Love Beyond Expectations

Chapter 9: Family Matters

The hospital room, bathed in the muted light of bedside lamps, was a stark contrast to the chaos and urgency of the ER. Suho's heart raced as he entered, the sight of his father, Hyun-Woo Kim, lying in the hospital bed striking him with a jolt of fear and concern.

His mother, a figure of quiet strength, was seated beside the bed, her hand gently resting on Mr. Kim's. Joon and his wife stood on the other side, their expressions a mix of worry and weariness.

As Suho approached, his mind was still racing with thoughts of the woman from the subway. "What was Metro Honey doing there? Wait, was Subway girl a more appropriate name? Dang, I wish I caught her name," he thought, the brief encounter a puzzle amidst the turmoil of the evening.

His reverie was broken by Joon's voice, tinged with his usual blend of condescension and impatience. "Damn Ho-ho, what took you so long?" Joon remarked, using the childhood nickname that Suho despised.

Suho shot his brother a dark look, the familiar irritation at Joon's attitude momentarily surfacing. But he quickly shifted his focus to his mother, his concern for his father overtaking any sibling rivalry. "엄마, is he okay?" he asked in Korean, the language a reflex in moments of emotional intensity.

His mother looked up, her eyes reflecting the strain of the situation. "He's stable now," she replied, her voice a whisper of hope. "The doctors said he had a seizure. They're running some tests to find out more."

Suho exhaled a sigh of relief, the news that his father was stable a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty. He moved closer to the bed, observing his father's face, the lines and contours so familiar yet so frighteningly still.

Joon cleared his throat, a gesture that seemed to be both an attempt to assert his presence and a defense against the emotions of the moment. "They say it could be related to his cancer treatment. Complications, maybe."

Suho nodded, absorbing the information, his mind racing with medical terms and potential implications. He reached out, taking his father's hand in his own, the contact a silent promise of support and presence.

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft beeps of the monitors and the distant sounds of the hospital. In that room, the Kim family stood united, not just by blood, but by the shared fear for the patriarch who had always been their anchor.

Suho felt a surge of resolve, a determination to be there for his father, to navigate the complexities of his family dynamics for the sake of the man who lay before him. The questions about his future, the pressures from his parents, even the curiosity about the woman from the subway – all faded into the background as he focused on the here and now, on the man who needed him the most.

Suho stood by his father's bedside, his hand clasping the older man's. The warmth of his father's hand was a small comfort in the cold reality of the situation. As he stood there, lost in a sea of worry and reflection, his mother's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"You see what your indecisiveness is doing to this family?" she berated Suho, her words sharp and unyielding. "It's like you couldn't find a wife even if it were a multiple-choice question with only one option. And now your father's dreams of meeting future grandchildren might as well be filed under 'never gonna happen' if you don't miraculously acquire a brain!"

Joon, unable to hide his amusement, stifled a laugh, which escaped as a snort. Minji, his wife, elbowed him in the ribs, a gesture that Suho was silently grateful for.

Unperturbed by her eldest son's reaction, Ms. Ji Eun Kim continued her rant. "One day you're going to wake up and realize you're going to be like Lip Ban Wing-keul," she pronounced, her strong accent mangling the name of Rip Van Winkle. "And then you'll realize you're old and lonely."

Her words filled the room, a tirade that left little room for defense. Suho felt the weight of her disappointment, a burden that seemed to grow heavier with each word.

The doctor chose that moment to enter, a hesitant look on his face as he took in the family dynamics. "Is this a bad time?" he asked, though the question seemed more a formality than genuine inquiry.

Ms. Kim waved him in, her demeanor shifting to one of composed attention. The doctor motioned for Suho, Joon, and Ms. Kim to step outside the room for a private conversation.

Once in the hallway, the doctor, mispronouncing Ms. Kim's name as "Gee Yoon Kim," received a sharp eyeroll from her. "We've completed some tests," he began, his tone grave. "I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good. Your husband has about ten months to live."

Ms. Kim, ever the stoic matriarch, listened without shedding a tear, though Suho knew this façade of strength was for the public eye. In private, she would allow herself to grieve.

As the doctor excused himself and left, Joon returned to his father's bedside, while Suho lingered in the hallway with his mother. Before he could follow Joon, Ms. Kim cornered him, her hand gripping the cuff of his shirt with a surprising strength.

"Listen to me, Suho," she said, her voice a low, determined hiss. "You have eight months to get married. If you don't, you can say goodbye to your inheritance. This is not just about you anymore. It's about this family's future."

Suho flinched.

"Remember. You have eight months, Suho. Eight months to get married," she hissed. "Do this, and your inheritance is secure. Fail, and it goes to your brother."

The ultimatum hung in the air, a decree that left no room for argument. Suho felt trapped, caught between his desire for autonomy and the expectations of his family, the threat to his inheritance a tangible manifestation of the pressures he faced.

He nodded, a silent acquiescence to her demand, though his mind raced with conflict and resistance. As he turned to rejoin his brother, Suho's thoughts were a turmoil of emotions – fear for his father's health, frustration at his family's demands, and a growing sense of desperation about the path his life was taking.

Walking back into his father's room, Suho tried to push aside the conversation with his mother, focusing instead on the man who lay in the hospital bed, his father, whose remaining time had suddenly become a precious and finite resource.