The Son's Warmth
The mother and son smiled at each other across the crosswalk. It was a happy family. Even though she had raised him without a father, he had grown into a bright and kind young man. He had become an adult and gone off to college. This was a meaningful day—the first time they had seen each other in a long while.
The meeting spot wasn’t far. The mother had arrived first, and her son was approaching from nearby.
Mother and son, smiling at one another with the crosswalk between them. After the semester had ended, this was a precious stretch of time during his vacation. The son waved his hand playfully. The mother simply smiled at his adorable antics.
The red light turned green. The son, eager to reach his mom, began to walk. He was in his early twenties—not a small child anymore.
He was simply a son who wanted to see his mother after a long time apart.
The screech of tires tore through the air.
It happened so fast it made them forget there was even a crosswalk ahead. The car came racing forward and slammed into the young man in the blink of an eye.
“Ah… aah…?”
The mother’s eyes went hollow. And then—
“Heuk! Heuk! Ha, aah… keuk, heuk…”
A dark hospital room. The faint glow of a single bulb announced that it was the middle of the night. She had fallen asleep slumped over, and now her entire body screamed in protest. The pain in her joints and lower back was beyond description.
Yet from the middle-aged woman came not cries of physical pain, but deep, wrenching sobs. How could any bodily agony compare to a mother’s grief over losing her child?
“Ugh… my son… I’m sorry. Mom is… so sorry.”
If only she hadn’t called him out that day. If only she had shouted for him to be careful, just once. If only she had crossed first. If only it had been her lying in that bed instead.
The person who had devoted half her life to raising him now blamed herself entirely. How long had she been tormented by that guilt?
She picked up her smartphone with trembling hands and began typing a message.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
“It… it feels like this is all my fault.”
The first-floor café of the hospital was quiet, thanks to its spacious layout. Kim Tae-min, Ji Hyo-rin, and the woman who had driven them away the day before sat together.
Ji Hyo-rin let out a small sigh of relief. It was fortunate the guardian had changed her mind. As someone still in her probationary period, she was busy enough just trying to read the room.
“If I hadn’t asked him to come there that day…”
“This isn’t your fault, ma’am.”
“Ah…”
It was a line anyone might say. But to her, it was exactly what she needed to hear. She hung her head, tears streaming down her face.
“Our Ji-ho… he can’t be saved, can he?”
“We still aren’t certain it’s brain death.”
“I’ve seen people in vegetative states wake up on TV…”
The guardian clung to her final sliver of hope. The kind of miracle that happened in movies or dramas—couldn’t it happen for her too?
But Kim Tae-min had no choice but to deliver the cold truth. Brain death and a vegetative state were not the same. Brain death meant the brain had ceased all function; the patient could not breathe on their own.
It was determined only after multiple examinations and three separate rounds of rigorous testing. The cruel reality was—
“You can’t… know for sure?”
“That’s correct. We’ll only know after running the tests.”
“What if I consent and it turns out not to be brain death?”
“Then the process naturally stops.”
The Korean Organ Donation Organization did not have a long history. Founded in 2009, it had stumbled through countless mistakes and growing pains. It was slowly improving through systematic changes.
“I understand. I’ll sign the papers.”
“Thank you for making such a difficult, precious decision.”
After the consent forms were completed, Kim Tae-min and Ji Hyo-rin got into the car. The most painful forty-eight hours the world had to offer were about to begin.
“Will everything be all right?”
“I don’t know…”
The forty-eight hours weren’t a guaranteed window for every procedure. While the tests were underway, there was always the chance the guardian might change her mind.
It wasn’t that the guardian was at fault. Organ donation was a truly noble sacrifice and an incredibly difficult decision. It was something only the living could do. And so the most agonizing time of all dragged on.
The following day.
“Yes, a CT scan… Understood.”
“Wh-what is this? What are they doing to our Ji-ho?”
“Ma’am, these are tests requested by MM Hospital.”
Kim Tae-min calmly explained the situation. Once donor consent was finalized, an AI system selected the top-priority recipients.
Typically, one brain-dead patient’s organs could save three lives.
At that point, the recipients’ hospitals would request various tests and medications. After brain death was confirmed, preparations for transplant would begin. For a guardian who had barely found the courage to agree, each new procedure was another stab of pain.
“Yes, I’ll pass that along to the professor. Of course.”
“Ah…”
Please. Kim Tae-min bowed his head deeply. At her word, everything halted. The families who had become priority recipients now faced an endless wait.
For the sake of another miracle, he asked for her understanding once again. Kim Ji-ho. Her son.
Tears fell between the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her trembling hands gently stroked the son who lay sleeping in the hospital bed.
“He’s still… warm. My son… he’s so warm.”
“…That’s why this is possible.”
“Ah… aah… aaaaa…”
Mom, I volunteered at the hospital today. Seeing those sick kids… I didn’t like it.
The tears she thought had run dry began flowing again. Such warm hands. Such a warm body. A son whose body heat could still be felt. This lovable child…
She made up her mind. If it was his fate to leave her, then she would scatter the seeds of his good deeds, just as he would have wanted.
“Do every test that’s needed.”
“…Thank you.”
Kim Tae-min offered his sincere gratitude. Her noble choice would save lives. Even now, she continued gently stroking her son’s hair.
Once the two coordinators stepped outside, they began handling the remaining procedures.
“…That’s a relief.”
“It really is.”
It was a good outcome. Yet the hollow feeling in their hearts—wasn’t that the unavoidable burden carried by those who worked on Middle?
“Cut!”
Today’s filming had come to an end. Time had passed, and April had arrived. Outside, the world was filled with the joys of spring.
Of course, Woo Dan-wol was still completely immersed in his acting. Still, even he needed rest. He had spent the weekend planted on the couch at home, watching television.
“Noona.”
“Y-yes?!”
“Is everything okay? Nothing uncomfortable?”
“N-no, I’m fine…”
Han Da-sol sat as stiffly as a new recruit. They were in the living room. This wasn’t an intimate moment facing each other in a bedroom, nor were they watching a romantic melodrama in a charged atmosphere.
“Hahaha.”
It was a ten-million-viewer film—a comedy drama. Woo Dan-wol laughed naturally while watching the screen, but the woman sitting beside him couldn’t focus on the movie at all.
How had things turned out like this? When he had casually asked if she wanted to come over, she had answered without thinking. She had assumed he was joking like usual.
Who could have guessed it would lead to this? If there had been other family members present it might have been different, but she had come to the house where Woo Dan-wol lived alone. Even though he dominated the entertainment industry, it was still an incredible honor.
Thankfully, the sound of her swallowing nervously was quieter than the movie. Han Da-sol stole an awkward glance at him. Since they were at home, he wore comfortable clothes. Woo Dan-wol in a light, flowing cardigan looked every bit the ideal handsome man.
“Hmm… Want some ramen?”
Seeing ramen appear on screen, he spoke up. Of course, Han Da-sol—who hadn’t been paying attention to the film at all—practically jumped out of her seat.
“Wh-wh-wh-what?!”
“Ramen. I’m going to make some. Do you want any?”
“Ah…”
Once again, only I took it seriously. Feeling strangely down, Han Da-sol answered that she would have some. Woo Dan-wol tilted his head in mild confusion before standing and heading to the kitchen.
She had gotten her hopes up alone, misunderstood everything alone, and now her heart felt tangled. Han Da-sol let out a deep sigh.
“The emotions are pretty heavy, huh?”
“Huh? Yeah… it’s a bit tough.”
How did he know? Han Da-sol answered with a guilty expression. Of course, their conversation had crossed paths again. A subjectless exchange like this was simply their daily life.
“The overall tone of the piece is… well, you know?”
“Ah! Y-yeah, exactly…”
She had misunderstood again. If Woo Dan-wol hadn’t been watching, Han Da-sol would have smacked herself on the forehead. The depth of her self-reproach brought out yet another sigh. Nevertheless, their conversation flowed without pause.
She was hiding her true feelings, and Woo Dan-wol genuinely enjoyed talking with her. Their values regarding acting were similar, and their exchange was sincere.
“Still, I think it’ll turn out really well, don’t you?”
“Yeah…”
Though the story contained many heavy and painful moments, the small instances of growth and the heartwarming comedic elements made it a truly rewarding piece to perform.
The ramen was ready. Han Da-sol walked to the kitchen to help, saying thank you. Even if she was the guest, basic courtesy demanded she at least set the table after he had cooked.
Once everything was set, they began eating. The moment the delicious broth touched her tongue, Han Da-sol’s mood lifted considerably. It was just instant ramen—why did it taste so good?
“This is… really delicious.”
“Right? I’m actually pretty confident in my ramen game.”
“You seem skilled at cooking in general.”
“It’s more of a hobby, but…”
Time to eat properly! Woo Dan-wol was about to dig in when his phone began to ring.
It was Lee Hye-ri.
"Hey, Dan-wol. Are you busy right now?"
“…Hello?”
"Hey, Dan-wol. Are you busy right now?"
“No, I’m with Da-sol noona right now.”
"On the weekend…?"
“Yes. We’re just at home… having a meal…”
Had the call dropped? When no response came from the other end, Woo Dan-wol tilted his head in confusion. Was something wrong?