Second Overtime | JENSOO & CHAELISA

Chapter XLVI

Jennie didn't sleep after the call. She tried, but nothing was working. 

Ms. Jung dimmed the lights until the room fell into something soft and shadowed, the fluorescent panels above the bed switching off one by one until only the small lamp near the door remained, casting a pale amber glow across the linoleum. 

Nurse Park came back to check the IV, her fingers gentle as she adjusted the drip and smoothed the blanket over Jennie's legs. "Close your eyes for a few minutes," she murmured. "Even if you don't sleep. Just rest."

The room softened after she left. The monitor's measured beeping became a kind of lullaby, each pulse a small green reassurance that her heart was still working, still beating, still carrying her forward into whatever came next. 

Her body ached for unconsciousness, every muscle heavy with exhaustion, every bone feeling like it had been filled with wet sand.

But her mind refused to let go. Jisoo's voice stayed with her, not just the words, but the texture of them, the way her voice had cracked on I love you too, the way it had gone rough and fierce when she'd said we're treating seventy-two hours like a championship game. Every time Jennie's eyes drifted closed, those words rose up like embers, warming some part of her that had gone cold years ago. Then Chaerin's voice followed, precise and poisonous: I'll fix this. You know I will.

Jennie opened her eyes again. The ceiling water stain waited above her, pale brown, shapeless, neither continent nor bruise now, just a mark that the hospital had tried and failed to scrub away. She'd been staring at it for hours. She'd probably be staring at it for hours more.

When Ms. Jung returned, she came with the same careful knock, followed by a pause that gave Jennie time to refuse before the door opened. "Jennie? May I come in?"

Jennie turned her head on the pillow. The movement sent a dull pulse of pain through her cheek. "Yes."

Ms. Jung stepped inside. She carried no clipboard this time, no folder, no pen. Just her phone and a paper cup of water that she set on the bedside table within Jennie's reach. The lack of official purpose made Jennie's stomach tighten. No folder meant this wasn't another question. This was news.

"I came here to let you know that your father is on his way," Ms. Jung said.

The words arrived like a stone dropped into still water. Jennie stared at her, her mind scrambling to process. "My father?"

"Yes."

"Didn't he leave?" The words came out flatter than she intended, accusatory without quite meaning to be. "I know he was here earlier and that he left for a meeting."

"I called him," Ms. Jung said. "He's coming back."

Jennie looked toward the door as if Jiyong might already be standing there, awkward in his expensive rumpled suit, his tie still loose at the collar, smelling faintly of office coffee and the particular exhaustion of a man who had been working too long on too little sleep. 

Something in her chest tightened, not relief, not exactly. It was an older feeling, smaller and more embarrassing. The part of her that had never fully learned to stop waiting. Waiting near windows when she was small, watching for headlights in the driveway. Waiting at birthday dinners, saving him a seat that stayed empty until the candles burned down. Waiting in school auditoriums, scanning the crowd for a face that never appeared.

"He's coming?" she asked again, hating the way her voice sounded, younger, more vulnerable.

"Yes. He should be here within the hour."

Jennie pressed her fingers into the blanket, the cotton bunching beneath her nails. "Did you tell him what happened?"

"I told him what I was permitted to tell him. That there are allegations involving your mother. That you gave a formal statement. That you are currently under emergency protective separation." Ms. Jung paused, her expression careful. "That you've been hurt."