Did You Make a Girl Cry?

"I'll get you the tickets. But Ji-woo — what you know is a secret."

"A secret?"

"Yeah. That's how you get to see me one more time."

Ahjussi had told him it was a secret. When it came to the tickets, Ji-woo had to pretend he didn't know a thing.

So he was about to let it pass without going into detail when the door opened and Yeon-jae walked in.

"Mom!"

"Did you have a fun day today, Ji-woo?"

"Yes!"

Ji-woo ran straight for her. He wrapped himself around both her legs and looked up with sparkling eyes.

Mom, the tickets?

The look in his eyes was asking her. Ahjussi had said he would find Yeon-jae on Monday and give her the tickets. Today was Monday. She must have gotten them. Ji-woo's heart gave a hard little thud.

"Mom, there's the Jeffkin concert."

"Ah, Jeffkin — that's right. Ji-woo, Mom got the tickets."

Yeon-jae reached into her handbag as if she had only just remembered, then drew out a white envelope and held it out to him.

"Wow, tickets! Are these real tickets?"

A brilliant smile bloomed across Ji-woo's face as he held them aloft. Watching the child laugh as radiantly as a flower in full bloom, a smile touched Yeon-jae's lips as well.

"Jang Seo-ha, look at this! We actually got real tickets!"

Seo-ha came over with a look of disbelief and peered at the tickets in Ji-woo's hand. Then the corners of her eyes grew wet.

"Seo-ha! Mom's been looking everywhere for you. Why are you still in here?"

Hye-gyeong, who had been waiting outside, came into the kindergarten in search of the daughter who hadn't come out. Seo-ha saw her and ran. Fat teardrops welled along her lashes.

"Mommmm, why doesn't Seo-ha have tickets? Seo-ha wants to go to the Jeffkin concert toooo!"

"Huh?"

"Ji-woo's auntie got tickets, so why didn't you get any for meee! Ji-woo's going to the concert!"

Seo-ha began to cry, pounding on Hye-gyeong's legs with her little hands. Watching those endless streams of tears roll down her daughter's round cheeks, a look of bewilderment crossed Hye-gyeong's face.

"What on earth is she talking about?"

Hye-gyeong didn't know what to do.

"Ji-woo's mom, you got concert tickets?"

"Ah, yes. I happened to get them, but…"

And it wasn't only Hye-gyeong who was flustered. Yeon-jae, watching Seo-ha weep as if her heart would break, was just as lost.

"There are only two tickets."

Yeon-jae added it carefully, her face troubled. And Ji-woo, who had been watching it all unfold, was no better. He'd only said it because Seo-ha had been bragging — he'd just wanted to try it once. He'd never meant to make her cry, and now he was thoroughly at a loss.

He sidled up to Yeon-jae, hesitant, and asked quietly,

"Mom, can't Seo-ha come with us too?"

Yeon-jae swallowed at the earnest plea in his eyes. She looked every bit as distressed as he did.

Mom, can't Seo-ha come with us too?

The child looking up at her with those impossible-to-refuse eyes. And as if she understood Yeon-jae's predicament, Hye-gyeong soothed Seo-ha, told her it was all right, and led her away.

But watching Seo-ha still crying as they left, Yeon-jae couldn't simply let it go — her heart sat too heavy for that. And yet asking Je-heon for extra tickets was difficult in its own right.

In the car on the way home, she turned the unsolvable dilemma over and over, until at last she parted her lips as if she'd made up her mind. It would be better, she thought, to tell him the truth.

"Ji-woo. About those tickets, actually."

He lifted his head at the voice that filled the quiet. Their gazes caught and held in the rearview mirror.

"Ahjussi gave them to us. Mom tried to get them herself, but as you know, that concert is so popular…"

She explained it to him carefully.

"Since Ahjussi gave us the tickets, Mom feels a little awkward asking him for Seo-ha's family too."

"……"

"I think we should just go to the concert ourselves. Would that be okay?"

The Ji-woo in the rearview mirror was silent for a long moment. Then, as if he'd understood what she was saying, he gave a small nod.

He remained quiet all the way home. Yeon-jae's car turned into the alley and pulled into the empty parking spot in front of the gate. After she parked, she got out of the driver's seat and went around to the back.

When she opened the door, the child came into view with his head hanging low. His shoulders sagged like a sponge heavy with water.

"Ji-woo."

Even at her voice, he only kept looking down. The uncharacteristically dark mood on him made her heart grow heavy for no reason she could name.

"Ji-woo, are you okay?"

When she asked it carefully, he slowly lifted his head. The corners of his eyes had sunk as low as his drooping shoulders.

"Mom, Ji-woo made Seo-ha cry… what do I do?"

His voice, turned toward her, had sunk all the way down. The child's dejected little figure left a bitter taste in her mouth. It wasn't a problem she could solve, and that made her heart heavier still.

The conference room was silent except for the presenter at the front. Je-heon's gaze, which had been on the screen, flicked toward his phone. He knew there was no one who would be contacting him, and yet his eyes kept drifting there anyway.

He tapped the stack of papers with the pen in his hand, then picked the phone up. After a few taps, the calendar opened. Today was packed solid. Tomorrow was packed solid. Because he had unreasonably extended the Daejeon trip, there were dozens of delayed meetings waiting for him. The foundation work was merely extra — he already held the Representative position at Gu-il headquarters. No matter how he looked at it, there was no slot in the workday he could clear.

He swallowed a dry laugh. He was this busy. This mentally occupied. Every hour of the day filled to the brim.

He had made time to go see her, and Jeong Yeon-jae had been busy refusing him, saying she was busy. Jeong Yeon-jae, who made coffee at the café without a moment to sit down, working straight through — and in the afternoon went off to teach at the academy. To meet her properly even once, he would have to have her skip her part-time shift. It was hard to believe she was every bit as busy as a company president.

That's why.

If the kid had a father — if he'd been a proper father — she wouldn't have to scrape by working two, three jobs a day.

"Why'd she have to get mixed up with some idiot of a bastard."

And live through that kind of hardship.

"Pardon?"

The presenter, who had been in the middle of his slides, stopped in surprise. When Je-heon looked up, every gaze in the room had turned toward him. They had all heard him mutter.

"Ah. Just talking to myself."

The presenter acknowledged it and tried to pick up where he'd left off. Je-heon loosened the necktie that had been choking him. And just as he was about to set down the phone that offered him nothing —

The screen lit with a vibration. An unknown number.

An unsaved number, calling his business phone. Ordinarily, it was a call he had no reason to take. But a vaguely familiar sequence of digits caught his eye.

"Let's take a short break."

Announcing a recess, he stood from his seat. As he left the conference room, he brought the phone to his ear. When he pressed the call button, a teary voice came through the receiver.

Even with the voice soaked through with tears like a waterlogged sponge, Je-heon knew at once who it was. He remembered, belatedly, that the unsaved number belonged to Ji-woo's kindergarten teacher.

A voice thick with crying. And behind it, the noisy white rush of children chattering, so that it was hard to hear. Je-heon's whole body went taut at the sudden call — at Ji-woo's weeping on the other end.

Is he hurt?

Or has something happened to Jeong Yeon-jae.

Countless thoughts flashed through him in a handful of seconds.

"Jeong Ji-woo. Don't cry. Tell me slowly."

A concert?

A concert had not been among the worst-case scenarios he had been spinning just moments ago. Je-heon's brow, furrowed to the extreme, eased slightly.

Through the receiver, Ji-woo explained the whole story. He'd been so happy about getting the tickets that he'd bragged to Seo-ha, and she had burst into tears at the fact that she couldn't go. And now, whenever she saw him at kindergarten, she turned away without a word. Yeon-jae had told him she couldn't help — there were only two tickets.

As room returned to his heart, his voice came out a little gentler. Making a girl cry over tickets, of all things.

He just needed to get more. That was all. Well — Jeong Yeon-jae didn't have that kind of power. This was something only he could do.

The corner of Je-heon's mouth loosened into a smile.