TPYH 1

Chapter 1. My Child’s Funeral

“How heartless the heavens are.”

As someone muttered in a low voice, staring at the faintly rising incense smoke, the winter rain that had begun in the afternoon showed no sign of stopping.

Aside from the rustle of black garments brushing against one another and the sound of rain striking the windows, there was only silence.

Inside the funeral hall.

Having no tears left to shed, Haryeong sat in a daze, staring blankly at the memorial portrait before her.

Her eyes, dried from crying, were endlessly hollow.

At the end of her gaze, a young child with a gentle smile was trapped inside a picture frame.

It was her son, Doyoon.

He had just turned five this year—round cheeks, wide eyes.

A sweet, adorable child who always said his mother was the person he loved most in the world.

Kidnapped only days ago, he had returned to her as a cold corpse.

Her one and only child.

Doyoon had always loved bright, colorful things.

Yet now he was smiling radiantly from within the dry, pitch-black frame.

It felt as though if she simply reached out her hand, she would feel the warmth and softness of his plump cheeks.

Yes, this must be a dream.

There’s no way my Doyoon is dead.

He’s smiling so beautifully—how could he not be in this world?

Slowly, Haryeong lifted her frail body and staggered toward the portrait.

She had to answer that smile with a warm touch.

“Oh, my baby! My poor baby! What in the world happened!”

“……!”

At the sudden shriek, Haryeong stopped in her tracks and turned around.

Her grandmother-in-law, Choi Malja, was glaring at her with bloodshot eyes as she stormed forward.

The same ferocious glare as always.

Her gaunt, sunken cheeks did nothing to hide her innate viciousness.

An even thicker malice than usual swallowed the air in an instant.

With her arrival, the silence in the funeral hall shattered completely.

The moment she saw the face of her great-grandson in the portrait, Choi Malja wailed in horror and began pounding her chest.

Her cracked, metallic voice scraped at the ears.

“Doyoon! Oh, my precious baby!”

“……”

“Seo Haryeong, you wretch! You couldn’t even take proper care of your own child—what is this? What do you mean Doyoon is dead?!”

“……”

“I brought a cursed granddaughter-in-law into this family and invited disaster! Disaster! Oh, Doyoon, my poor baby! You wench! You should’ve died instead—you!”

Her sobbing turned into shrill shouting, all directed at her granddaughter-in-law.

With her wrinkled, hardened hands, Choi Malja began striking Haryeong mercilessly, even though she could barely stand.

No one stopped her.

Rather, as if they had been holding it in until now, the relatives who had remained silent began whispering among themselves.

Their words were likely no different from Choi Malja’s.

It felt as though Haryeong’s heart had been ripped out and trampled, torn to shreds by everyone present.

She wished she could simply die right then.

That was when—

“What do you think you’re doing, Grandmother?”

Amid the chaotic mix of sorrow, curiosity, anger, and pity, a cold voice cut through the air.

That single sentence, heavy with presence, silenced everyone at once.

The funeral hall fell into quiet again.

Only Choi Malja dared to speak.

“Juheon, you’re here. Oh, what are we to do about this?”

“Please calm down. At your age, getting worked up isn’t good for you.”

Even in this situation, he was telling her to calm down.

Everyone thought the same thing:

He must not have a heart.

His voice carried not a trace of emotion.

Though he possessed flawless looks and ability, it seemed God had neglected to grant him a soul.

Baek Juheon, thirty-four years old.

The undisputed heir of the Baekya Group.

And the father of the child in that portrait.

But judging by his expression alone, one would think he was a stranger.

Having just arrived, Baek Juheon slowly removed his black shoes and stepped inside.

All eyes followed him as if drawn by a magnet.

His sharp yet refined features, his tall and solid build that naturally exuded intimidation.

His cold, blade-like eyes made his deep gaze appear even more chilling.

“……”

His eyes lingered briefly on the child’s portrait beyond the incense smoke.

Then they moved to the emaciated woman standing before it.

His wife, Seo Haryeong.

Neither of them spoke.

Haryeong’s hollow eyes stared blankly at the cold man who shed not a single tear before their son’s portrait.

He was a husband incapable of sharing grief—even now.

Meanwhile, Choi Malja had snatched up Doyoon’s portrait and was wailing like a beast.

Her roar was filled with uncontrollable anguish.

But Haryeong hated hearing it.

She hated seeing her child’s portrait in that woman’s hands.

She stepped forward to return it to its place—

And then, suddenly, from behind Baek Juheon came a coquettish voice.

It carried a stronger scent than the burning incense.

“Oh my, Juheon. Your shirt’s all wrinkled.”

“……”

“I’ll fix it for you. Turn this way.”

Juheon obediently turned around.

Away from his only child’s portrait.

Away from the wife who had just lost that child.

It had always been this way.

Haryeong always looked only at his back.

The woman who had been smoothing his suit glanced at Haryeong over his shoulder.

Haryeong felt nothing.

Even as her husband’s openly acknowledged mistress touched his clothes before her eyes.

Though perhaps “mistress” wasn’t the right word.

Gong Sera had been Juheon’s official fiancée before Haryeong was dragged into this arranged marriage.

Perhaps Haryeong had been the intruder all along.

Even now, Gong Sera wore the expression of the rightful wife.

On the very day their kidnapped child died, hadn’t the two of them been together?

It didn’t matter.

As long as she had her child, as long as she had Doyoon, Haryeong could endure anything.

Even if her grandmother-in-law looked at her as though she were less than livestock.

Even if her husband only came home once or twice a week.

If she could stroke the back of her son’s chestnut-shaped head, run her fingers through his dandelion-soft hair—

If she could hear his pretty lips call her “Mom,” all her worries would melt away.

But now, everything was gone.

From one to ten, her entire world had collapsed.

Perhaps it had all been an illusion from the start.

Where had it gone wrong?

She should never have entered this marriage that was doomed from the beginning.

But she had neither the strength nor the courage to defy her father.

At the very least, she shouldn’t have had a child.

Then she would not have faced this indescribable horror.

There would have been no tragedy of attending her own child’s funeral.

She had known there was no sincerity, no love.

Yet she had been foolish.

In her miserable life, the most meaningless thing had always been hope.

“Seo Haryeong, you…”

Baek Juheon’s voice descended over her like the echo of crushed hope.

As dry and emotionless as ever.

Even if a complete stranger had died, it would sound more heartfelt than this.

A hollow smile curved her lips.

Just as Juheon was about to continue—

Suddenly Choi Malja shoved between them and slapped Haryeong across the face.

The sharp crack was loud enough to silence even the intermittent sobbing.

Half out of her mind, Choi Malja began to rampage.

Her target, of course, was Seo Haryeong.

The lowly rat who had crawled into the Baekya family without knowing her place.

“You bitch! How dare you smile right now! You should’ve died! It should’ve been you!”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, Grandmother. No matter how upset you are, you must endure it. People are watching.”

Choi Malja’s malicious screams.

Baek Juheon’s dry, even voice.

Gong Sera’s coy tone.

The noise grew louder.

At the same time, Haryeong’s consciousness began to blur.

Some tried to intervene.

Others hurriedly made phone calls.

A dry laugh escaped between her parted lips.

“Ha… haha…”

Was there really a separate hell?

This scene itself was hell.

Thud.

With that thought, Haryeong collapsed.

Even as her body hit the floor, she felt Choi Malja’s fury trampling over her black mourning clothes.

Please—

Don’t let me wake up.

It was her final wish.