Second Overtime | JENSOO & CHAELISA

Chapter XLVIII

At eight fourteen, Jiyong signed the first objection.

At eight thirty-seven, Ms. Jung sent the hospital's confirmation of emergency protective separation to three email addresses, two fax numbers, and the secure portal YG High used for legal notices.

At eight forty-one, one email bounced back.

At eight forty-three, the fax failed.

At eight forty-five, the portal marked the document as received but not reviewed.

By nine, Jiyong understood that bureaucracy did not need to openly refuse anyone. It could bury a child beneath polite delays and call the burial "process".

He stood beside the narrow counter beneath the television in Jennie's room, phone pressed to one ear, his laptop open beside a tray of untouched breakfast. The eggs had gone rubbery. A skin had formed over the soybean soup. The room smelled of disinfectant, cooling rice, and the bitter espresso a hospital aide had brought him from a machine downstairs.

"No," he said into the phone, keeping his voice low. "I am not asking the school to make a final custody determination. I am notifying them that I object to unilateral withdrawal and that there is an active safeguarding concern."

A man from the school administration answered in a voice that was used to absorbing complaints.

Jiyong closed his eyes.

"I understand your policy," he said. "I have now heard it four times."

Jennie lay propped against two pillows, the blanket gathered around her waist. Nurse Park had removed the empty IV bag, though the cannula remained taped to Jennie's hand in case another line was needed. Her cheek had turned purple near the bone. The swelling made one side of her face look heavier, the skin tight and sore whenever she swallowed.

She watched her father pace between the television and the window.

His voice sharpened around legal terms, deadlines, procedural obligations. His shoulders straightened. He spoke the way Chaerin did when she wanted someone to understand that disagreement would become a problem.

Normally, Jennie would have braced herself.

This time, the words weren't aimed at her. They were aimed at the school, the hospital, anyone trying to deny her protection.

It should have made her feel safe.

It did, a little.

But every time she heard his fist slam into a wall, or the thud of something breaking under his hand, that little bit of hope slipped away. It was like the sound itself reminded her how fragile safety really was.

So even now, when his anger was for her sake, she couldn't stop waiting for the moment it would turn, the moment hope would shrink back into paperwork and signatures.

Jiyong turned away from the window.

"You have my written objection and the hospital notice. You know my daughter is afraid of going back to her mother." His jaw tightened. "So what are you waiting for?"

Silence.

He closed his eyes.

"No court order," he said again.

Jennie looked at Ms. Jung.

The social worker sat at the foot of the bed, a folder open across her lap. She'd been on duty for too many hours, but her back was straight, her focus sharp. Only the redness at the corners of her eyes gave away how tired she was.

Jiyong's voice dropped.

"Yes. I understand that an internal safeguarding restriction is not the same as a court order. I also understand that processing a withdrawal is an administrative act, not an emergency medical decision." Another pause. "No. I am not asking you to violate her mother's rights. I am asking you to recognize mine."