The revelation hit me square in the solar plexus like an invisible fist. This young man in front of me, with his huge eyes and jaw clenched with tension… it was him. The owner of the sperm. The official father of these three children who, just yesterday, were unaware of my existence. A cosmic irony, a twist of fate so cruelly absurd that I felt a nervous laugh rise in my throat without being able to control it. Was I cursed, or what? What kind of story was this now?
Without a word, driven by a tacit necessity, we crossed the street towards the small park adjoining the school. Him, face closed, fists clenched. Me, heart pounding so hard in my chest that I could barely hear the sound of our steps on the asphalt. We parked our vehicles side by side in the small lot – a symbol of our parallel lives that had just collided head-on – and headed towards a public bench, a silent witness to this first act of a play we hadn't written.
Jung-Su – because now I knew his name, dropped by his mother yesterday – crouched down in front of the eldest of the three. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, tinged with a tenderness that contrasted violently with the tension emanating from him.
"Sweetheart, do you want to go play with your brothers? I need to talk with… with this gentleman, okay?"
The little boy nodded gravely, his big eyes – my eyes, my own eyes in a miniature face – diving into mine with innocent curiosity. Then he ran off to join the other two, already conquering the slide. Their crystalline laughter floated in the air like an ironic soundtrack to what was to follow.
Then Jung-Su straightened up. Slowly. He turned towards me, and for a long moment, we looked at each other. Truly looked. His eyes – my eyes, again, this resemblance was torture – scanned my face with an intensity that gave me goosebumps. He was evaluating me, sizing me up, looking for the flaw, the angle of attack. I held his gaze, refusing to look down, even though my heart was racing.
And then he spoke. His voice, when it came out, was low, hoarse, charged with all the venom of his distrust.
"What do you want from me."
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation, a verdict pronounced even before the trial began. I frowned, taking a moment to absorb the underlying violence of his words.
"What do you mean by that?" My own voice sounded strangely calm to me, almost too calm.
He stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest like armor. "You show up out of nowhere, coincidentally in front of my children's school, with their grandmother falling into your arms. That's too many coincidences to be honest. So tell me straight: is it money you want? How much?"
His words slapped me. Money. He was taking me for a common scammer, a profiteer who would use three kids to extort cash. The absurdity of the situation, the dull pain this accusation awakened in me, the glaring injustice… everything mixed together in an explosive cocktail.
And I laughed.
Not a polite laugh, not a small embarrassed giggle. A real burst of laughter, powerful, liberating, almost painful, that sprang from my gut and must have echoed throughout the park. I laughed until I doubled over, until tears came to my eyes. Him, frozen, stared at me as if I had lost my mind, his defenses completely short-circuited by my unexpected reaction.
It took me several seconds to catch my breath, running a hand over my face to wipe my damp eyes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the laughter stopped. My face closed off, my features hardened. I planted my eyes in his with an intensity that, I hoped, would pin him in place.
"Seriously?" My voice had become icy, cutting. "Who do you take me for? A bum? Let me remind you of something: your mother came up to me. She pushed those children into my arms. She talked to me about you as if I were your long-lost lover. So don't come here putting my intentions on trial, because frankly… I don't want anything from you."
The "anything" snapped in the air like a slap. His eyes wavered for a fraction of a second, a crack in the armor.
"Then why were you in front of the school?" he insisted, but his voice had lost its arrogance. "Answer me honestly."
I sighed, a long sigh loaded with all my weariness. "Calm down…" I began, my voice softer, almost tired. "I wasn't there for your kids, believe me. I've been in the habit, for months, of stopping in front of that school after work. To watch. To see the kids play, the parents pick them up… It's stupid, right? But at home, there's no one waiting for me. So I fill the void as best I can. That's all."
The admission had fallen, more intimate, more vulnerable than I would have liked. I saw it in his eyes: a spark of understanding, a crack in his armor of suspicion. But I was too tired, too shaken to bear his gaze full of doubts and silent questions.
I shook my head, a resigned gesture. "Never mind."
Without giving him time to respond, I stood up, legs heavy, and turned on my heel. I crossed the park, ignoring the children's laughter, ignoring Jung-Su's stifled cry behind me, ignoring everything. I opened my car door, slipped inside, and slammed the door with a violence that made the window shake.
The drive back was a blur. The streets passed by without me seeing them. I thought of nothing, or perhaps of everything. Of his eyes, of his accusations, of the faces of those three little ones who were partly mine, of that immense void waiting to reclaim me.
Finally home, I pushed open the door to my apartment. The usual silence greeted me, but tonight, it tasted more bitter than usual. I let myself fall onto the sofa, my gaze lost in the void.
I hadn't asked for anything. Nothing. And yet, my life had just been turned upside down. And deep inside me, in this chaos of contradictory emotions, a tiny little voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a curse. But I was far too tired to listen to it.