The apartment didn't quiet down immediately.
It settled.
Slowly.
Like something heavy had been placed in the middle of the room, and no one wanted to touch it first.
Ha-rin sat on the sofa, arms crossed, refusing to look at anyone.
"…I said I'm not explaining everything," she muttered.
"Yes," I replied.
"…And you agreed."
"I agreed you would not," I said. "Not that no one would."
She looked at me.
"…You're unbelievable."
"That is not relevant."
Her mother remained standing.
Still.
Watching.
"…Then explain," she said.
Her father had already taken a seat, leaning forward slightly.
"…Start from the beginning."
I nodded once.
"…There was a procedural error at a clinic," I said.
Ha-rin immediately groaned.
"…Don't say it like that."
"It is accurate."
"…It sounds worse."
"That is subjective."
Her mother didn't interrupt.
Which meant she was listening very carefully.
"…Due to that error," I continued, "…a situation occurred involving both of us."
"…What kind of situation," her father asked.
"A medical one."
Ha-rin covered her face.
"…This is painful."
"Yes."
Her mother's gaze sharpened.
"…Be clear."
I did not change my tone.
"…She is pregnant."
Silence.
This time, it didn't break.
Her father exhaled slowly.
"…I assumed that."
"…You said 'oh,'" Ha-rin muttered.
"That was confirmation."
Her mother stepped forward and sat down across from us.
"…How," she asked.
"…We are NOT explaining that part," Ha-rin said immediately.
"That is unnecessary," I replied.
"Yes," her father added. "I understand enough."
"That is not what I meant," Ha-rin said.
"…Enough," her mother said.
The room stilled again.
"…Is this stable," she asked.
"Yes."
"…Are there risks."
"No immediate ones."
"…And you," she said, looking at me, "…you are taking responsibility."
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No pause.
She held my gaze for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"…Good."
Ha-rin blinked.
"…That's it?"
"No," her mother said calmly. "…That is the first part."
Her father leaned back.
"…What is the plan."
"There is no public plan yet," I replied.
"…Yet?"
"Yes."
Ha-rin lowered her hands.
"…I'm deciding," she said.
Her mother looked at her.
"…You should have told us."
"…I know."
"…You didn't."
"…I know."
Silence.
Then—
The front door opened.
All of us turned.
My mother stepped in first.
"…Why is everyone so quiet—"
She stopped.
Looked around.
Counted.
Then her gaze settled on Ha-rin.
No surprise.
No confusion.
Just recognition.
"…So you told them," she said.
Ha-rin stiffened.
"…Not exactly."
My father walked in behind her, placing the groceries down.
He glanced at Ha-rin's parents.
Then at me.
"…That explains the timing," he said.
"Yes."
Ha-rin's parents turned toward them.
"…You already knew?" her father asked.
"Yes," my father replied. "…For a while."
Silence shifted.
Now it wasn't just shock.
It was imbalance.
Her mother looked between us.
"…So everyone knew except us."
"Yes," Ha-rin said quietly.
"…That's not good," her father added.
"No," I replied. "It is not."
My mother exhaled lightly and stepped further into the room.
"…We should sit," she said.
"That is reasonable," my father replied.
Everyone settled.
Not comfortably.
But deliberately.
Ha-rin leaned back into the sofa.
"…This is worse than I expected."
"No," I said. "It is proceeding as expected."
"…STOP SAYING THAT."
No one disagreed.
The room, once quiet—
Now held too many people.
Too many thoughts.
And no easy direction forward.