Chapter 4: The Birthday Gathering
The garden had transformed overnight into something out of a magazine.
Pastel balloons bobbed gently against the morning sky, their ribbons catching the light like strands of spun sugar. The catering staff moved with quiet efficiency between tables draped in white linen, arranging platters of finger sandwiches and miniature pastries with the precision of surgeons. A DJ had set up near the fountain, his equipment hidden behind a wall of potted ferns, playing a soft, ambient mix that floated through the air like perfume.
Leonid stood near the gazebo, Minho perched on his hip, watching the chaos unfold with the detached calm of a man who had attended a thousand such events. His son was dressed in a tiny linen suit, complete with a bow tie that looked absurdly adorable against his chubby cheeks. The baby's black curls—so like his father's—bounced as he waved his chubby arms at the passing guests, giggling at nothing in particular.
"You're going to charm everyone before the cake even comes out," Leonid murmured, pressing a kiss to Minho's forehead. The baby responded by grabbing a fistful of his father's shirt and shrieking with delight.
Across the lawn, Jennie was working the crowd like a seasoned politician. Her floral dress swirled around her legs as she moved from group to group, laughing at jokes, complimenting outfits, accepting congratulations with the practiced grace of someone who had been raised for this exact role. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful.
But Leonid noticed the way her eyes kept flicking toward him, checking, measuring, searching for something he couldn't name. He noticed the tension in her shoulders beneath the soft fabric of her dress, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes when she thought no one was looking.
He turned away, focusing on Minho, on the way his son's tiny fingers curled around his thumb, on the sound of his laugh, on anything that wasn't the weight of his wife's gaze.
"You're going to spoil him with all that attention."
Leonid looked up to find his mother approaching, her silver hair swept into an elegant chignon, her designer dress immaculate despite the heat. She was smiling, but there was something sharp beneath the sweetness, something that had been there ever since she'd learned about Jennie's indiscretion.
Leonid had never told her. He hadn't needed to. His mother had a way of knowing things, of reading between lines that were never spoken.
"He's the birthday boy," Leonid said, bouncing Minho gently. "He deserves to be spoiled."
"He deserves a sibling too," his mother said, her tone light, almost teasing. But her eyes were serious, fixed on him with an intensity that made his jaw tighten. "Don't you think it's time? You're not getting any younger, and neither is Jennie."
"Mother—"
"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking." She reached out to smooth Minho's hair, her touch gentle despite her words. "People are starting to talk. About you two, about the guest room, about—"
"People should learn to mind their own business."
His voice came out sharper than he intended, and his mother's eyes widened slightly before she composed herself. She patted his arm, a gesture of reconciliation, but the damage was done.
"I'm only looking out for you, Leonid. For your family. That's all I've ever done."
She drifted away, disappearing into the crowd of guests, and Leonid was left standing alone with his son and the bitter taste of truth in his mouth.
Jennie materialized at his side a moment later, her hand brushing against his elbow. The touch was light, barely there, but he felt it like a brand.
"What did she say?" Jennie asked, her voice low beneath the music and chatter.
"Nothing important."
"She's been giving me looks all morning. I'm not imagining it, Leonid."
"No one's giving you looks, Jennie. You're being paranoid."
The word hung between them, heavy and accusatory, and he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes before she masked it with a smile. Around them, the party continued, oblivious to the quiet war being waged in the space between them.
"Excuse me," Jennie said, her voice clipped. "I need to check on the cake."
She walked away, her heels sinking slightly into the soft grass, and Leonid watched her go. Minho babbled something, tugging at his father's collar, and Leonid forced himself to smile, to bounce the baby, to play the part of the happy father at his son's first birthday party.
The hours blurred together in a haze of champagne and small talk. Leonid circulated through the guests, accepting congratulations, posing for photos, doing everything expected of him with the same quiet composure he'd perfected over years of public life.
But his eyes kept finding Jennie.
She was standing near the edge of the garden, talking with a group of her friends from university. Her laughter drifted toward him, bright and familiar, and for a moment—just a moment—he let himself remember what it was like before. Before the betrayal. Before the silence. Before he'd learned to sleep in a different room, to eat at a different table, to build walls where there had once been doors.
"Leonid! There you are!"
Auntie Hyejin, Jennie's mother, swept toward him with her arms outstretched, her chubby face beaming beneath a wide-brimmed hat. She was a warm woman, generous and loud, and Leonid had always loved her like his own mother.
"Happy birthday to the little prince!" she cooed, pinching Minho's cheeks until he squirmed. "Look at him! He's so big already! And he has your curls, Leonid. Such a handsome boy."
"Thank you, Auntie. He's growing too fast."
"When is he getting a little brother or sister?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Eh? You and Jennie have been married for ten years now. It's time to start filling up that big house of yours."
Leonid's smile didn't waver. "We're enjoying Minho for now."
"Enjoying him? You can enjoy him and make another one at the same time!" She laughed, a booming sound that drew glances from nearby guests. "When I was Jennie's age, I had three children already!"
"Different times, Auntie."
"Different times, my foot!" She swatted his arm playfully. "If I have to wait much longer to be a grandmother again, I'll put my own pressure on that daughter of mine. You know how she gets when people push her—she'll do the opposite just to spite them."
Leonid laughed, a genuine sound that surprised even him. "I'm well aware."
Auntie Hyejin's eyes softened, and she reached up to cup his cheek. "You take care of my girl, you hear? She's got a temper, but she's got a good heart. Better than most."
"I know, Auntie."
"Good." She patted his cheek once more before drifting away, leaving Leonid alone with his thoughts and his son.
He was still standing there when he heard it—the sharp, unmistakable edge of Jennie's voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd.
"I didn't say anything wrong!"
He turned, scanning the crowd, and found her near the far end of the garden, facing a woman he recognized with a jolt—Soo-jin, his mother's close friend, a woman known for her sharp tongue and sharper opinions. Jennie's face was flushed, her hands clenched at her sides, and the guests around them had fallen silent, watching the scene unfold with a mix of horror and fascination.
"I'm just saying," Soo-jin said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "that it's a shame you don't have more, dear. You're not getting any younger. And with Leonid's looks and position, I'm sure plenty of women would—"
"Plenty of women would what?" Jennie's voice rose, trembling with barely contained rage. "What exactly are you implying, Soo-jin? That I'm not enough for him? That I should be grateful he's stuck with me?"
"I didn't say that, dear. I just meant—"
"You meant to shame me. In my own home. At my son's birthday party." Jennie stepped forward, her tiny frame suddenly radiating a fury that made grown adults take a step back. "Let me tell you something, Soo-jin. I've known Leonid since we were children. I've loved him since before I knew what love was. And no amount of your passive-aggressive comments will change that."
The silence was deafening.
Leonid was moving before he made the conscious decision to do so, crossing the lawn in quick strides, Minho still in his arms. He reached Jennie's side just as Soo-jin cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"I was just making conversation," she muttered.
"Well, you can make it somewhere else," Jennie snapped.
"Jennie." Leonid's voice was low, calm, but there was steel beneath it. He placed his hand on her arm, feeling the tension vibrating through her body. "Let's take a walk."
"I don't want to take a walk. I want to—"
"Please." He said it softly, for her ears only, and something in his tone made her pause. Her chest heaved, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she nodded.
He led her away from the crowd, away from the pastel balloons and the curious stares, toward the quiet sanctuary of the gazebo. Minho squirmed in his arms, sensing the tension, and Leonid bounced him gently, hoping to soothe the baby even as his own heart hammered against his ribs.
They reached the gazebo, and Leonid set Minho down on a blanket spread across the wooden floor. The baby immediately began crawling toward a nearby toy, oblivious to the storm brewing above him.
Leonid turned to face Jennie.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice even. "That was Soo-jin, Leonid. You know what she's like. She's been making snide comments all day—about me, about us, about—"
"About us?" Leonid raised an eyebrow. "What exactly has she been saying about us?"
Jennie's mouth opened, then closed. She looked away, her jaw working.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
"It clearly does. You nearly caused a scene in front of fifty guests."
"I nearly caused a scene?" Her voice cracked, and she turned to face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "She implied you're going to leave me. In front of everyone. That I'm not good enough for you. That I'm—"
She stopped, her voice breaking, and Leonid felt something twist in his chest. He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her she was wrong, that she was the only woman he'd ever loved, that he would never leave her.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because the truth was, he didn't know if those words were true anymore.
"Today isn't about us," he said instead, his voice quiet. "It's about Minho. He's turning one year old. He's surrounded by people who love him. And I would appreciate it if we could put our issues aside for a few hours so he can have a happy birthday."
Jennie's face crumpled, and she ducked her head, pressing her fingers to her eyes. When she looked up, her tears had been blinked away, replaced by a fragile, brittle composure.
"You're right," she said. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just—I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Stand in a room with you and pretend we're okay when we're not."
The words hung between them, raw and honest, and Leonid felt the weight of them settle in his chest. He didn't have an answer. He didn't know if there was an answer.
"We'll figure it out," he said finally. "Minho needs to blow out his candle."
He bent down to scoop up the baby, and Minho burst into delighted laughter, grabbing at his father's nose with sticky fingers. Leonid smiled despite himself, pressing a kiss to his son's chubby cheek.
"They're waiting for the cake," he said, and walked away.
Behind him, Jennie stood alone in the gazebo, the rust on the ironwork catching the afternoon light, and watched him go.
The cake was a masterpiece—three tiers of white buttercream, adorned with sugar flowers and a golden '1' on top. The guests gathered around, cameras raised, voices lifted in a chorus of off-key "Happy Birthday."
Leonid held Minho, guiding his tiny hand toward the candle, and for a moment, everything was perfect. The sun shone. The music played. His son laughed.
Then Minho blew out the candle—with help from his father—and the crowd erupted into applause.
Leonid looked up and caught Jennie's eye across the crowd. She was smiling now, genuine and warm, her earlier anger forgotten.
For a moment, he let himself pretend.
Then the applause faded, and the moment was over, and they were just two people standing in a garden, pretending to be a family.