Broken Paths || Wen JunHui

Chapter 41: Unravelling Doubts

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The suspicion clawed at Da-Rae like a relentless storm as she tried to go about her day. Every moment in Jun's room replayed in her mind—the way he leaned in, the way his words seemed both tender and accusatory, and, most chillingly, the unshakable calmness in his demeanor.

By the time her shift ended, Da-Rae felt as though she were moving through quicksand, her steps heavy and her thoughts murky. She sat in her car in the hospital parking lot, staring blankly at the dashboard.

She couldn't shake the gnawing question: What if Jun did have something to do with Hyun-Woo's death?

Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. It was a text from her mother, reminding her about an upcoming wedding fitting. The reminder brought a pang of guilt; she hadn't told her family about Hyun-Woo's death yet. She wasn't ready for their questions, their scrutiny.

With a heavy sigh, she started the car and drove aimlessly for a while, her thoughts spinning in endless circles. Eventually, she found herself parked outside a café. It was one she and Hyun-Woo used to frequent, and the sight of it brought a wave of conflicting emotions.

Da-Rae stepped inside, the warmth of the space contrasting sharply with her cold, swirling thoughts. She ordered a coffee and sat near the window, staring out at the bustling street.

As she stirred her drink absentmindedly, her mind wandered back to Jun. She thought about his words from earlier:

"You've been under a lot of stress, Da-Rae. Maybe you're overthinking things."

Was she overthinking? Was her grief twisting her perception, making her see things that weren't there? Or was her gut trying to warn her of something she didn't want to acknowledge?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the chair across from her being pulled out. She looked up, startled, to see her colleague Ji-Eun.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Ji-Eun said, offering a small smile.

Da-Rae managed a weak chuckle. "Something like that."

Ji-Eun tilted her head, her smile fading. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet lately."

Da-Rae hesitated. Ji-Eun was one of the few people she trusted, but the weight of everything felt too much to unload.

"I'm just... dealing with a lot," she admitted finally.

Ji-Eun leaned forward, her expression softening. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Da-Rae hesitated again, then decided to take a small step. "You remember Jun, right? The patient I've been working with?"

Ji-Eun nodded. "Of course. The one who's been making such good progress?"

Da-Rae let out a shaky breath. "I don't know if it's progress anymore. Something feels... off."

Ji-Eun frowned. "Off how?"

"It's hard to explain," Da-Rae said, her voice low. "But I can't shake the feeling that he's hiding something. And with everything that's happened recently—"

"You're talking about your fiancé, aren't you?" Ji-Eun interrupted, her tone cautious.

Da-Rae nodded, her throat tightening. "Yes. Hyun-Woo's death... I can't help but feel like there's a connection, but it doesn't make sense. It's probably just my mind playing tricks on me."

Ji-Eun reached across the table and placed a hand on Da-Rae's. "If you feel something's wrong, you should trust your instincts. Maybe talk to someone who can help, like the hospital director or even the police."

Da-Rae's chest tightened at the thought. The idea of involving the authorities felt both drastic and terrifying.

"I don't even know what I'd tell them," she said quietly.

"Start with what you know," Ji-Eun said. "And go from there."

That evening, as Da-Rae returned to her apartment, the unease from earlier had only deepened. She locked the door behind her and double-checked the windows, a habit she hadn't had before.

As she moved through the dimly lit space, the silence felt oppressive, as though the walls themselves were listening. She couldn't shake the sensation that she wasn't alone.

Her eyes darted to the shadows in the corners of the room, her heart pounding. She quickly dismissed the thought as paranoia, but it lingered all the same.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I'm just tired," she whispered to herself.

But even as she lay down and tried to sleep, the feeling of being watched refused to leave her.

⋆˙⟡♡⚕🩺⊹ 🤍