Chapter 31: The Realization

1499 - Minji age 8, Jinwoo age 6

The realization came to Hyeon on an ordinary afternoon.

He was in his study, reviewing administrative documents, when he heard laughter from the garden—Jisoo’s laugh, warm and genuine, followed by the children’s delighted shrieks.

Without thinking, he rose and went to the window.

Jisoo was chasing both children through the garden, her formal robes hitched up in a way that would scandalize court ladies, her hair coming loose from its pins. Minji was shrieking with laughter, dodging behind trees. Jinwoo was trying to protect his sister while also trying not to get caught himself.

“You can’t catch us, Mama!” Minji shouted.

“We’ll see about that!” Jisoo lunged, catching Jinwoo and tickling him until he dissolved into giggles.

Minji tried to rescue her brother, and suddenly all three of them were on the ground, laughing in a tangle of limbs and joy.

Hyeon watched them, his heart full.

And then the thought came, clear and undeniable:

I’m completely happy.

Not managing. Not coping. Not making the best of difficult circumstances.

Completely, genuinely, deeply happy.

The realization should have been simple. But it carried weight because of what came next:

I can’t love a dead person—they can’t love me back.

The Understanding

Hyeon sat back down slowly, processing the thought.

Jiwon was gone. Had been gone for nearly nine years. He still loved her—would always love her, would always treasure the memories of their time together.

But she couldn’t love him back. Couldn’t laugh with him, couldn’t raise their children, couldn’t be present in his daily life, couldn’t hold him when he was sad or celebrate when he was happy.

She was memory. Precious, beloved memory. But only memory.

Jisoo was here. Warm and alive and real. Laughing with their children in the garden. Sharing his bed at night. Offering counsel on difficult decisions. Being present in a thousand small ways every single day.

Jisoo loved him. Actively, presently, in ways that mattered to his daily existence.

And he loved her back. Not as an echo of what he’d felt for Jiwon. Not as second-best or replacement. But as a complete, real, valuable love in its own right.

It wasn’t that he’d stopped loving Jiwon. His heart hadn’t replaced one woman with another.

Instead, his heart had grown. Had made room for both. Had learned that you could honor the past while fully embracing the present.

You can’t love a dead person—they can’t love you back.

But you could love a living person. You could build a life with them. You could create new memories, new joys, new reasons to wake up each morning with hope instead of dread.

And that was what he’d done with Jisoo.

The Conversation

That evening, after the children were asleep, Hyeon asked Jisoo to walk with him in the garden.

The night was clear, stars bright overhead, the air cool but pleasant.

“Is something wrong?” Jisoo asked, sensing his serious mood.

“No. Nothing’s wrong. I just ... I had a realization today. And I wanted to talk to you about it.”