Inhee eyed Jongin, where he leaned against the wall by the door—a position he'd adopted almost as soon as they'd been shown into this room. He looked at the door often, as if reminding himself that it was there. That he could use it any time. So why was he still here?

Under normal circumstances she'd say that an attractive man, background-checked by her BFF, somewhat scantily clad, could involve himself in her life at any time he chose—as long as she had the option of checking out those long, lean thighs. But he really had killer timing.

She didn't have time to ogle; she didn't have time for his prying questions. All she could think about was her sister, Dahee, and the baby, and what she needed to do to take care of both of them.

She paced the room, glancing over at the baby and wondering what on earth they were doing to her. Had they found something wrong? If everything was okay, surely someone would have told her by now. She hadn't wanted to hand her over to the doctors, but she'd had no choice.

It was becoming a pattern, this letting go, this watching from afar. She'd lost her father before she was born, to nothing more dramatic than disinterest and a lost phone number. Her mother had died the year that Inhee had turned thirteen, and it seemed her sister had been drifting further and further from her since that day. All she wanted was a family to take care of, to take care of her, and yet that seemed too much to ask from the universe.

And now someone had called the police, and her sister was going to be in more trouble than ever, pushed further from her. She tried not to think of the alternative. Of Dahee out there needing help and not getting it. If it took the authorities getting involved to get her safe and well, then Inhee was all for it.

She started pacing again, craning her neck each time she passed the baby to try and get a glimpse of what was happening.

“Just a couple of tests,” the doctor had said. How could that possibly take this long?

She glanced across at Jongin, and then quickly away. How had she never met Songju's brother before? Surely there should be some sort of declaration when you became best friends with someone about any seriously attractive siblings. He'd been abroad, she remembered Songju saying. He ran a charity that tried to improve conditions for child workers in factories in the developing world. He'd recently been headhunted by one of the big retailers that he'd campaigned against, and would be sitting on their board, in charge of cleaning up their supply chain. So attractive, humanitarian, and