“I’ll carry your seed,” she said—one sentence
"I’ll carry your seed."
She left only the bedside lamp lit when she spoke. A knit sweater swayed on its hanger in the half-dark wardrobe. Outside, the butcher’s neon sign still unlit at 7:30 a.m. glowed like a blood-shot eye.
I squeezed my own shut. The beer glass trembled—clink—but not from the alcohol. This was our fourth night together; we still didn’t know each other’s full names. Yet she let the word seed roll off her tongue, eyes sparkling like a child who’d already torn the ribbon off a gift.
The next day I went to the jeweler. Ordered a silver couple ring, engraved Daddy and Mommy—absurd, I know. My hand shook as I handed over the card; I was already buying a pre-written future.
What did she want, and what did I fear?
Did she truly want a child, or merely the fence that would pen me in?
A child is the final sword and the first lasso of a relationship. Once its existence is confirmed, a man forfeits the option to flee. She knew it; I knew it. That is why I was afraid, and why she coveted.
What she wanted wasn’t the baby. It was the certainty that I would stay. The baby was merely a ghostly guarantor. I even savored the fear, the way one savors a hallucination—voluntarily stretching out my wrists for the cuffs. Perhaps I, too, craved the thrill of being trussed by my own rope. As I laid my neck in her hands, I may have been dreaming of revenge—the perverse pleasure labeled that night’s mistake.
A secret diary—six months written in red ink
June 3, 2023
Slept with Jae-hoon for the first time. No protection. Claimed I forgot the pill—lied. I skipped it on purpose.
June 25
Bought seven test kits at the pharmacy. All negative. Cried from disappointment. Jae-hoon looked relieved: “Not again, huh?” I clenched the pen so hard it left grooves.
July 10
Opened a fake café called Prenatal Academy across the street. Registered a blog under ‘VeryMommy’ and started serializing a phony parenting diary. Over two-hundred comments. Fake data breeding fake power.
August 1
Told Jae-hoon I’d carry his seed. His face was adorable; he said we should buy rings. I’d already picked a name for the second line on the test—Ha-jun, complete with pet name.
August 15
Brought Jae-hoon to his parents’ gathering. When I said I wasn’t pregnant yet, his mother’s smile froze. She used to call me “our future daughter-in-law.” In the end, the child was the key.
Seung-min’s transcript—the day she vanished
"That’s right. There’s nothing. Just like you wanted."
Her voice on the recorder is ice. I know what nothing means. “That night’s mistake” was never a mistake; revenge had neither beginning nor end. She merely handed me the reins of power labeled seed—without ever planting a real one. I switched the recorder off and watched the butcher’s neon sign die at 7:30 a.m. The smell of her studio closet still clings to my nose.
A room without her. A trap with only me inside.