He signed papers without reading them. Held her hand as they wheeled her into the maternity suite.
"She's three centimeters dilated," one nurse said. "Early labor. Possibly stress-induced."
They were trying to slow it down.
But Seo-Ah's body had already made its decision.
And the baby? She was coming.
---
4:00 a.m. – Breaking Point
Seo-Ah screamed.
Her grip on Min-Jun's hand was fierce. Her face flushed, soaked in sweat.
"I can't," she gasped. "I can't do this—Min-Jun—"
"You can," he said, brushing her hair back, lips at her temple. "You already are."
She broke then. Not from pain.
But from fear.
"What if she doesn't make it?" she cried. "What if something goes wrong? What if—"
Min-Jun cupped her face.
"No one is taking her from us."
Her eyes locked with his.
And through the fog, the agony, the chaos—she found her strength again.
---
5:16 a.m. – The World Stops
The room was a war zone of effort.
The cries. The calls. The pain.
And then—
A sound.
Tiny. Piercing.
Alive.
The baby's first cry shattered the air like a bell made of light.
Min-Jun froze.
He stared at the small, pink, wriggling thing being lifted into the world. His knees almost buckled. He didn't breathe until she did.
Seo-Ah lay limp, exhausted, her eyes fluttering with tears.
"It's a girl," the doctor said.
Min-Jun already knew.
They placed the baby against Seo-Ah's chest.
And she wept.
"Hi," Seo-Ah whispered, touching her daughter's face. "Hi, little light."
Min-Jun didn't move for a moment. He just watched. As if afraid touching this moment might break it.
Then—he stepped forward.
Touched his daughter's back.
So small.
So warm.
And his voice — always so composed — cracked.
"Hae-Won."
---
6:00 a.m. – Quiet
The hospital room was dim now.
Seo-Ah slept, her hand still resting on Hae-Won's tiny swaddled form.
Min-Jun sat in the chair beside them, one hand covering his mouth, the other on his daughter's bassinet.
She had his eyes.
But her mother's soul.
He looked at them both — and knew that his life had just been rewritten.
Not erased.
Not erased.
Just… rewritten.
With softness. With meaning. With them.
---
6:30 a.m. – A Text Sent
He picked up his phone and typed one message.
To Dong-Hwan.
She's here. Healthy. Seo-Ah's okay.
Then another message.
To his grandmother.
Her name is Hae-Won. She came early. She's perfect.
And then one more.
To a number he never deleted — his father's.
He said nothing.
Just sent a photo.
Three hands.
One tiny.
One bruised from labor.
One trembling.
Together.