The 7-Day Contract (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8

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My mother was only seventeen when she became the eldest daughter-in-law of the main family branch.

It was a marriage arranged without her ever having seen her groom’s face.

With eighteen ancestral rites a year, plus all the clan’s major and minor events—she came to this so-called “in-laws’ house,” only to find her hands never dried from constant work.

It was the era when Yoon Bok Hee first popularized the miniskirt, and stylish, modern “new women” strutted confidently down the streets.

Meanwhile, a blossoming young bride of the same generation languished in a remote rural village, hair tightly pinned up, exploited relentlessly for free labor.

From a certain day onward, her husband’s overnight absences grew frequent—and she later learned he’d long established a separate household with another woman even before their wedding.

You must look at the sky to pluck a star. Yet after three years passed with no sign of pregnancy, elders from the clan ceaselessly berated and tormented her, day after day.

Time flowed on, and by the time my mother was well into her thirties, she began plotting only one thing: how to escape her marital home.

Recalling those days, my mother once said:

“Funny thing—it was just when I’d finally gotten wise to the ways of the world and packed my things to leave, that you suddenly popped into my belly. What could I do? I just sank right back down where I stood.”

My mother’s belated attempt to start a new life was thus thwarted—halted in its tracks by Da Jung.

At this point, Da Jung felt overwhelming guilt—as though she herself had ruined her mother’s life.

In this way, after sixteen long years, my mother barely managed to have one daughter. A woman who had lived like a criminal despite committing no crime now truly became one.

When Da Jung was ten, her father—having contracted an illness outside—returned home.

Though he’d clearly spent ample time living with another woman, my mother cared for him with utmost devotion, even attending to his bodily waste without complaint.

When Da Jung turned thirteen, persecution from the clan began in earnest, now that her mother was a widow.

On the surface, it was because she had no son—but in truth, she was merely a sacrificial pawn in a shadow war over clan assets.

They treated her as a proper daughter-in-law when exploiting her labor, yet hypocritically invoked outdated Joseon-era “Seven Grounds for Divorce,” despite living in the modern age.

Da Jung still vividly remembered those repulsive faces—their malicious intentions barely concealed.

Her mother hadn’t been born cold-hearted.

As the mother of her only daughter, she’d once been deeply affectionate—lavishing Da Jung with every indulgence, every fuss, every ounce of her heartfelt care.

Only hardened by the relentless storms of harsh years—calluses grown thick—had she retreated into a shell of solitude and sorrow.

Thinking this, Da Jung’s heart ached.

Even after mechanically finishing housework and bathing Si Woo, Jeong Ae remained seated, fixedly staring at the turned-off TV screen.

“Please just sleep here and go tomorrow.”

“No, I’m leaving.”

Unable to suppress a sigh at that stubborn reply, Da Jung urged again:

“What time is it already? Stop being so obstinate—just sleep and leave tomorrow morning. I’ll drive you to the terminal.”

“Huh! Since when does going to my own house require checking the clock?”

Her tone implied: “Don’t even pretend to worry about me.” Yet Jeong Ae stayed seated, her expression sullen, guarding the sofa stubbornly.

Jeong Ae herself couldn’t fathom why she was here.

She’d sworn countless times she’d never see her daughter again.

Even when she received the call days later—invited to come on the day of her grandson’s ear-piercing ceremony—she scoffed, dismissing it as arrogant, fanciful nonsense.

“No matter how long you wait, I won’t even show my face.”

Yet somehow, late that afternoon, her feet slowly carried her to the terminal. Next thing she knew, she stood before her daughter’s house.

She desperately refused to admit she’d come of her own will—determined her daughter not mistake this for surrender, as if waving a white flag.

Though she’d regretted it a hundred times over and longed only to flee, that same stubborn pride now bound her feet, leaving her stranded—unable to advance or retreat.

Si Woo, standing silently nearby, alternated his gaze between his silent grandmother and mother.

Though he feared his grandmother more than anyone, the boy was perceptive enough to clearly read his mother’s mood.

Perhaps sensing it was now his turn to act, Si Woo mustered his courage and stepped toward Jeong Ae.

“Grandma… let’s play ‘ko’ together, okay?”

Jeong Ae’s wrinkled eyes lowered. She saw his tender, half-grown fingers grip her own—gnarled and creased like crumpled plastic wrap.

Her hands, brutally hardened and deeply lined from unrelenting toil, contrasted sharply with her grandson’s—pale, soft, and delicate as bracken shoots, truly lovely.

She’d raised her daughter through suffering beyond words.

Fearing her child—fatherless—would be scorned, she’d endured silently for years, praying only that her daughter would never live as she had.

But then her bright-futured daughter appeared—pregnant with a fatherless child.

She’d assumed her daughter was simply too busy with work to visit. So she’d made time, packed some side dishes, and traveled up—only to find her daughter’s belly already swollen like a gourd.

She’d been furious—demanding her daughter name the man, vowing she’d make him pay.

Instead, her daughter revealed she’d conceived after just one night with someone whose identity she didn’t even know. Jeong Ae felt her world collapse.

She grabbed her daughter’s hand, insisting they go to the hospital immediately—but her daughter fiercely resisted, refusing outright.

Trending

“What—you want to live just like your mother?!” Jeong Ae screamed, lashing out physically—slapping, kicking, unrestrained.

She beat her pregnant daughter relentlessly, hoping the violence alone might force a miscarriage.

She hurled vicious curses: *Please—don’t ruin my daughter’s life. Just die in the womb.*

Yet stubbornly, relentlessly, the child completed its full term and was born—with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes.

Looking at her grandson’s face left her stunned. Whoever’s seed he’d inherited remained unknown—but the boy’s looks were undeniably striking, enough to make one exclaim in admiration.

That’s why she couldn’t bear seeing his face. Every time she did, the image of *that man*—his father—flashed in her mind, igniting a thousand burning flames in her gut.

It was maternal instinct. Precisely *because* she was a mother—her daughter’s ruiner’s seed could *never* be something she found endearing.

When she roughly shoved away his affectionate, fern-like hand, Si Woo flinched, startled, and shrank back cautiously. In that moment, Da Jung’s insides twisted in anguish.

“Mom—if you’re going to act like this, why even come?!”

“Oh! No one *asked* me to come!”

“If you’re coming, at least don’t make it obvious. Can’t you see everyone’s uncomfortable because of you?”

“You damn brat! So other people’s feelings matter more to you than your own mother’s?!”

“It’s not about that!”

As their raised voices collided, Si Woo hiccupped—then, though clearly overwhelmed and on the verge of tears, he stepped toward his grandmother once more.

“Grandma… please don’t be angry.”

“Go away!”

Jeong Ae shoved Si Woo back, pouring all her pent-up anguish into that push. The boy, trembling and sulking, finally couldn’t hold back his tears and rushed into his mother’s arms.

Seeing her son cry so heartbreakingly, Da Jung felt a surge of fury rise like bile in her throat.

“Mom! Are you really going to keep doing this? What does Si Woo even understand? Why are you taking it out on the child too?!”

“My own child matters more! My own child’s fate—ruined by this mess!”

Stunned, Da Jung quickly covered Si Woo’s ears and pulled him tighter into her embrace.

“Mom! Si Woo’s right here—please, just watch your words…!”

Da Jung squeezed her eyes shut. Every time her mother acted like this, she truly felt she might lose her mind.

“What does a college graduate from *S University* even lack, that she has to live like *this*?!”

Da Jung knew well how proud her mother had once been of her—how she’d been her mother’s greatest pride. Now, to that same mother, Da Jung had become the most shameful secret.

“How did I raise you? You ask *me*? I grew up watching my mother get beaten every single day.”

That’s why she loathed marriage. Her mother claimed she endured for her child’s sake—but Da Jung refused, *even for her child’s sake*, to live the way her mother had.

“Then why *didn’t* you just avoid becoming like your mother?!”

“What do you expect me to do? Our Si Woo is already five! How much longer do you want this to go on?!”

“Goodness. Are you *proud* of bearing a fatherless child? Is having a child without marriage some kind of achievement? Now what? Who’d even *look* twice at a woman dragging a kid like that?!”

Jeong Ae unleashed her long-suppressed rage in a torrent.

When Da Jung left the main family house, she’d been happier than anyone else.

Simply because her mother no longer had to live like a slave.

Yet soon after, her mother remarried—a man in similar circumstances, already raising a son five years Da Jung’s senior, bearing his own wounds.

Her sole reason for remarrying? She couldn’t raise Da Jung as a fatherless child.

Crouching by the front gate in her school uniform, hands clamped over her ears—this became Da Jung’s daily routine. Day after day, the sounds of shattering objects and violent cursing spilled over the wall.

She heard her mother’s screams and desperate struggles—but dared not intervene. Doing so would only make her stepfather turn his violence onto her mother even more fiercely.

Her mother’s second husband came home drunk every day—and beat her. On those nights, Da Jung inevitably fled to Sol Yi’s house for refuge.

Even this second husband hadn’t started out that way.

He’d courted her mother with sweet promises of comfort—and acted toward Da Jung like the most loving, devoted father imaginable. Yet, as if bound by some unspoken pact, he too soon revealed his true colors.

Not all men were the same. Surely, there existed men like Sol Yi’s father—men who, for forty unwavering years, affectionately called their wives “Kkot Boon,” a tender pet name.

But what Da Jung had witnessed firsthand leaned overwhelmingly the other way.

Sent to her aunt’s in Ansan, Gyeonggi Province, to start high school, Da Jung encountered the same reality there too.

Her uncle was a patriarchal man. Though he never used physical violence, he treated her aunt like a servant—and hurled verbal abuse at her without hesitation.

As if such dominance were the rightful privilege and prerogative of the household’s “head.”

*“Please, just get divorced! Why do you and Mom have to live like this?!”*

When Da Jung protested angrily, her aunt would murmur, almost like a lament:

*“What can we do—we’re uneducated. Back then, all women lived like this. If we rashly divorced and our kids went hungry, what then? Don’t hate your mom. She’s enduring all this just for *you* to succeed.”*

If that were true, her mother was foolish—ignorant of what truly benefited her child.

From observing her mother’s life, Da Jung learned only one lesson: she must become self-reliant, the true author of her own life.

ads

Marriage? Entirely unnecessary.

“Are you planning to raise *your* child fatherless too?!”

“Mom, please—for once, watch what you say! What *exactly* do you even want from me?!”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Ai-go…”

Having vented her fury, Jeong Ae finally wiped her damp eyes, got up, and left.

*Bang!*

The moment the front door slammed shut, Da Jung broke down in tears—overwhelmed by sadness, anger, and guilt toward her young son.

Si Woo, who’d been silently clinging to her heaving chest, gently pulled away the hands she’d covered her ears with.

Then, in a gesture of comfort, he wrapped his small arms tightly around his mother’s neck as she wept uncontrollably, her emotions tangled and raw.

“Mom… it’s my fault…”

“Huh? What did Si Woo do?”

Her voice, thick with tears, tried its best to sound calm.

“Grandma got angry because of me.”

Da Jung smiled softly, shaking her head.

“No, no—it’s not because of you. Grandma’s angry at *me*.”

“Don’t cry, Mom. Stop.”

“Huh? I’m not crying…”

Da Jung hastily wiped her eyes and widened her smile. In response, tiny fingers gently traced her tear-streaked cheeks.

“Tears. You’re lying…”

“These are happy tears! When Mom first met Si Woo, she was so happy she cried. And now—our Si Woo is already five! That makes Mom so proud, the tears just came again.”

*Hic*—Si Woo gasped, his expression instantly shifting to deep concern.

“Then… is it *my* fault?”

His voice trembling, he burst into fresh sobs.

“Waaaahhh! It’s all my faaaault!”

Da Jung couldn’t help but laugh—even in this moment, her son’s adorableness disarmed her completely.

“It’s okay, Mom’s fine. So you stop too, okay?”

She held him tightly, patting his bottom soothingly.

Marriage. Marriage. Marriage.

She knew her mother’s wish: graduate from a prestigious university, earn society’s respect, and marry a man “worthy” of that status.

Though her mother clung stubbornly to this outdated, singular life goal—Da Jung knew it would never be fulfilled.

How thoroughly marriage could desolate and render a woman’s life meaningless was starkly evident in her mother’s own arduous existence.

For all those long years, her mother had never lived even a single moment for herself. Da Jung had consciously chosen her path *precisely* to avoid becoming her—*never* to live like her mother.

But her child was another matter entirely. Si Woo was Da Jung’s lifeblood—the very reason she lived. Just as she herself had been for her mother.

Si Woo alone was enough. If she could simply stay by his side like this—that alone was more than enough happiness.

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