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Epilogue (2)
Epilogue (2)
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They were born on the same day, at the same hour—twins whose fates diverged the moment they drew their first breaths.
The firstborn arrived fierce and fighting. Yuna came into the world with a robust cry that filled the delivery room, her small fists clenched, her lungs demanding recognition. Within moments, she was searching for warmth, for nourishment, for life itself.
Her brother followed two minutes later.
Yujin’s cry was barely a whisper.
Jina held him only once—a single, fleeting moment after birth before the nurses swept him away to the incubator. That image remained burned into her memory: his tiny form swaddled in white, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uncertain breaths. She never saw him again.
A few days later, just before her discharge, Ian came to her with careful words and gentle hands.
Yujin had died two days prior.
The floor rose up to meet her. Or perhaps she fell. Jina couldn’t tell which.
These were her children. Her children. Born from her body and the man she loved more than breathing.
Conceived during those golden weeks in Scotland, when the world had narrowed to just the two of them. They’d loved that wild, windswept country so fiercely they’d stayed until her belly was round and heavy, returning to London only when birth was imminent.
Jina remembered everything.
The moment she’d learned she was pregnant—the joy that had flooded through her, through Ian, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The way they’d laughed and held each other, already imagining tiny hands and first steps.
She remembered watching her body change, feeling them move inside her. She’d whispered to them in the quiet hours, made promises about the life she would give them. What they would learn. How they would play. The future she would lay at their feet like an offering.
All of it remained vivid in her mind, sharp-edged and aching.
Those months in Kno Diag had been otherworldly in their beauty. Nearly half a year spent in their own private universe, where nothing existed beyond the two of them and the children growing between them. They’d looked only at each other, loved only each other, existed only for each other.
She could still hear his voice whispering promises against her skin—how they would return to that place someday, all four of them together, when the children were old enough to run through the heather…
Jina swallowed the grief rising in her throat and reached out to touch the cold marble.
Even among the elegant monuments scattered throughout the cemetery, this one commanded attention. The sculpture and headstone were magnificent—a masterwork of light and shadow, grief rendered in stone.
Ian had commissioned it from the finest sculptor in Europe. A tribute to the son who had lived for only two days. The piece had become famous in its own right. Art students made pilgrimages to study it.
The sculpture depicted Yujin as a baby angel, wings folded, eyes closed in eternal peace.
Jina leaned her head against Ian’s chest.
His arms came around her immediately, one hand moving to stroke her shoulder in that rhythmic, comforting way he’d perfected over the years. They stood together in silence, mourning the child who had barely touched the world before leaving it.
“Achoo!”
Behind them, Yuna—who’d been running circles around the headstones with boundless energy—let out a small sneeze.
“Yuna, are you cold?”
“N-no! I’m not cold at all!”
The child flapped her arms like a bird trying to prove she could fly. Her cheeks were flushed pink from running, and a tiny droplet clung to the tip of her nose—she hadn’t bothered to wipe it away.
Ian offered his handkerchief without a word.
Jina gently cleaned her daughter’s face, then glanced at him. “We should go. We’ll be late for the party.”
“Already?”
She visited this grave at least once a month. On the twins’ birthday, she usually stayed for hours. Today felt different.
“We’re already late.” Her voice was soft, but firm. “We can come back tomorrow.”
Ian hesitated, something flickering across his face. Then he smiled—small and tinged with sorrow. “I’ll stay a bit longer. Talk to Yujin for a while. You go ahead.”
Perhaps he understood. Perhaps he was grateful she didn’t have to feel guilty for leaving their son to care for their daughter.
Jina pressed a kiss to his cheek and took Yuna’s hand, leading her back toward the car.
As soon as they disappeared from view, silence settled over the cemetery like a shroud.
Ian stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the monument before him.
It truly was magnificent. Even to his eyes—eyes that had once understood nothing of human artistry—it was undeniably a masterpiece.
Magnificent.
There had been a time when he couldn’t comprehend humanity’s obsession with such things. Beautiful. Ugly. Exquisite. Inferior. The words had been meaningless noise.
Now he understood perfectly.
And he was grateful this beautiful lie could soothe Jina’s grief.
“If I could,” he murmured, “I’d commission ten more.”
The thought was absurd, of course.
There couldn’t be ten graves.
He moved closer, standing over the flat stone set into the earth. The epitaph was simple. The dates carved there spanned only two days—a life barely begun before it ended.
Ian stepped onto the stone and tapped it lightly with the toe of his shoe.
Everyone believed a child’s small body lay beneath.
He tapped again, feeling the hollow echo vibrate up through his leg.
A smile curved his lips.
“You truly were the best, Yujin.” His voice was rich with sincerity, warm as summer wine. “I’ll never meet another child like you.”
He ran his tongue slowly across his lips.
As if savoring something delicious.
When Ian returned to the car, the driver pulled away from the cemetery and headed toward their next destination—a grand hotel near the Thames.
It was the same hotel where Jina had worked years ago, before their lives had tangled together.
The car glided to a stop at the entrance. Doormen rushed forward to open the doors. The moment the family of three stepped out, camera flashes erupted like lightning, fierce and blinding.
Other hotel guests, drawn by the commotion, peered outside to catch a glimpse of whoever commanded more attention than most celebrities.
A tourist from overseas pulled out his phone and leaned toward someone else taking photos. “Who are they? Everyone’s taking pictures.”
“The Chairman of Aylesford Group and his family.”
“Ah.”
The tourist nodded in recognition.
Even if he didn’t know their faces, he knew the name. Aylesford Group—the distribution empire that had expanded from Europe to dominate markets across the globe.
He’d read about the former chairman’s death from illness and old age. About the unexpectedly young grandson who’d taken the reins of the company.
But the stories about the Chairman and his wife were even more famous.
The woman had been hired as his private chef—the only one who could satisfy his impossibly refined palate. Somehow, that professional arrangement had transformed into one of the world’s most celebrated Cinderella stories.
Despite their differences in race, background, and status, despite predictions of an inevitable divorce, they remained breathtakingly devoted to each other year after year.
They say she’s the one desperate to hold onto him, the tourist thought, watching the Chairman adjust his wife’s coat with meticulous care, his hand lingering at her shoulder.
But anyone with eyes could see the truth.
The man was the one who couldn’t let go.
The moment they entered the venue, every head turned.
The most important guests of the evening had finally arrived.
By the time they’d greeted everyone who approached them, Yuna’s boredom was written plainly across her small face.
Last year’s event had been a formal seated dinner with multiple courses and endless speeches. This year was different.
“I heard they’re holding an auction tonight.”
“What items? Do you think any of the late Chairman’s wife’s jewelry will be included?”
“Unlikely. Remember when she tried to donate a pair of earrings to charity? The Chairman was so displeased the item was withdrawn. It became quite the scandal.”
“Then what’s being auctioned?”
“An old manuscript discovered in Scotland. I’m not sure if it’s literary or historical, but apparently it’s significant enough that representatives from the National Library and several regional institutions are here to bid.”
“Hmm. Not particularly interesting.”
“It’s likely something the Chairman wants. From what I’ve observed, he’ll probably acquire it and donate it to one of the libraries his wife sponsors.”
While guests speculated in low voices, Jina made her way to the lounge area overlooking the main hall.
It was a private space reserved for the most elite guests—even among the VIP section—offering a panoramic view of the ballroom below.
She leaned against the railing, gazing down at the glittering crowd, and glanced at Ian beside her. “Aren’t you going down?”
“Why would I go down when you’re here?”
His tone was matter-of-fact, as if the answer was obvious.
Jina’s lips curved into a soft smile.
Seven years since their wedding. Eight years together, if she counted the year they’d spent navigating each other before the pregnancy.
In all that time, Ian had never once looked away from her when they were in the same room.
As if she might vanish the moment he blinked.
That intensity—the way his attention never wavered—drew constant comment. Other women told her how fortunate she was, how enviable, to have a husband still so consumed by love.
Jina agreed with them.
Ian’s attention was overwhelming. His love was all-encompassing.
Excessive, even.
Except for his business trips—those stretches when he was away for weeks—his advances were nearly constant. Daily. Sometimes more than once.
Even yesterday, he’d pressed into her as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hands spreading her thighs apart without hesitation.
Eight years together. After childbirth. After so much time, it should have become routine.
But accepting him still required something from her. A surrender. A giving-in.
Perhaps because his style hadn’t changed—driving into her until she was breathless and gasping, pushing her to the edge before he allowed himself release.
And yet, there had been no other children.
He was meticulous about protection. Always a condom, used without fail.
Occasionally her body would shift, symptoms appearing that mimicked early pregnancy. But after a long, deep sleep, she would wake to find everything returned to normal. As if nothing had happened.
I thought I was relieved.
Each time she confirmed she wasn’t pregnant, an unconscious sigh of relief would escape her. And immediately after—confusion. Why relief instead of disappointment?
No matter how long she turned it over in her mind, she couldn’t find an answer.
The counselor had suggested it was trauma. That Yujin’s death had left a psychological scar that manifested as fear of another pregnancy.
But Jina couldn’t agree with that assessment.
It didn’t feel true.
She studied Ian now, her gaze tracing the familiar lines of his profile.
He was a man who had treated her well since the beginning.
No—“well” was an insult to what he’d given her. He moved through the world as if his sole purpose was to lay everything at her feet. As if denying her anything would cause him physical pain.
Whatever she desired appeared in her hands. He knew her preferences better than she knew them herself—ordering food she hadn’t realized she was craving, anticipating needs before she voiced them.
And he wasn’t devoted only to her.
Yuna, their daughter who looked so much like Jina it sometimes stole her breath, received the same unwavering devotion. Ian was an extraordinary father. Patient. Attentive. Present.
So much so that friends and acquaintances, watching him with Yuna, had confessed they’d been inspired to have another child.
His love was a globally recognized, undeniable truth. The man had given her the world, a life built on obsession and adoration.
And yet, why.