After Love Ends

"Breathe here! When there's a comma, take a pause—yes, just like that."

"........"

"When you switch over from 'Aaaah—,' open the sound more. Wide, with confidence! That's it!"

Following Professor Lee's coaching, the student's high notes stretched out and soared. Unlike the song racing toward its latter half, the sheet music before Yeon-jae's eyes remained parked at the beginning.

She didn't need to look at the score. Every note of the piece lived in her memory.

Vividly.

Yeon-jae opened her closed eyes. The fingers pressing down the final key slowly withdrew, and the accompaniment came to an end. The piece she had never been able to finish now concluded all too easily.

"Your sound has opened up a lot. Let's try it one last time."

The student nodded at Professor Lee's words. And as the cue dropped, Yeon-jae set her hands on the piano keys.

It was just as she struck the first note.

The fingers that, only moments ago, had been gliding freely across the keys began to lock up. In that instant, Yeon-jae's pupils trembled, unable to find their bearings.

It was a symptom that visited her from time to time when she played. A kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Her heart would race, and a tension would seize her so completely that her palms grew slick with sweat.

She didn't know why, but it had started after Je-heon's accident. She had thought it would get better once he woke up, but it had not been so easily cured.

Five years had passed since she left the foundation and came down to Daejeon, and through all that time Yeon-jae had tried with everything she had. Piano was the only thing she knew how to do, so she pressed the keys every single day. It was the only way she had to make a living. Still, through relentless effort, she could now at least manage accompaniment.

Before she knew it, she was clenching and unclenching her damp hands over and over.

"I'm sorry, Professor. And I'm sorry to you as well. My hands seized up..."

Even as she said it, she looked back and forth between Professor Lee and the student standing a few steps away. Bewilderment bloomed on the student's face—this was the first time they had seen Yeon-jae like this. It was understandable. The woman who had been accompanying just fine for a full hour of class had gone deathly pale, breaking out in a cold sweat.

Professor Lee, who seemed to have been saying something to the student, approached the piano.

"Yeon-jae, are you okay? Can you still play?"

Her eyes met Professor Lee's as the professor bent down. Worry colored the professor's voice, pitched so only she could hear.

Professor Lee lectured at a university in Daejeon and also ran private lessons for students preparing for university music entrance exams. She was a kind person who, despite knowing about Yeon-jae's occasional symptoms, still entrusted her with the accompaniment work.

Just one more piece and the lesson would be over. Yeon-jae clenched both fists. The symptoms weren't severe enough to be a real problem, at least.

"I'm fine. I'll just step out to the restroom."

"Alright. Go ahead."

Walking toward the restroom, Yeon-jae bit down on her lip. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the face that kept trying to invade her mind.

Yeon-jae was gathering the sheet music scattered across the piano. Fortunately, after her trip to the restroom, her stiffened hands had loosened, and she had been able to finish the accompaniment.

"I'm sorry about today, Professor. You had to extend the lesson because of me."

"Hmm? It's fine. It was only about five minutes."

Professor Lee waved a hand, telling her not to worry about it. Even if it was only five minutes, it was hard to shake the feeling that she had been a burden. There were plenty of accompanists who could replace her, and that made her all the more sorry that Professor Lee still called on her.

"Still... I'm always grateful. You've been so considerate of me."

"Come on. We've known each other for years. You're going to make me embarrassed. You heading straight to pick up Ji-woo?"

Whether she was truly embarrassed or not, Professor Lee changed the subject, and Yeon-jae finally smiled.

"Yes, that's the plan."

The watch on her wrist already pointed to four o'clock. She needed to pick him up at five, when his after-school class ended.

"Aigoo, working moms are amazing. I respect you. I couldn't do it—that's why my husband and I are DINKs."

"It's thanks to the after-school music class. Without that, it would've been hard for me too."

"Right. You need something like that. Oh, that's right—are you free to accompany next Saturday? The student can only do weekends."

"Saturday... would it be alright if I brought Ji-woo along?"

"Of course. It'll be nice to see Ji-woo after so long."

Weekends were her date days with her son, but it was hard to refuse Professor Lee, who was always so considerate of her circumstances. And she was in a position where every penny counted. That was why, when she worked on weekends, she often brought Ji-woo along.

Perhaps because they came together so often now, the child would sit quietly in his place while his mother worked. He was five years old—an age when he should have wanted to run around and throw tantrums. Raising him alone, Yeon-jae was truly grateful for that.

"Then I'll see you Saturday, Professor."

Yeon-jae gathered her bag and made to leave. Professor Lee walked her to the entrance and said, as she saw her off,

"To think Ji-woo is already five. How about putting him on the piano? He's got talent."

"............"

"YouTube, is it? I heard the views on there were insane, and foundations left and right want to sponsor him. Why won't you do it?"

At the word piano, a shadow fell across Yeon-jae's face. And slowly, Ji-woo's image took shape before her eyes.

She had been folding laundry on the drying rack when a melody drifted over the threshold of the bedroom. A child who had only just learned to read Hangul was pressing piano keys without any sheet music—on a piano that was little more than a piece of junk. It wasn't even tuned, a complete mess, and yet the notes blooming from Ji-woo's small fingers were precise.

Absolute pitch.

And that wasn't all. The child was instinctively mimicking the habits of the performer on TV. Had she herself been able to sight-read that piece at that age? Having spent her entire life pressing keys, Yeon-jae couldn't help but recognize it immediately. That her child was a born genius. More than herself. No—perhaps even more than her teacher, Pyo Myeong-hee.

"That's... I'm still thinking about it. Music isn't an easy path, you know."

"Still, most people go through life not even knowing what they're good at. Knowing and still not letting that talent bloom—that's an unhappy life. At least give it a try."

As always, whenever the conversation turned to Ji-woo, Yeon-jae grew uncomfortable. So she wrapped it up as best she could, offering an awkward smile as she stepped outside.

Once outside, a bitter taste lingered at the corners of her mouth as the autumn wind brushed her cheeks. The word talent pressed down on Yeon-jae with a heavy weight.

The fact that Ji-woo possessed a heaven-sent gift for the piano was no different from a poison slowly consuming the child. Why did my child have to be given this devil's talent? If he had been born into a wealthy family, he could have pursued his dreams to his heart's content. A genius born into a poor household could only be unhappy. The years she had spent learning piano under sponsorship—Yeon-jae had felt that truth in her very bones.

The dozen-odd years she had spent as a sponsoree of the Gu-il Foundation had been like hell. A genius pianist raised by the foundation. A foundation of hope that nurtured the dreams of children from marginalized classes. It was all a lie. The sponsorees were subjected to constant verbal abuse and treated worse than the dogs they kept.

Yeon-jae bit down on her lip as the old memories surged up before her eyes.

Her son, Jeong Ji-woo, had played the piano in his after-school class. A video of Ji-woo's playing had been uploaded to YouTube, and somehow that video had gone viral. After that, recruitment offers from numerous foundations had poured in.

Yeon-jae had never once accepted any of those countless invitations. It was all because of the memories she had grown up with. She did not want her son—the child she wouldn't let a speck of dust touch—to relive those horrific experiences. She had thought that if she just refused them all, that would be the end of it. But an email that had arrived a few days ago had shoved Yeon-jae into anxiety.

The name Gu-il Foundation brought Myeong-hee to mind. When she had opened the email, her hands had trembled so badly she nearly dropped her phone—the fear that the mere existence of Pyo Myeong-hee inspired was still as potent as ever. Even though five years had passed since she had left the Gu-il family and come to Daejeon.

As she thought of Gu-il again, Yeon-jae placed a hand over the pounding in her chest. It's okay. They won't know anyway. That Ji-woo is Gu Je-heon's blood. There is no chance that she and Ji-woo will ever be tied to that family again. If this connection just passes them by, that will be enough.

Muttering that to herself, she climbed into the driver's seat of her parked car. She was about to set the navigation when she spotted a familiar number calling.