Wind of Change (Crash Landing On You fanfic)

Part 6

When Se-ri opened the door, she was still wearing the blue-flowered white dress – only now it had a large stain on the shoulder. Jeong-hyeok didn't mean to stare at it, but he couldn't look her in the face.

Se-ri seemed to notice the stain for the first time. "Argh! She must have brought up some milk earlier." The baby was bound to her, as before. All that could be seen of it was a fluffy tuft of hair. The tuft was black, closer in shade to Se-ri's hair than – than the other's.

Se-ri was unlike herself – harassed and discomposed, as Jeong-hyeok had never seen her. She gave him a smile, but she was already turning away.

"I've left a pot on the stove," she said over her shoulder. "You should've let yourself in. How was your day? I hope they gave you something decent to eat. I'm just making spaghetti. Antonio bought some tomato sauce in a jar. He's an angel, but I think he's too used to shopping on a budget. It looks really cheap. I'd keep your hopes down."

Jeong-hyeok walked through a living room that looked like a tornado had swept through it. Suitcases lay open; muslins, cushions, clothes and toys were strewn across the floor.

He noticed, with a dull throb of anguish, that the pictures of him and Se-ri were still up. Se-ri evidently hadn't had time to remove them yet. What had she told Antonio about him?

All she would have needed to do was stick to the facts. They were not quite the same as the truth, but how could Antonio be threatened by a man Se-ri saw only two weeks out of the year? It wasn't like she could call Jeong-hyeok, or text him, or obsess about his social media activity. From a new boyfriend's point of view, Jeong-hyeok was the perfect ex.

There didn't seem to be anyone else in the kitchen, or the house. It was just the two of them. Of course, thought Jeong-hyeok, Se-ri would know he hadn't arranged accommodation elsewhere, so he was to stay here. She must have booked a hotel for her and Antonio.

"Where is – " he said, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say the name, and anyway Se-ri was speaking.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she said, looking at him over the pot of boiling water. Her eyes were as candid as ever, their expression as transparent as spring-water. But he knew she was nervous; he could feel it through his skin. He still knew everything about her, even if he was no longer entitled to that knowledge.

"What a thing to spring on a man in public," said Se-ri, and Jeong-hyeok found he was not ready to have this conversation. Besides ...

"You shouldn't stand so close to the hob," he said. He gestured at Se-ri to step away, taking her place by the stove. "How long has this been cooking for?"

Se-ri glanced at the clock. "Around five minutes. The packet said it needs nine."

Jeong-hyeok peered into the pot. "Did you salt the water?"

Se-ri blinked. "No. Do you have to? There's salt in the pasta sauce, isn't there?"

Jeong-hyeok reached up to the cabinet that held the salt. It was dangerously easy to fall into their accustomed rhythm. He could feel himself forgetting that they were no longer in love, that he had already lost all of this.

The pain came roaring back in all its full violence. It made Jeong-hyeok's voice brusque when he spoke.

"You shouldn't be cooking, with ... " He indicated the baby.

"Her name's Ji-hyeon," said Se-ri softly. She looked down at the little head.

Se-ri had always been beautiful, but the expression she wore now took her beyond beauty. It made it impossible to look at her, so Jeong-hyeok looked down at the spaghetti.

A girl. Of course it was a girl.

"I'll have to wake her up soon, or she won't settle at bedtime," said Se-ri. "I'm sorry everything's such a mess. I wanted you to have a calm, beautiful meeting, in private. But things have been so chaotic." Her hair was, for once, actually untidy, instead of fancily dishevelled. It was falling out of its bun, stray wisps hanging around her face.

You are not allowed to touch, Jeong-hyeok told himself.

Se-ri pushed her hair back absently.

"The problem is I didn't want anyone else around," she said. "I gave the nannies a holiday. I had no idea how hard it was going to be with just me and baby. She has my personality, though you wouldn't think it to look at her. She's a little empress. Everything has to be done right now. She won't brook even a second's delay."

There was that look again, that exquisite tenderness in Se-ri's eyes. She's happy, thought Jeong-hyeok, and even amidst his torment, his heart rose.

"She's beautiful," he said. It hurt to say it, but at the same time it somehow eased the pain.

Whatever happened, nothing could stop him from loving Se-ri. He still had that. He would always have it. The thought was like a shaft of light shining athwart the surrounding darkness.

Se-ri was looking at him.

"Are you all right?" she said. "I didn't know how to warn you. Maybe I should have ... maybe I shouldn't have kept her. But I couldn't do anything else. And I felt you should know."

"I'm OK," said Jeong-hyeok mechanically. "When was she born?"

"January 20. Not far off my birthday," said Se-ri. She'd retreated to the other end of the kitchen to get the promised jar of pasta sauce, but now she came closer. Jeong-hyeok flinched, and she stopped.

"Ri Jeong-hyeok," she said. "You're not OK, are you? You can tell me. I was the one who made this decision. I'll take responsibility for it."

Jeong-hyeok shouldn't ask. He didn't need to know. It wouldn't help. Nonetheless he heard himself say, "How did you meet Anto – "

"Oh!" said Se-ri, pleased. "She's awake. You'll get to see her face now. Hello, darling, did you have a good nap?"

She unbuckled the baby carrier and shrugged it off. "Can you help – thanks," she said, as Jeong-hyeok took the carrier off her hands. "There's another buckle at the back. There you are. Now, who's this?"

She seemed to be addressing the baby. In any case Jeong-hyeok was not capable of responding. He was staring, as transfixed as the baby, but going through a far more complex series of emotions.

For there, glowering lugubriously from the safety of Se-ri's arms, was the face of the Director of the General Political Bureau of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, in miniature.

Se-ri was laughing.

"You should see your face!" she said. "Isn't it amazing? It's what we wanted – a girl – only it's not me she resembles. She came out looking exactly like this, I couldn't believe it. Hopefully she'll start looking more like me when she gets older." But Se-ri didn't sound convinced.

"Your father doesn't have any sisters, does he?" she added. "Do you remember what your paternal grandmother looked like?"

Jeong-hyeok cleared his throat. He was feeling a little shaky. "She's ... "

"Our daughter," said Se-ri. She paused. "Wait. You didn't think ... ?"

Jeong-hyeok did something wholly uncharacteristic – but in justice to him, it had been a day of acute stress, not to be surpassed by any of the fistfights, shootouts, interrogations, high-speed automotive chases or awkward dinners with his ex-fiancee's family that formed part of his variegated life experience.

"I need to sit down," he said.