Chapter 6
At the hospital, I went straight to the same doctor who had treated me once when I’d had chickenpox.
I still remembered that day — a woman had followed him into the consulting room, talking nonstop, and when she left, he’d written her some kind of certificate. When he came back, I’d noticed a red envelope peeking out of the pocket of his white coat.
So when I saw him again, I didn’t bother hiding my purpose.
I told him directly that I needed his help.
His expression changed, and he refused firmly:
“A doctor shouldn’t do anything outside his duty.”
Maybe he thought I looked too calm, or maybe he found me pitiful, because I began telling him—half-pleading, half-desperate—about the abuse I’d suffered, saying I just needed a piece of paper, nothing more.
Then, under the table, I quietly slipped a red envelope onto his knee.
He froze for a second, then gave a polite smile.
“If I can help a patient, of course I’ll do my best. Doctors are supposed to have compassion, after all.”
When I walked out of his office holding a medical certificate stating I had an infectious disease, my steps felt almost light.
I even bought a few bottles of random medicine to make it look convincing.
At last, I thought, maybe I could escape this place.
***
When I got home, my mother-in-law immediately asked about the diagnosis.
I hesitated, not wanting to answer.
Her face darkened.
“Why are you hiding it? What shameful thing did you do to feel so guilty?”
I sighed and pretended to give in.
“The doctor said it’s an infectious disease. It’ll take a while to recover.”
Then I handed her the certificate.
She took it gingerly, pinching the paper between her fingertips as though it might bite her.
The moment she saw the diagnosis clearly, she threw it away in disgust and wiped her hands, trembling.
“You brought nothing but bad luck into this family! Married one day and already carrying some disease—what a curse you are.”
I lowered my head and stayed silent.
She kept backing away, terrified I might touch her, and finally hurried off to her room to watch TV alone, unwilling to share the same space with me.
***
Two hours later Yu Jin came home.
I had already cooked and set the table, trying to keep some normality.
But as soon as he saw me, he stepped back in alarm.
“Who knows if your food’s full of germs,” he said with open disgust.
Then his mother came out, took one look at the dishes, and snapped:
“Why did you make so much? What a waste!”
Yu Jin instantly changed his tone, smiling as he linked arms with her.
“Alright, Mom, get ready—let’s go pick up Dad and eat out tonight.”
Then he glanced back at me.
“You can stay home and finish this, so it doesn’t go to waste.”
So that was it—they’d already decided together.
Afraid of being “infected,” they wouldn’t even touch the food I made.
I gave a hollow laugh as the two of them left, still chatting happily.
When I looked back at the table, I noticed blisters on my hands from the hot pans.
They stung, but not as much as my heart.
I sat down and quietly ate the entire meal by myself.
Tears fell as I chewed, salty drops mixing with the food.
I felt wronged, yet also blamed myself—
and that only made the pain sharper.
***
It was late when the whole family returned.
Yu Jin and his father were drunk, staggering as his mother shouted my name from afar to come help.
I rushed over—
but just as I reached them, she seemed to remember something and barked:
“Don’t come any closer!”
So she struggled by herself, dragging two full-grown men inside, panting and trembling, but still refusing to let me near them.
Later, as I was about to go to bed, Yu Jin suddenly flared up as if he’d just realized who I was.
He yelled furiously,
“Get out! Who the hell wants to sleep next to something so disgusting? Stay away from me—don’t you dare infect me!”
His voice echoed through the room.
And once again, I stood there in silence,
feeling smaller than ever.
