Chapter 19
A Child’s First Hero Is Always Their Dad
Lizzie’s eyes widened.
Her husband rushed in, and the man who had been holding her collapsed, bleeding. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Like an autumn leaf blown off by the wind, a person fell.
She was startled. Not exactly scared—just shocked.
There really are people in this world who can lift a man that big so easily. She had never seen anything like it before.
It was her first time seeing a person fly through the air. He hadn’t even thrown him with effort. With a casual swing of his arm, like tossing a piece of wood, the man went flying.
When Juhwan swung his fist, it felt like the person hit would sink into the ground. A human face flattening like that—her mouth stayed open, unable to close. It felt like watching a dream, not reality.
She thought he was gentle, like someone who didn’t even know how to get angry. But now she realized—he could become terrifyingly furious.
Still, if she had to say what was truly frightening, it was when those men had dragged her away earlier. Watching Juhwan beat them was only shocking.
There was just one moment when she felt afraid of him.
When he turned to look at her. Right before their eyes met, as he had been throwing the men around—just for that brief instant, she wondered if she might be hit like them too.
Her dead husband’s face had already faded from memory. She had only seen it for about an hour—and even then, while being beaten—so now she barely remembered it.
Maybe he looked a little like Dorothy. But even when she stared at the child’s face, she couldn’t recall her husband’s at all. Dorothy must resemble her real mother. It seemed that way.
But the memory of being beaten was vivid. The fists and feet that had battered her face and body—those memories overlapped with the present, making her body stiffen for a moment.
Yes, just that one moment when Juhwan turned to her—she had been a little afraid.
But when she looked into his eyes, she understood.
This person is different.
Completely different from the husband who beat her, from the village men who tried to drag her away. His eyes were different. His face was different. The way he touched her was different.
This person… protects me.
That was the first thought that came to her mind when she saw his eyes.
So how could she be afraid?
But she realized Juhwan thought otherwise. It wasn’t something logical—she just knew. He thought she was afraid of him.
That couldn’t be true.
The man who had just mercilessly beaten those rough men now shrank back when he looked at her. Why would someone like her—a worthless wife—frighten him so much? And yet, his large body seemed to shrink because of her.
She could tell, even if she couldn’t see it.
Sir… husband. Please don’t look so hurt. I’m not afraid of you at all.
It would have been easy to say it out loud—but they couldn’t understand each other’s language.
Lizzie tried to walk toward him, but her feet wouldn’t move. Only then did she realize her whole body was trembling.
Strange. Everything frightening had already passed. There was nothing left to fear—so why was she shaking like this?
Maybe that’s why he thought she was scared.
The thought startled her. That wasn’t it at all. She felt relieved—because he had come like the wind and saved her. But none of that was reaching him.
Lizzie raised her trembling arm and reached out to him.
“Juhwan!”
At her call, Juhwan looked slightly surprised, then hesitantly approached. Standing right in front of her, he carefully took her hand—so gently, as if touching a snowflake that might melt.
Lizzie held his hand tightly. His large hand was big enough to completely envelop hers. This big hand had protected her.
As his warmth spread to her, her body and heart relaxed. It felt like being wrapped in warm air.
Ah… if I’m with this person, I’m safe. No one can hurt me.
The tears she had held back suddenly poured out. Juhwan, still holding her hand, looked flustered, glancing around.
“Thank you.”
As she said it, she lowered her head and pressed her lips to his hand. Her heart overflowed. She was so glad she had met him. So grateful that he was her husband.
Like a spring welling up from deep inside, her feelings kept flowing toward him through their joined hands.
He seemed startled by her tears. His body stiffened, then he gently pulled his hand free and embraced her. He patted her back softly.
“Lizzie… thank you.”
The words he had barely learned slipped quietly from his lips.
Why was he thanking her? She was the one who should be grateful.
As she thought that, Lizzie suddenly gasped.
Dorothy.
She had forgotten about the child. Dorothy must have been terribly frightened.
Lifting her head and looking toward the house, she saw Dorothy’s face peeking out the window. Only her eyes were visible—big eyes filled with tears and fear.
Lizzie gently pulled away from Juhwan’s arms. Pointing at Dorothy, she saw him nod in understanding, looking at the child with concern.
Lizzie hurried inside.
Dorothy, standing by the window, only turned her head to look at her. Her eyes were red from crying.
Something about the child’s stillness seemed strange. When Lizzie looked down, she saw a small puddle on the floor.
It seemed the child had been so frightened that she had wet herself.
It had been Dorothy who silently called for help—but now that he had come, Juhwan was frightening.
Every time his large fists moved, people’s faces turned red and bloody before her eyes.
She remembered her stepmother’s swollen face. By the time she died, it had become so distorted it was unrecognizable.
Lizzie’s face had been like that too. It was pretty now, but when she first came to the house and was beaten by Father, it had looked like the dead stepmother’s—red, blue, and yellow with bruises.
Thinking that one day her own face might become like that—it was so terrifying that she wet herself.
Her clothes were soaked, cold, and sticky.
Her crying had stopped at some point. If you cried, you got hit more. Father’s terrifying shouts, her stepmother’s screams, Lizzie’s muffled sobs—all echoed in her head.
Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound.
Even if she couldn’t always hold it in, she believed she had to stay silent.
When Lizzie came inside after seeing her, Dorothy felt a little relieved. Lizzie didn’t hit her. Earlier, she had pretended not to see her—like the stepmother had—but now she looked at her again.
Dorothy existed again.
She quickly opened her mouth.
“Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hiding. I’m sorry I didn’t help. Don’t pretend I’m not there. I was wrong.”
She had to apologize quickly. She had to say it while Lizzie was looking at her—before she disappeared again.
“Oh my goodness!”
Lizzie’s eyes widened as she ran over. Even though Dorothy was dirty and wet with urine, Lizzie knelt on the floor and hugged her tightly.
“Dorothy, what are you saying? I only pretended not to notice earlier because I was afraid those men would find you. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”
Lizzie hugged her even tighter, crying as she spoke—an adult crying like a child. It felt strange.
“I’m sorry, Dorothy. You must have been scared. But it’s okay now. Dad is here.”
“…?”
Dad?
“Father… is dead.”
Dorothy said it, and Lizzie pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes.
“Dorothy, don’t you know who Juhwan is?”
“Juhwan.”
Juhwan was Juhwan. And Lizzie’s husband.
“I know.”
Lizzie gave an awkward smile.
“Juhwan is my husband. That means he’s your dad.”
“Huh?”
“Hm?”
“Dad?”
Lizzie tilted her head. But Dorothy was even more confused.
Why would Lizzie’s husband be her dad?
“I’m your stepmother, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re my daughter.”
“Huh?”
Really? She was Lizzie’s daughter?
“Dorothy, did you really not know until now?”
“Huh? Huh?”
No one had ever told her. She knew Lizzie was her stepmother, but no one said that meant Lizzie was her mother. Her real mother was already dead—so she thought she didn’t have one.
But Lizzie was her mother? She truly hadn’t known.
Her thoughts raced—then suddenly—
“That makes no sense!”
The words burst out of her.
Lizzie laughed softly.
“Since you’re my daughter, if I have a husband, he becomes your dad.”
“Dad?”
Then… she had two fathers?
Dorothy looked out the window at Juhwan.
He was her dad? Could that really be?
She looked back and forth between Lizzie and Juhwan, then shouted again without realizing—
“Dad?”
Lizzie nodded.
“Juhwan is different from your previous father. He will never hit us. He’s someone who protects us.”
Suddenly, Dorothy remembered Lizzie being dragged away. Both of them crying. And when she prayed for help—Juhwan appeared.
The scary men were knocked down instantly, like wolves collapsing.
Was that because he was her dad? Because she was his daughter?
Her mind spun.
Dad. Dad. Dad.
Juhwan had never hit her.
“Dad!”
Dorothy shouted, looking at Lizzie—then turned toward the window.
She saw Juhwan standing outside. Big face, big body, big hands, big feet.
That big person was her dad. Strong. Someone who protected her and Lizzie.
Dorothy broke free from Lizzie and started running.
She had a strong dad now. He didn’t hit her. He smiled at her. He held her at night, gave her meat, even gave her a name.
The one who gives you a name being your dad—that sounded wonderful.
Her wet feet slapped against the ground. Her soaked clothes splashed droplets as she ran.
But she couldn’t stop.
“Dad!”
She shouted loudly. Juhwan blinked at her.
“Dad!”
With all her strength, she ran to him.
Now no one could hurt them. No one could take their things or drag Lizzie away.
Because Dad was here.
Her incredibly strong dad was here to protect them.
Dorothy had a dad now.
Women were easier—at least they could communicate. Eventually, they would realize he wasn’t a bad person. Some even came to like him.
But children were different.
Dorothy was unusual. He had never met a child who smiled and clung to him like that so soon.
Still… he thought it was over now. He had shown her something frightening. Breaking faces, snapping arms—those weren’t things a child should see.
After witnessing that, she should naturally be afraid of him.
But—
The child running toward him looked like a bright sun. As if she had never cried at all. Her eyes sparkled like stars.
“##!”
She kept shouting words he didn’t understand. But he didn’t need to learn them to know.
She was calling him “Dad.”
Whatever Lizzie had said—he didn’t know—but somehow, this child had accepted him.
Juhwan lifted the running child into his arms.
Dorothy wrapped her short arms around his thick neck, shouting “Dad” again and again, like a child who had just learned to speak.
It felt as though stardust was scattering from her, sparkling all around.
