Chapter 14 Monroe
Once word gets around that I’m going on an indefinite leave of absence, the faculty at the academy insist on throwing me another party—this time, a small going away luncheon in the lounge.
I show up to find it’s once again been transformed by a few pastel balloons and a hand-painted banner that reads “We’ll Miss You, Ssaem Monroe!” in slightly lopsided letters.
There’s a cake on the center table, decorated with blue frosting and tiny fondant baby booties, and a small pile of wrapped going away gifts waiting beside it.
“I still can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Kelly says, drawing me into a tight hug. “Who am I supposed to complain to now? Who’s going to understand my suffering?”
“You’ll survive,” I answer. “I’ll be back eventually. With a baby in tow.”
“I need regular updates and pictures! I can’t wait to see who he’ll look more like, you or Jin.”
The other teachers gather around, offering warm wishes and congratulations. Mr. Quincy gives me an awkward but genuine side-hug and tells me the kids are going to miss me.
Then come the gifts.
Kelly gifts me a mug that says “World’s Okayest Mom” with a winking face emoji, which makes me laugh out loud. Another teacher by the name of Mrs. Park presents me with a lavender-scented candle “for relaxation during those long, sleepless nights ahead.”
There’s a gift card to a Korean spa, a cookbook in both English and Korean, and some chocolate candies I can’t wait to devour as soon as I get home.
“This is from Mr. Noh,” a history teacher explains. He holds out a tin can for me to take. “He had a personal appointment today and couldn’t be here, but he wanted to make sure he gave you his gift.”
I open the tin to find it filled with Saenggang-cha—the same ginger tea that’s been calming my nausea and helping me through bouts of morning sickness.
“This is all so thoughtful,” I say. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“You deserve it,” Mr. Quincy says. “You’ve done great work at the academy.”
Looking around the lounge at these people who have become more than coworkers, my heart is full. But I have a new chapter waiting for me. A baby boy who’ll need his mother and a life with Jin that’s about to change in ways I can barely imagine.
By mid-afternoon, I’m back in my classroom, standing at the whiteboard while my students practice their pronunciation.
“Repeat after me,” I say, pointing to the word written in large letters. “BUTTERFLY.”
“Buh-tuh-fly!” the children chorus back, their voices bright and eager.
“Good, good! Now try this one. ELEPHANT.”
“Eh-leh-punt!”
I smile, making a mental note to work on the ‘ph’ sound next class.
These kids have come so far since the beginning of the school year. Even Jung-suk, the mischievous little boy who so frequently makes paper airplanes during my class, has been improving in his schoolwork.
I pause long enough for a sip from the cup of ginger tea I’ve brewed, the pleasant warmth spreading through me. It’s helped once again to soothe the queasiness that sometimes comes during the final hours of school.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to the board. “GIRAFFE. Repeat after—”
I cut myself off as I blink and tiny dots appear before my eyes. The room suddenly feels like it’s shifted a few degrees off its axis.
I give a shake of my head and grip at the edge of my desk to steady myself. I probably just stood up too fast.
Or possibly low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten since the cake at the party, and that was a couple hours ago.
But even as I take a moment to clutch at my desk and regain composure, the dizziness doesn’t pass. It only intensifies.
The whiteboard blurs in front of me, the words I wrote swimming as if suddenly animated. Letters hover in front of others and then double. My heart begins to race, pounding faster as all other sounds in the classroom become muted.
A cold sweat has broken out across my forehead. Down the back of my neck.
“Ssaem?” a girl named Yuna says, frowning. “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth to answer, but my tongue feels thick and clumsy. The words come out slurred, barely coherent. It almost sounds like someone else speaking.
“I’m… I just need to…”
The walls are spinning, a nauseating carousel of colors and shapes. The children have risen half out of their seats, clearly frightened, sounding more distant than ever.
My legs are trembling, refusing to hold my weight.
I stagger for my chair, desperate to rest, but my hand misses entirely. The floor rushes up to meet me to a chorus of terrified screams.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when I’m lucid enough to make out the beep of a hospital monitor. It pulls me from the dark nothingness I’m trapped in.
My eyelids struggle to open, heavier than usual, as I fight to fully wake up.
Above me is a white ceiling and fluorescent lights. I’m lying in a bed with what seems to be an IV taped to the back of my hand, a thin blanket draped over my body.
The baby.
Panic surges through me. My hands fly to my stomach, desperately searching for the familiar bump, the reassurance that my son’s still growing inside me. As my palm glides over the swell, I realize he’s still there.
He’s still with me.
Yet the fear doesn’t completely subside. What happened? Why am I here? Is he okay?!
“Monroe! Oh, thank the Lord, you’re awake!”
Mom appears at my bedside, her face streaked with tears and eyes red-rimmed. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight, her grip almost painful in its intensity.
“Mom,” I croak, my throat scratchy. “What happened? The baby—is the baby—”
“The doctors say he’s fine, Moni. They’re monitoring him, but he’s okay.” She presses a kiss to my forehead, her lips quivering. “You scared me half to death. They called me and said you collapsed at the school—in the middle of the classroom. I thought… I thought—”
She can’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.
I sink back against the pillows, relief washing over me in waves. The baby is okay.
Whatever happened, whatever went wrong, my son is still safe inside me.
But the relief is short-lived, chased away by a different kind of anxiety.
“Where’s Jin?” I ask, scanning the room as if he might materialize from behind the plant in the corner. “Has anyone called him?”
Mom’s expression flickers, brows knitting. “We’ve been trying to reach him, baby. Sang-cheol has called him a dozen times. I’ve left messages. He’s just... he’s not answering right now.”
Not answering.
My mind goes to the many promises he’s made over the past few months. The vows to be more present and prioritize me and the baby. He swore he’d be there when I needed him.
Yet here I am, lying in a hospital bed after collapsing in front of my students, and he can’t even pick up his phone.
“Can I have my phone?” I ask hoarsely.
Mom retrieves it from the small table beside the bed. I pull up Jin’s contact and hit call, pressing the phone to my ear with a shaky hand.
It rings and rings and then goes to voice mail. I wait for the beep and then choke out, “Jin, I’m at the hospital. I collapsed in my classroom. Where are you? Nobody’s been able to get hold of you, and I’m worried. You said you’d be here for emergencies. Please call me back! I love you.”
The line beeps again, signifying I’ve been cut off.
I hang up with a deep sigh, resorting to texting him next.
Call me back asap
It’s an emergency
Please
I’m sending off the messages when the door opens and Dr. Gong steps through.
“Monroe, how are you feeling?” she asks gently, her white coat crisp and dark bob sleek. She stops at my bedside with an expression that’s soft and sympathetic.
“Better,” I answer honestly. “Still a little shaky, but better. What happened to me?”
“Your blood sugar was dangerously low when you collapsed. Combined with some other markers we found in your initial tests, I believe you’re experiencing gestational diabetes.
It’s not uncommon, especially given the family history you mentioned—your mother had similar issues during her pregnancy, correct? ”
Mom stifles a breath, raising her hand to her mouth as if she’s on the verge of crying. “So she collapsed because she’s diabetic like I was while pregnant?”
“That’s what we believe,” says Dr. Gong. “The good news is that gestational diabetes is very manageable. You’ll need to make some dietary changes—more frequent small meals and monitoring your sugar intake. That sort of thing. I’ll send you home with detailed instructions and a glucose monitor.”
“And the baby?” I prompt. “He’s really okay?”
Dr. Gong’s expression softens even more. “He’s doing fine. Regular heartbeat and normal movement. Whatever caused your blood sugar to drop, it doesn’t seem to have affected him. You’re both going to be just fine.”
The relief is so powerful I sag back against the pillows, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Fine. We’re going to be fine.
“I am running one more panel,” Dr. Gong adds, referencing her tablet.
“Just to be thorough. The results should be ready in a few hours—I’ll call you if anything comes up that we need to discuss.
But for now, I’m comfortable discharging you.
Go home, rest, eat something tasty and nutritious, and try to avoid stress. ”
“Thank you, Dr. Gong. I’m so sorry for the scare.”
She gently squeezes my shoulder. “Take care of yourself and the little one, Monroe.”
Sang-cheol is waiting for us at the hospital entrance, his expression as stoic as ever except for the flicker of concern in his gaze. He opens the back door of the black sedan without a word, helping Mom guide me inside like I’m made of glass.
“Have you heard from Jin?” I ask him as he slides into the driver’s seat.
He regretfully glances at me through the rearview mirror. “Not yet, Miss Monroe. I’ve tried reaching him several times. His phone goes straight to voicemail now.”
Straight to voicemail. Which means it’s either dead or turned off.
I don’t know which possibility is worse.
The drive home passes fast, with Mom’s attempts to fill the silence with reassurances and plans for dinner. I respond on autopilot, nodding and murmuring agreement, but my mind is elsewhere.
Where is he? What could possibly be so important that he’s unreachable during a medical emergency? After everything he said about prioritizing me and the baby and being more present?
Now when something actually happens, he’s nowhere to be found?
Is he in danger? Is he in trouble himself?
I’m so worried and confused that it almost hurts. It hurts to think about the fact that I’ve faced this situation without Jin when he swore he would be by my side.
By the time we reach the apartment, I’m exhausted in a way that goes beyond the physical. Sang-cheol escorts us up, confirming with the other security guard stationed outside our door that we’re safe.
I manage a weak thank you before shuffling inside.
Mom immediately kicks into caretaker mode, ushering me to the couch and piling blankets around me like she’s building a nest. She disappears into the kitchen, and soon the apartment fills with the sounds and smells of her cooking—the clang of pots and scents of garlic and butter.
The kind of comfort food she’d make me when I was sick as a child.
I should be grateful. I am grateful.
But the gratitude is interspersed between layers of fear and frustration and deep weariness.
I check my phone again to find no response from Jin.
Where are you? This isn’t like you.
Mom returns with a bowl of soup and a stern look that calls for no argument.
“Eat,” she commands, pressing the spoon into my hand. “Dr. Gong said you need to keep your blood sugar stable. That means food.”
I take a few obedient bites, more to appease her than out of any real hunger. The soup is delicious. It’s rich and savory, with chunks of vegetables and tender meat. Yet it feels like a chore to get through when Jin is AWOL.
“He’ll call back,” Mom coos softly. She strokes my curls. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Jin loves you, baby. He wouldn’t just disappear without a good reason.”
I desperately want to believe that’s the case.
There’s some situation or crisis that pulled him away. Some explanation that would undo what seems to be another broken promise.
But it’s getting harder and harder to hold onto that faith.
I set the soup aside and curl up against the cushions, pulling the blankets tight around me. Mom dims the lights and settles into the armchair nearby, her presence a quiet comfort even as my thoughts spiral.
The minutes crawl by, an hour feeling a lot more like two.
I’m starting to doze off, the exhaustion finally winning out over the anxiety, when my phone rings.
I jerk back awake, fumbling for it with a heart thudding faster from hope.
“Hello?” I answer before even checking the Caller ID. “Jin? What’s—”
“Monroe,” Dr. Gong interjects, her tone more serious than usual. “It’s Dr. Gong. I’m glad I caught you. Are you resting at home?”
“I was trying to. Is everything okay?”
She pauses for an extra beat, then answers, “Monroe, I have some news on the additional panel we ran. We found an abnormality in your bloodwork. Something unidentified and that we don’t yet recognize. It’s not typical, and given your symptoms today, I’m concerned.”
I go still, so shocked I struggle to even understand what she’s said.
“What… what does that mean?” I murmur.
“It means I need you to come back to the hospital tonight. We need to run more tests so we can figure out what this is and whether it’s affecting you or the baby.” She pauses again as if she recognizes how troubling her update is. “Can you do that, Monroe? Can you come back now?”
“I… oh… okay. Sure. I’ll come back.”
My gaze meets Mom’s, who’s sat up in the armchair out of alarm. She mouths What’s wrong? at me.
“Great, Monroe. I’m sure we’ll be able to get more information once we run the next panel of tests.”
We hang up with my head still reeling from what she’s told me.
“Baby?” Mom says, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
But I don’t know how to answer. I’m not even sure anymore.