The Silent Phone Call
So-yeon knew everyone around her was watching her every move. They understood her situation, yet it was only natural for resentment to build when her circumstances piled more work onto the team. Still, they couldn't bring themselves to treat her coldly, not with everything she was going through, so they settled for these careful, sidelong glances. So-yeon understood that too. Which was why she could no longer afford to be selfish.
She stared at the monitor with dull, half-dead eyes. Her hand moved across the mouse without conscious thought. She tried to focus on her assigned tasks, truly she did, but it was impossible. It felt as though something inside her was burning into black ash. Her mind was consumed by the phone call from her daughter. The police had suggested it might have been a mistake. In her desperation, they said, she had convinced herself a prank call was her daughter's voice. It wasn't funny. Did they truly believe that? Did they think a mother wouldn't recognize her own child's voice?
No. It had been So-hee's voice. She couldn't explain where her daughter was, how she had called, or why the number had been restricted, just as the police had questioned. But that voice—there was no mistaking it. That much she knew with absolute certainty.
She let out a long sigh. Eyes squeezed shut, she was dragging her hand down her face when her phone rang. She flinched violently. Hope surging, she snatched it up. Personal calls were forbidden during work hours, but she didn't care. If this was So-hee again, nothing else mattered.
But...
The voice wasn't her daughter's.
It was her ex-husband.
During lunch, So-yeon met her ex-husband at the park near the company for the first time in years. He looked exactly the same. She had noticed it even when they were dating—he had no idea how to present himself. Here he was, meeting his former wife after so long, dressed in shabby clothes with a beard growing wild and unkempt. Behind his round glasses, his eyes looked utterly exhausted. He was a writer. A novelist with little popularity to speak of.
An awkward silence settled between them. For a moment So-yeon wondered how she had ever loved this shabby, introverted man. Had she simply been young? Had her lack of experience with men made him seem better than he was? He really was such a pathetic person. And yet, back then, she had loved him. Yes, back then.
So-yeon asked first. Jun-hee flinched, then offered a bitter smile.
"I see."
Of course. It was always the same. Even before the divorce he had said the same thing, offering endless excuses about why today the writing wouldn't flow, why today was especially difficult. He missed deadlines constantly, then dumped all that stress onto her. With work like that, it was no wonder few readers cared for his stories. As a result, he contributed nothing financially, and So-yeon had carried the household expenses alone. Love alone could not sustain them. After their child was born, the emotional distance only grew wider. The very moment So-hee came into the world, the rift deepened beyond repair, until divorce became inevitable.
She had expected nothing from him. Not even child support—she knew he had no means to pay it. Instead, she had proposed a quiet divorce in exchange for full custody. Jun-hee had agreed. The proceedings moved faster than expected. Now, she no longer harbored any real hatred toward him. He didn't seem to resent her either. Perhaps he was too busy blaming his own inadequacy.
So-yeon's body jerked. She didn't want to answer. Head lowered, her fingers plucked nervously at the hem of her clothes. When they divorced, all she had wanted was custody. She had believed she must raise her daughter herself, that it was the only right choice for So-hee's future. But now she wondered whether that decision had been a terrible mistake. In the end, she had failed to protect her.
"No! That's not it at all."
When So-yeon's voice sharpened, Jun-hee waved his hands frantically.
So-yeon glared at him. Only that? A hollow laugh escaped her as she turned her head away in irritation. Of course she understood his heart. She knew he hadn't called to condemn her. Just as he said, he was worried. Worried more about her than about their daughter. Knowing that only made her respond more curtly. Having her ex-husband worry about her wounded her pride, and her own pathetic state disgusted her even more.
She had demanded the divorce with such confidence. She had believed she could raise their daughter alone and do it well. Yet she had accomplished nothing. The shame of her failure made her lash out at Jun-hee. Suddenly she realized her behavior was no different from his back then. In the end, she was the same kind of person.
Jun-hee kept his head bowed. Even that reaction irritated her. Everything he did seemed to highlight her own worthlessness. If he was so worried, why hadn't he done better before? Why hadn't he shown them warmth? Back then he had ignored both her and their child, glued to his computer every day. So why now, of all times...
She couldn't stand to be near him any longer. In her current state they would only fight. She would pour out endless resentment and wound him again. She didn't want that. She was already pathetic enough without hurting others and making everything more miserable.
Jun-hee kept repeating I'm sorry in a helpless voice. She had no strength left for arguments.
His quiet voice followed her as she walked away without answering. She returned to the office in silence.
As expected, she couldn't focus on work. She simply stared at the monitor. Tasks were piled mountain-high, yet her mind had gone completely blank. The phone call from So-hee still filled every corner of her thoughts. Meeting her ex-husband that morning had only tangled her emotions further.
The team leader had appeared behind her at some point. His face was full of concern.
This was the first time he had called her aside personally. So-yeon hesitated, then nodded. She followed him to the break room. He prepared two cups of capsule coffee and handed her one. She accepted it awkwardly, watching him. He took a sip of the warm drink, then spoke with obvious regret.
"Ah... that..."
Why was everyone asking about it today? So-yeon paused, fingers tracing the warm cup.
She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the call that sounded like So-hee. The team leader nodded, sighing as he sipped his coffee. He seemed to be struggling with something he wanted to say. So-yeon kept her head lowered in silence. Several minutes passed before he finally spoke.
"What?"
"But... I still have so many tasks left... Ah..."
So-yeon couldn't finish. Understanding dawned too late. She was no longer helpful. Perhaps she had even become a burden. The team leader's words were not truly about rest. This was a polite way of suggesting she resign. Her lips pressed tightly together. She could say nothing, only lower her head. The team leader seemed genuinely sorry for having to say it. He kept sighing, sipping his coffee, stealing awkward glances at her.