Page 28 of Perfect Happiness

Eun-ho immediately knew it was the student who helped as an administrative assistant in the principal’s office.

“The principal wants to see you—”

Eun-ho was planning on seeing the principal, anyway.

He hadn’t been in for a week; it was protocol to drop by and check in.

Eun-ho figured the principal wanted to know what was going on.

Eun-ho didn’t want to reveal more than he needed to, but he still needed to tell the principal that he would be making frequent visits to the police station for a while.

“Have the autopsy results come back?” the principal asked as soon as Eun-ho sat down. This wasn’t exactly the warm welcome Eun-ho had been expecting.

“No, not yet.” Eun-ho hesitated for a moment before adding: “I wanted to let you know that I’ll need to go to the police station a few more times. I’ll try to schedule my visits so that they don’t interfere with—”

“That won’t be necessary. I want you to take some time off to take care of the situation and look after your health.”

Eun-ho took a moment to think about what the principal meant by this. Was he telling Eun-ho to take a break because he thought Eun-ho couldn’t teach? Or was he simply informing Eun-ho that he couldn’t teach?

“You’ll be contacted later about your position.”

So, it was the latter. It seemed like the principal had taken the speculation surrounding Noah’s death as fact.

Or perhaps the police had contacted the school about the investigation.

Even if that was the case, Eun-ho thought this was an overreaction—and completely one-sided, at that.

Shouldn’t he be given the chance to defend himself?

“Can I at least—”

Eun-ho opened his mouth only to immediately close it again. Even if the principal was willing to listen to Eun-ho’s defense, there was nothing Eun-ho could say except for an emotional appeal.

“We called an emergency meeting last Friday and came to this decision. We didn’t want to have to go there, but we had no other choice.

The school homepage crashed. My office was flooded by angry parents from the PTA.

The department of education is even receiving signed petitions demanding your removal.

They say it’s unethical to allow you around children. ”

The principal stood up from his chair.

“Personally, I think this is a real shame.”

And yet, he didn’t look the least bit sorry.

The look on his face was telling Eun-ho that he had nothing more to say, and to get out of his office.

Eun-ho turned and left. His mind was completely blank.

His body was shaking as though he had been dunked in the Arctic Ocean.

It was finally starting to dawn on Eun-ho that he was a pariah.

His realization was confirmed again only a few moments later.

Most of the other teachers had clocked in by the time he returned to the faculty room.

As soon as he entered the room and walked over to his desk, everyone went silent.

No one made eye contact with him. No one even gave him a perfunctory greeting.

Everyone just sat at their desks and busied themselves with their work.

Eun-ho didn’t see Jinu. It was then that he realized that aside from Jinu, none of his coworkers had come to the funeral.

To them, Eun-ho already wasn’t a coworker.

He wasn’t even an unfortunate father who lost his son.

He was a child-killer. And worse yet, he was shameless enough to come into work as though nothing had happened.

I’m okay with it if you quit your job.

Wife’s words flashed through Eun-ho’s mind. Wife already knew this would happen. Eun-ho had had no idea. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Of course he had been out of it for the last several days, but how could he be this stupid?

Eun-ho got his bag and left the office. He didn’t even want to look if there was anything in his desk drawer that he should take with him.

His skin felt hot, and his teeth dry. He felt like he was walking not on the office floor but through the air.

It was as though he were sinking one meter for every step he took forward.

No one was looking at him, but it still felt like they were shooting nasty looks his way.

Eun-ho could finally breathe once he arrived in the parking lot.

“Eun-ho! Eun-ho Cha!”

Eun-ho turned around to find Jinu running after him.

“I was just getting in when I saw you leaving,” Jinu said as he stopped in front of Eun-ho. He was bent over trying to catch his breath. “I heard you talked with the principal.”

Eun-ho nodded.

“Just think of it like a vacation. The truth will come out, sooner or later.”

This was a welcome yet pointless attempt at consoling Eun-ho.

Not even Eun-ho knew what the truth was.

The best outcome was that the police concluded there was no intent to harm Noah, that he hadn’t purposely crushed Noah’s tiny throat.

The weathervane of Eun-ho’s intuition was pointing in an ominous direction.

Indeed, there was a greater chance that Eun-ho’s situation would only get worse.

And Eun-ho wasn’t ready for that. Nor did he have the willpower to brace himself.

“I’m going.”

Eun-ho had to wring his throat just to utter these three syllables. And it took every ounce of strength Eun-ho had just to remain upright as he walked to his car. He didn’t want to collapse, not in front of Jinu. Right now, that was the most important thing in the world.

Jinu came to the funeral home every day even while Noah’s body was still at the coroner’s office.

He stayed there with Eun-ho late into the night.

He was the only friend of Eun-ho’s who agreed to be a pallbearer, and he was the only coworker who offered him words of consolation.

Eun-ho didn’t want to collapse in front of him.

He was afraid that he might start crying at Jinu’s feet.

He was terrified that he would fall and never be able to stand back up.

As Eun-ho got in the car, Jinu grabbed the door. “I’m just saying this in case you don’t know. You can call me anytime if you have something you want to ask.”

The school bell started ringing. Jinu closed the car door and took a step back.

Eun-ho started the car and left the parking lot.

He mulled over what Eun-ho said to him as he drove.

What on Earth was he talking about? Was there a question that Eun-ho needed to ask Jinu about?

And was that question something that Jinu already knew?

All Eun-ho knew was that Jinu didn’t sound like he was joking.

His face, his tone, this situation—none of these things were telling Eun-ho that Jinu was joking.

Eun-ho decided to bury his curiosity. He already had enough to think about. Even if he wanted to satisfy his curiosity, Jinu had classes to teach. Eun-ho would be better off first asking a question that he could get an answer to. Indeed, what exactly were students’ parents saying about him?

But just because he could get an answer didn’t mean it would be easy.

He realized this anew once he got home and sat down at his desk.

He never knew that opening his laptop, connecting to the internet, and going to the school’s homepage could feel so difficult and terrifying.

When he went to the open forum, he felt like he had voluntarily lain down at the guillotine.

There were several pages of postings regarding him.

He got divorced only a year into his first marriage.

And three years after that, he got remarried to a wealthy businesswoman.

He was so crazy for her that he left his own son to be raised by his grandma.

How could a five-year-old boy be smothered to death by his father unless it was intentional?

His new wife must have hated the boy. He and she might have colluded.

The police are investigating it as a potential homicide. Why else would they order an autopsy?

Eun-ho could feel sour saliva pooling up beneath his tongue.

His throat constricted just like it did right before vomiting.

His intestines twisted into a knot. It felt like a large hand was squeezing his bowels—and not just once, but multiple times and at regular intervals. Was this what contractions felt like?

Eun-ho lay with his forehead on the desk.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach and curled up.

He was desperately trying to steady his breathing.

It wasn’t working. Every time he breathed out, a whimpering groan escaped his lips.

Some liquid was trickling down Eun-ho’s chin, but he didn’t know if it was tears, sweat, or saliva. Eun-ho felt like he was an animal.

It took a long time for the spasms to stop. When he lifted his head again, his whole body was covered in sweat. His brain felt like a battlefield that had just been bombed to oblivion. It was all he could do to stop himself from getting on the floor and curling up into a ball.

He wasn’t on the ground because he was exhausted from pain.

Nor was he bothered by the baseless attacks of a bunch of kids and parents.

Although there were some exaggerations, these were just side branches.

As with all things, when you took away emotions and the backstory, you were left with just the essence of what happened—things that were clearer to others than they were himself, things that he knew but didn’t want to admit.

These online comments opened Eun-ho’s eyes to the truth, breaking him into a million pieces.

This was how Eun-ho had lived up to this point—like a dog that ignored its own tail. The past was like a tail. Even if you cut it off, it wouldn’t disappear completely because there was always at least one person who would remember it used to be there.