The Silent Heart's Echo

chapter 5

Sunlight streamed boldly into the dining room, a stark contrast to the tense silence of the previous night's dinner. Taehyung entered, having dressed carefully in a respectful, high-necked lavender dress. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Jeon, was already seated, sipping tea with an elegant posture that seemed innate.

"Good morning, Mother," Taehyung said, bowing slightly.

Mrs. Jeon's face lit up with a warm, genuine smile. "Ah, Taehyung-ah. Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Her eyes were kind, crinkling at the corners. The affection in them was immediate and surprising.

"Quite well, thank you," Taehyung replied, taking the seat indicated beside her.

"Good. This old house needs some young energy," Mrs. Jeon said, patting her hand. "You must call me Eomma, dear. No need for such formality between us."

Just then, Mr. Jeon entered, the newspaper tucked under his arm. His presence immediately charged the air with a more serious energy. He gave Taehyung a curt, assessing nod.

"Father," she greeted, bowing her head again.

"Taehyung," he acknowledged, his voice a low rumble. He didn't smile, but his gaze wasn't unkind—it was analytical, like he was evaluating a new business acquisition. He took his seat at the head of the table. "I trust you are settling in."

Before she could answer, the soft whir of Jungkook's wheelchair announced his arrival. He came to a stop at his usual place, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Good morning, son," Mr. Jeon said, not looking up from unfolding his paper.

Jungkook gave a noncommittal hum.

Mrs. Jeon's smile became strained. "Jungkook-ah, you could at least greet your parents properly. And look at you, your hair is a mess. Did Seokjin not help you?" Her tone was a confusing mix of concern and sharp criticism.

Taehyung saw Jungkook's jaw clench. He said nothing, simply unfolding his napkin with precise, controlled movements.

"It's fine, Eomma," Taehyung interjected softly, pouring a cup of coffee. She remembered how he took it from watching Seokjin the day before. Black, no sugar. She slid the cup carefully onto the saucer in front of him. "The morning light is just hitting it in a way that makes it look untidy."

The table went quiet. Jungkook's eyes flickered up to hers, startled. Mrs. Jeon looked surprised, then pleased. Mr. Jeon peered at her over the top of his newspaper, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

Jungkook picked up the coffee cup. "Thank you," he muttered, the words barely audible.

The rest of the breakfast was a minefield of subtle tensions. Mr. Jeon asked Jungkook a question about a quarterly report, treating the breakfast table like a boardroom. Jungkook answered in monosyllables.

Mrs. Jeon, meanwhile, focused her attention entirely on Taehyung. "You must let me show you the family portraits later, dear. And we'll have to plan your first public appearance carefully. We need to present the right image."

Taehyung nodded politely, but her attention was on Jungkook. She saw how he seemed to shrink under his mother's comments about "image" and his father's clinical interrogations. Mrs. Jeon's kindness was real, but it was layered with a deep-seated frustration towards her son's condition—a frustration that manifested as passive-aggressive nitpicking.

Later, as Mrs. Jeon showed Taehyung the rose garden, she linked her arm with Taehyung's. "You are good for him, I can tell," she said confidentially. "He needs someone lively. Someone to… pull him out of his shell." She sighed, a sad sound. "It's so difficult, you know. Seeing him like this. We had such… hopes."

Taehyung understood then. Mrs. Jeon's occasional rudeness stemmed from a place of grief. Grief for the son she had lost—the vibrant, able-bodied heir—and her inability to connect with the man he had become.

That evening, after a similarly tense dinner, Taehyung was in the main drawing-room with Mrs. Jeon when Jungkook moved to leave.

"Where are you going, Jungkook?" his mother asked. "Stay with us. Your wife is here. You can't just hide in your study every night."

Jungkook's back was rigid. "I have work."

"It won't kill you to spend time with your family," she pressed, her voice taking on that sharp edge again.

Taehyung saw the muscle in his jaw feather. He was about to say something cutting, she could feel it.

She stood up smoothly. "Actually, Eomma," she said, her voice bright, "Jungkook-ssi promised he would help me choose some art for the east wing sitting room. His taste is impeccable. We were just about to look at some catalogues." She walked over to him, placing a hand lightly on the back of his wheelchair. "Weren't we?"

He looked up at her, utterly stunned. The anger in his eyes faded into pure confusion.

Mrs. Jeon beamed. "Oh! Well, in that case, don't let me keep you. How wonderful!"

Taehyung didn't wait for his response. She gently pushed his chair forward, guiding him out of the room and down the hall towards their wing. Once they were out of earshot, she stopped.

He craned his neck to look up at her, his expression unreadable. "I made no such promise."

"I know," she said simply, removing her hand. "But you looked like you'd rather chew glass than stay in there for another second. And frankly, so did I."

He stared at her for a long moment, the cold mask gone, replaced by a bewildered scrutiny. She had shielded him. No one had ever done that before. They either pitied him or pressured him.

"Why?" he finally asked, his voice low.

Taehyung offered a small, sassy shrug, a glimpse of her true self breaking through the dutiful daughter-in-law facade. "Consider it my second rebellion of the day. And this one didn't even involve fish."

For the briefest second, the ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was there and gone so fast she might have imagined it, but her heart leapt at the sight.

Without another word, he turned his chair and continued down the hall to his study, leaving her standing there. But this time, he didn't close the door.

End of Chapter 5.