ALDA 05

  Episode-05

The Love That Must Die

A Woman Doomed to Die Anyway

The dismissal process at work was swift.

Director Song, ever the type to jump into her daughter’s relationship problems with both feet, acted decisively. The official reason for termination was “violation of workplace decorum,” but everyone knew there was more to it than that.

No one was unaware of the director’s long suffering at the hands of an unfaithful husband. She had fought desperately to make sure her daughter, Mijeong, would never endure the same pain she had.

So when a scandal nearly broke out involving her daughter’s fiancé and her secretary, it was something she simply could not forgive.

The more she had trusted Eunhee, the deeper her rage burned — a volcanic fury ready to erupt.

“You had the nerve to flirt with my daughter’s fiancé? Since when? Trash like you can never hide their lowborn roots. Disgusting.”

Eunhee realized then that there was no longer a place for her at the gallery.

Her boss’s mind was already poisoned with the image of her secretary having done something unspeakable with her future son-in-law.

After a perfunctory disciplinary meeting, Eunhee was dismissed — effectively thrown out.

* * *

A week had passed since the party.

Eunhee went to the hospital to hear the results of a test she’d taken a month ago.

After waiting about thirty minutes, she was called into the consultation room. Twenty minutes later, she came out — and sat down heavily on a waiting bench. The words the doctor had just spoken echoed in her ears like a high-pitched ringing.

“There’s a tumor growing in your brain.”

Ah…

She covered her collapsing face with both hands.

When she was first referred to the brain tumor center, she hadn’t given up hope. But reality, as always, betrayed her without mercy.

Twenty-four years old. People called that “the prime of youth,” didn’t they? Yet before I even had a chance to bloom, my roots were already rotting away.

A terrible numbness wrapped around her body. Her throat felt tight — even swallowing was painful.

Eunhee forced herself up and stumbled outside the hospital.

She sat at the bus stop.

One bus came, then another. She lost count of how many she’d let pass, just sitting there blankly.

Then, her blurred gaze lifted toward the street.

She watched a group of noisy people walk beneath a large roadside tree.

The plane tree’s leaves, now tinged with autumn, swayed gently in the breeze. Its slow, graceful dance made her pause.

Autumn was arriving. Soon winter would come. Another full cycle of seasons would pass.

Am I the only one skipping the seasons — going straight from spring to winter?

No, perhaps I was never even a sprouting seed to begin with. Just a rotten one that could never grow.

Malignant brain tumor. Three months left to live.

If she were lucky, maybe a month or two more — that’s what the doctor had said.

A bitter, humorless laugh slipped out.

It was so pitiful it almost made her laugh again. A searing sadness struck her chest like a molten hammer.

Eunhee closed her eyes, as if to seek comfort from the wind.

If only she could ride this wind away — let it carry her frail body to some nameless place, where she could quietly close her eyes in peace.

No thoughts. Just sleep. A long, long sleep.

Her heart began to calm. Another thought crept in through the cracks of her broken mind.

Maybe… ending this life quickly wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

Endless debt, no dreams, no future — maybe this was the fastest way out.

At the end of resignation, what she felt was not fear. Not sorrow.

It was a vague longing for eternal rest.

A faint smile touched her lips.

The dull afternoon air, thick with dust, settled softly over her lifeless face.

But that fragile peace shattered — broken by a small, childlike voice echoing in her head.

“Unnie, where are you going?”

And at once, she saw again the pale face and bright eyes of the little girl from that morning.

Eunji — so small for her age, almost fragile.

Every time Eunhee saw that tiny, neatly shaped face, she told herself the same thing: Don’t get attached. Don’t show affection beyond what’s necessary.

The child had been born from her father’s affair.

Her own mother — bedridden and sick — had died early, perhaps because of that child’s birth. Eunhee had always suspected as much.

Still, she had taken Eunji in. Out of moral obligation, nothing more.

If not for her, the girl would have ended up in an orphanage. And Eunhee had thought — at least I can do my duty as a human being.

“Can’t I come too?”

That morning, Eunji had whined unusually hard. Eunhee, as always, was cold. Her pleading had no effect.

“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m going to the hospital. Don’t follow me.”
“Why? Are you sick?”

Tears welled up in those big round eyes.

Seeing the girl worry for her was unbearable.

“Is Unnie sick because of me?”

I don’t even like you. I don’t even care for you.

“It’s not because of me… right?”

Why do you always worry about me, like that?

Why do you care so much, you little fool?

“I’m sorry, Unnie…”

Those clear eyes — like tiny glass beads — always bothered her.

If only that pleading gaze hadn’t looked so heartbreakingly pure.

If only that little face hadn’t looked quite so sad.

Then maybe—

“I’ll be good! I’ll cook for myself now! So please… don’t be sick, Unnie… uwaaah…”

Then maybe I wouldn’t have taken you in.

And now, at the end of everything, I wouldn’t be groveling like this.

Eunhee’s thin shoulders trembled.

Because of you.

It’s because of you that I can’t even die cleanly.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled her phone from her worn canvas bag. Her pale fingers trembled.

She found one name in her contacts and tapped it.

Park Mijeong.

The bright screen illuminated the three letters of her name. The dial tone rang.

“—Miss Sa Eunhee?”

Soon, Mijeong’s cheerful voice came through the receiver.

“…About that offer.”

Eunhee squeezed her eyes shut, taking a slow, deep breath.

Just a week ago, she’d been certain she’d never accept it.

If she’d known she’d change her mind this quickly, she might have left herself a little dignity. But that was too late now.

“If I… say yes…”

What did it matter what she had to do to get what she wanted?

Knowing her life was ending, she realized something — all those useless morals and responsibilities had only made her miserable.

When she remembered that today was the last day of the one-week grace period Mijeong had given her,

and that she’d just missed yet another bus home,

Eunhee reached her decision.

“Would you… pay in advance?”

A quiet sigh of pity came from the other end.

“Of course. I planned to pay a retainer upfront. How much do you need, Miss Sa?”

Eunhee’s lips felt dry as dust.

“How much… could you give me?”

Her eyes burned hot.

Two thin trails of tears slid down her cheeks without a sound.

* * *

The café was quiet in the afternoon.

Eunhee gave Park Mijeong’s name to the hostess at Café The Moon, located on the lobby floor of the H Hotel.

She was escorted immediately to a private room reserved for VIPs.

The closed space pressed on her chest. Eunhee took a deep breath.

Once she stepped through that door and faced Park Mijeong, there would be no turning back.

It meant crossing the river for good.

“Can you sleep with that man?”

That had been Mijeong’s request from the very beginning — clear and explicit.

What she wanted was evidence.

Evidence…

The thought made Eunhee shiver.

What on earth am I trying to do?

Even if I’m dying, is it really okay to throw myself into danger like this?

She clutched her chest, exhaling sharply.

And yet, the fact that she was hesitating now — on the verge of the contract — felt pathetic.

Then, in front of her, the heavy door handle began to turn slowly.