Margaret walked side by side with Viona, intentionally slowing her pace to synchronize with the rhythm of the woman beside her.
The hand carrying her tote bag remained locked in a firm, steady grip on Viona's hand—as if ensuring Viona felt truly secure with every step she took. Meanwhile, Margaret's other hand rested protectively on Viona's waist, her palm warm and alert, ready to provide support the moment the body beside her wavered or lost its balance.
A series of short, labored breaths escaped Viona's lips before her footsteps finally ground to a halt.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a shallow rhythm, followed by a low, stifled groan—faint and suppressed, yet clear enough to signal the suffocating exhaustion weighing down her chest. One of her hands slipped from Margaret's grip, moving instinctively to stroke her abdomen in a slow, circular motion, as if trying to soothe an uncomfortable pulse radiating from within.
Margaret, who had been attuned to every minute change in Viona's demeanor from the start, came to an immediate halt.
Her gaze swept over the woman's face with clinical precision—skin that appeared paler than usual, strands of hair dampened by sweat clinging to her forehead and cheeks, and a moist sheen coating the column of Viona's neck.
Margaret knew all too well that walking this distance was no simple feat. The long, seemingly endless corridor and the frantic bustle of people passing by only added to the burden of a woman in the late stages of pregnancy. Even with their pace intentionally slowed, even with a caution that bordered on the excessive, exhaustion had finally caught up.
She cast her gaze around her surroundings.
They had indeed made it outside the main building, yet the frantic bustle had not vanished. People still swarmed, moving back and forth with their own errands, while vehicles drifted in and out without pause, their sounds merging into the hum of a city that never truly slept.
Her eyes continued to scan the grounds until they finally landed on a long, vacant bench tucked into a corner.
It sat somewhat isolated, distanced from the main path of the passing crowds.
Above it, the massive branches of an ancient tree stretched out, thick with lush, tiny leaves that formed a natural canopy. Sunlight filtered softly through the foliage, ensuring the spot remained neither too hot nor too cold—a small, shaded sanctuary of calm in the midst of the chaos.
Without a moment's hesitation, she turned toward Viona.
"Miss Viona, why don't we have a seat over there?"
Viona turned toward Margaret, her eyes clouded with a momentary confusion. It was only when her gaze followed the direction of Margaret's finger that she finally noticed the long bench.
Viona fell silent for a moment, weighing her options, before finally turning back to Margaret with a faint, weary smile.
"I am truly lucky to have met you here, Margaret."
Margaret mirrored Viona's soft smile with one of her own, then gently guided her toward the bench that had become their sanctuary.
This time, a deep sigh of relief escaped Viona's lips the moment her body settled onto the long bench, which proved to be far more comfortable than she had imagined. Adjusting her position, Viona leaned her back fully against the frame, while her hand continued its rhythmic, soothing strokes over her abdomen.
Meanwhile, Margaret took a seat beside her, maintaining just enough distance to give her space. Without saying a word, Margaret pulled a bottle of mineral water from her school bag and offered it to Viona with a gentle, graceful motion.
Viona turned toward Margaret, her gaze drifting down to the mineral water bottle extended before her, then back up to meet Margaret's eyes.
"It seems I've really overwhelmed you, haven't I, Margaret?"
Viona reached for the bottle, and with that persistent smile still etched on her face, she continued, "Please forgive this old lady for being such a bother."
"Doctor Frankestein is truly fortunate to have a daughter who is so caring and attentive as you."
In an instant, as if struck by a faint bolt of lightning in broad daylight, Margaret's shoulders gave a small, involuntary jolt. Viona's words—still labeling her as Frankestein's daughter—left a strange, unsettling vibration in her chest.
The memory of the elevator still haunted her mind; back then, she had been so shocked she nearly choked on her own breath upon hearing those words. Yet, she had chosen to remain silent—neither denying nor confirming—allowing Viona to cling to her own perception.
Margaret simply lowered her head, staring at her folded fingers. She began to knead her hands slowly—a simple, restless effort to divert attention, hoping Viona wouldn't pry any further into a truth she couldn't possibly reveal. But now, hearing it again in the cool, shaded air beneath the tree, the guilt surged even stronger.
"I… I can't just tell her that Frankestein Oppa is a man who—whether it's true or not—openly desires me, claiming that I belong to him, can I?" she thought desperately.
"If I were honest… Miss Viona would be so utterly shocked to learn the truth. I'm afraid it would affect her baby, especially since she must be nearly nine months along, right?"
Viona sensed Margaret's gaze—melancholy, a bit somber, and heavy—fixed upon her abdomen.
With a graceful motion, Viona wiped away a stray drop of water from the corner of her lip. She then carefully replaced the cap of the mineral water bottle and set it down in the empty space between them.
"You don't need to worry, Margaret."
The softness of Viona's voice made Margaret turn toward her instantly.
"Are you… feeling better, Miss Viona?"
Once again, the sheer concern in Margaret's voice made Viona turn and smile. But that faint smile slowly evolved; her lips curled into a light, small, and gentle laugh.
It was a laughter so free, warm, and honest—as if it were steadily stripping away the weight that had pressed upon her, allowing a wave of unbidden happiness to rush in.
"Instead of constantly worrying about me..."
She paused, drawing a breath and releasing it slowly while her hand continued its rhythmic strokes over her abdomen. Then, she went on, "Is it really alright for you to be here with me?"
"I mean… didn't Doctor Frankestein literally run to chase after you earlier? He looked so incredibly livid."
"I think, if there's a misunderstanding between a father and daughter that drove him to act like that—those things happen in families—it might be best if you just go to him, Margaret."
"I felt pity seeing him so terrified, as if you were about to vanish from his life, even though you were just getting into an elevator and perhaps avoiding him because of a spat that, well, is inevitable, isn't it?"
"I'll be fine here on my own. Besides, my husband will be here to pick me up shortly."
Inadvertently, as her words flowed, the corner of Viona's eye caught something that had previously escaped her notice.
On Margaret's lap sat a white tote bag containing a small bouquet of blue roses, causing her to gasp in slight surprise.
"Did he even give you that tote bag and those blue roses as an apology?"
She turned her gaze back to Margaret.
"It's no wonder you care so much for others, Margaret. It seems Doctor Frankestein's sincere nature in helping people has been passed down to you as well."
"I am truly grateful—truly, deeply grateful—to have been a patient of Doctor Frankestein, even if I only met him once. And now, I've met his mirror image, who is just as charming and kind-hearted."
Margaret instinctively bit the inside of her lower lip.
Unbeknownst to her, her fingers tensed, clutching the edges of the tote bag on her lap with a subtle, almost invisible pressure. A brief silence hung in the air before a clumsy smile slowly formed—not a smile born of relief, but a bitter, forced expression meant only to appear normal.
"I'm fine, Miss Viona."
"You don't need to worry about a thing. I can fix it later, once I see him and talk through the issues between us."
"It's no trouble at all for me to stay here with you. In fact, I'd feel terrible leaving you alone, even if you said your husband is coming to pick you up soon."
"I'm worried that if I leave now, something might actually happen to you."
There was a sincerity she fought to weave into every word, even though behind it all, she was on the brink of losing control.
There was a fleeting moment, a fraction of a second that felt agonizingly long, when the words nearly spilled from her lips—the words that held the truth, the truth she was desperately hiding.