Chapter 5 - LEILA VISITED HIM ONCE, AND TAE REFUSED TO ASK FOR A SECOND VISIT
Tae served his sentence at a federal facility in Minnesota.
The newspapers called it humiliating.
Tae called it scheduled.
Wake.
Count.
Work assignment.
Meals.
Exercise.
Reading.
Therapy group.
Count again.
For the first time since he was eighteen, his time belonged to somebody else.
Strangely, that did not destroy him.
At first he hated every minute.
Not because the conditions were brutal.
Because he could not solve discomfort by purchasing privacy.
He could not summon a driver.
Move a meeting.
Close a restaurant.
Replace a mattress because the first one hurt his back.
He had to live inside limits he had not chosen.
His therapist told him that might be useful.
Tae told the therapist to go to hell.
Then returned the following week.
Progress.
He wrote no letters to Leila.
Not romantic ones.
He sent one through attorneys when Park Meridian’s restructuring created an issue involving the old workshop lease.
Purely legal.
Nothing else.
Mrs. Han visited every month.
Marco visited twice.
Park Meridian’s professional interim CEO came once to discuss transition.
Tae refused to manage from prison.
The board was surprised.
“If the company cannot function without me for sixteen months, I failed years ago.”
That sentence became an internal legend.
Leila heard about it from Mrs. Han.
She pretended it meant nothing.
Her own life expanded.
Grant Restoration Studio won a state preservation award.
Leila hired two more conservators.
She moved from sleeping occasionally on a sofa in the workshop to renting a small townhouse ten minutes away.
The first piece she bought for the townhouse was a terrible yellow armchair from a flea market.
It needed nothing.
She liked that.
Not every object required repair.
She dated once.
His name was Ben.
Architect.
Kind.
Divorced.
He took her to dinner twice.
On the third date he asked why her marriage ended.
Leila gave the polite answer.
“We loved each other badly.”
Ben nodded.
Then spent twenty minutes explaining how emotionally available he was compared with “men like that.”
She never accepted a fourth date.
Not because Tae had ruined other men for her.
Because comparisons were exhausting.
Seven months into Tae’s sentence, Mrs. Han had a minor stroke.
Leila heard from Marco.
She went to the hospital immediately.
Not for Tae.
For Mrs. Han.
The stroke was mild.
Speech slightly affected.
Strength expected to return.
Leila sat beside her bed and scolded her for frightening everyone.
Mrs. Han tried to scold back but one side of her mouth was weak.
It made her angrier.
Three days later, Mrs. Han whispered:
“Tell Tae.”
“He knows.”
“No.”
Mrs. Han pointed toward Leila.
“You.”
Leila understood.
“You want me to tell him I came?”
Mrs. Han nodded.
“Why?”
Another irritated gesture.
Leila sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
Mrs. Han smiled.
That evening, Leila wrote her first letter.
Not love.
Not reconciliation.
Three sentences.
Mrs. Han is recovering well. I spent the afternoon with her. She is still bossing everyone around, so I think she will be fine. I thought you would want to know from someone who was there. — Leila
She mailed it.
Tae read it four times.
Then put it inside the book on his nightstand.
He answered:
Thank you for going. She loves you. I am glad she was not alone. — Tae
Nothing else.
Leila cried anyway.
Two months later, she decided to visit.
Nobody asked her.
Mrs. Han did not suggest it.
Marco certainly didn’t.
Leila filled out the paperwork herself.
Drove to Minnesota alone.
Stayed in a normal hotel.
Paid for it herself.
At the visiting room, she nearly turned around.
Then Tae walked in.
He looked different.
Shorter hair.
Less weight.
No tailored suit.
No watch.
Gray prison clothes.
Still Tae.
He stopped when he saw her.
For a second, the Black Lion disappeared completely.
“Leila.”
“Hi.”
He sat across from her.
Hands on the table.
He did not reach.
Neither did she.
“You look…”
He stopped.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Choose carefully.”
A tiny smile appeared.
“Good.”
“You look different.”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
Honest.
“But I will be.”
They talked for seventy minutes.
Mrs. Han.
The workshop.
Nora.
A restoration project involving a ridiculous French wardrobe.
Park Meridian.
Therapy.
Food.
Anything except marriage.
Finally Leila asked:
“Do you still have the ring?”
Tae went still.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“With Mrs. Han.”
“You didn’t bring it here?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked down.
“Because I was afraid keeping it beside me would turn it into a promise you never made.”
Leila’s throat tightened.
“I told you not to throw it away.”
“I didn’t.”
“I also told you not to keep it because you thought I was coming back.”
“I remember every word.”
Of course he did.
Leila looked at the man across from her.
“I miss you.”
Tae’s eyes closed briefly.
When they opened, there was pain in them.
“I miss you too.”
Silence.
Then Tae said:
“That is not enough.”
She stared.
“To what?”
“Undo the divorce.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She almost laughed.
“You could let me have an emotional moment.”
“I’m trying not to use it.”
That was such a Tae answer she actually laughed.
He smiled.
Then became serious again.
“Leila.”
“Yes?”
“If you never come back here, I understand.”
Her face tightened.
“I drove nine hours.”
“Ten with traffic.”
“Not helping.”
“I mean after today.”
He looked toward the institutional walls.
“I don’t want visiting me to become another form of waiting.”
That sentence hit hard.
Leila had spent years waiting for Tae.
At restaurants.
In bed.
On birthdays.
At home.
Now he was refusing to make prison another place she had to organize her life around.
“I decide what I do with my time.”
she said.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t tell me not to come.”
Tae stopped.
Fair.
“Okay.”
She leaned back.
“I might come again.”
“Okay.”
“I might not.”
“Okay.”
“That word is irritating.”
“I learned it from you.”
She smiled.
The visit ended.
At the exit, Leila almost turned back.
Didn’t.
Tae watched her leave.
Did not call her name.
That mattered.
She visited twice more over the remaining seven months.
Three visits total.
No weekly ritual.
No romance sustained through dramatic prison letters.
They spoke honestly.
Sometimes awkwardly.
Once they argued because Tae tried to tell her a client sounded financially suspicious based only on Leila’s description.
She told him he was not allowed to investigate her clients.
He apologized.
Growth remained annoying.
When Tae was released after serving fourteen months with credit for good behavior, there were photographers outside.
Park Meridian wanted to send a car.
Tae refused the armored SUV.
Mrs. Han arrived in an ordinary black sedan.
Marco drove.
No Leila.
Tae had not expected her.
He still looked once.
Then got into the car.
Mrs. Han slapped his arm.
“For what?”
“You looked.”
“I’m human.”
“Unfortunately.”
They drove to the mansion.
Tae had considered selling it while inside.
He still might.
The house felt less like power now.
More like a museum of a life he no longer wanted.
On his first evening home, he opened the bedside drawer.
Empty.
Of course.
The ring was with Mrs. Han.
He went downstairs.
She stood in the kitchen.
“Can I have it?”
Mrs. Han studied him.
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine to keep.”
“Wrong.”
He frowned.
“It was Leila’s.”
That silenced him.
Mrs. Han continued.
“She left it with you.”
“Yes.”
“So you are caretaker.”
Not owner.
Interesting.
“What should I do?”
Mrs. Han almost smiled.
“For once?”
“Nothing.”
So Tae did nothing.
He returned to Park Meridian three weeks later.
Not as president.
The board offered him executive chairman.
He declined.
He accepted a nonexecutive seat under independent oversight.
The company had changed while he was gone.
Good.
He spent time closing the last businesses that could not survive transparent accounting.
Some family members hated him.
Joon, awaiting trial and later convicted on multiple financial and extortion counts, refused to speak to him.
Tae accepted that too.
Then, four months after release, an invitation arrived.
GRANT RESTORATION STUDIO — NEW GALLERY AND WORKSHOP OPENING
Public event.
Printed card.
No handwritten note.
Tae stared.
Mrs. Han looked over his shoulder.
“You going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Coward.”
He went.
Leila saw him the moment he entered.
Dark suit.
No entourage inside.
Marco remained outside by choice.
Tae stopped near the door.
He did not approach immediately.
He waited until Leila finished speaking with a client.
Then she walked toward him.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“I invited two hundred people.”
“I chose to interpret it personally.”
She smiled.
Same Tae.
Different rules.
“Want to see the workshop?”
“Yes.”
She showed him everything.
Climate-controlled storage.
Conservation room.
Wood shop.
Gallery.
Office.
No cameras he controlled.
No leases he owned.
No invisible Park Meridian subsidiaries beneath the floor.
At the back stood the hundred-year-old rosewood desk.
His desk.
The one she had restored years earlier.
Tae stopped.
“I thought this was at the mansion.”
“You gave it to the workshop for refinishing before the divorce.”
“I forgot.”
“I didn’t.”
He touched the surface.
Perfect.
Leila said:
“I finished it.”
“It looks new.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That’s not the goal.”
He looked at her.
“You can still see the age.”
“The repairs.”
“The old crack on the left side.”
“I could have covered it completely.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because restoration is not pretending damage never happened.”
Tae became very still.
Leila immediately sighed.
“That was about furniture.”
“Of course.”
“Do not turn my desk lecture into romance.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She smiled.
Then:
“Coffee?”
He looked at her.
“Is that professional?”
“No.”
His breath caught.
“Friends?”
“Maybe.”
Tae nodded.
“Coffee.”
For the first time since the divorce, Leila chose to meet him when there was no lawyer, no prison glass, no emergency, and nothing he could do for her.
Just coffee.
May you like
It was a small beginning.
Which was why it mattered.
