Father-in-Law's Love

The fleeting thought that crossed my mind as a white compact car shot through the narrow alley and grazed my body wasn't of my daughter, nor of my husband stationed at the front lines, nor even of my bedridden father—but of my father-in-law’s sorrowful face upon hearing of my accident.

I lost consciousness not from the pain of being hit by the car, but from the shock of the moment. When I came to, I was exactly where I'd imagined—lying in a hospital emergency room thick with the smell of formaldehyde, with only an IV bottle keeping me company.

After staring blankly at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling for some time, the first person I thought of wasn't my daughter returning from school or heading to her academy, but my father-in-law, worrying about me being late coming home as scheduled.

Slowly turning my gaze, I reached into my handbag beside the pillow, pulled out my phone, and called home. After a dozen unanswered rings, a strange thought flickered through my mind.

Hesitantly, I dialed my father-in-law’s number. His voice came through—normally a deep, heavy timbre—but now unnaturally high, as if raised by two octaves, clearly recognizing it was me.

"Father. Where are you now? I called home, but no one answered..."

It was strange how, even in this situation, I craved confirmation of my father-in-law’s affection for me.

"Where else? At the market."

"The market? Why there?"

"You were hours late. I got worried and came out to look for you. You—where are you right now?"

A deep, heart-wrenching emotion surged through me. What father-in-law in the world truly cares for his daughter-in-law like this?

"Here. I'm at the hospital."

"Hospital? What hospital? Why?"

Just as I expected, his voice shot up, nearly tearing.

"I had an accident. On my way back from the market."

I needed to reassure my father-in-law, who seemed too shocked to speak.

"I think I'm just a little hurt. Doesn't look like much of an injury."

I said this while glancing at the bandage wrapped around my right elbow, the one holding the phone.

"I'm coming right away. Which hospital are you at?"

My father-in-law, Kim Dongjin, turned fifty-two this year. The two years since he retired from the military have probably been the happiest time of my life.

Tragically, right after his retirement, my mother-in-law—who had always been so close to him—passed away, leaving him alone. Coincidentally, my husband, who worked nearby, was transferred to a frontline unit, so I ended up living with my father-in-law for over two years.

At times he treated me like a dependable older brother, at others like a gentle husband, and sometimes like a solemn, affectionate father from my own family.

It was my husband and his younger brother who fell in love with the military path after being captivated by the image of their father in uniform. As for me, I fell head over heels for my husband’s smart cadet uniform and, ignoring our four-year age gap, pursued him so passionately that I found the courage to bear a child we conceived by chance. Fate, perhaps, is nothing but a string of ironies.

The memory of a recent movie theater visit surfaced—how I mischievously bit the fingers of my father-in-law as he eagerly fed me popcorn, only for him to gently pinch my cheek and smile warmly, calling me cute. Unaware, I smiled fully, sinking into a dreamlike state.

How much time had passed? I slowly opened my eyes, savoring the drowsy pleasure of someone gently stroking my forehead, only to find my father-in-law’s deeply worried face filling my vision.

His face, surprisingly youthful and handsome, looked even younger than my twenty-nine-year-old husband—except for a few faint lines around his eyes and forehead. Seeing such a face wear a look of concern for me, I felt not guilt, but a strange, tingling satisfaction.

"Oh, did I wake you?"

His always-charming, deep voice resonated in my ears.

"Oh. When did you get here?"

As I made a feeble attempt to sit up, my father-in-law quickly stopped me.

Through X-rays and CT scans, he stayed firmly by my side, holding my hand tightly with a worried expression, allowing me to endure the exams without fear.

"Please give us a room with a female patient. Preferably someone young. She can keep my daughter-in-law company."

That was my father-in-law’s request to a nurse who shook her head in refusal.

Whether it was because no other room was available or because his earnest plea was persuasive, I ended up admitted to a two-person room with a young, elegant woman who looked about my age or perhaps just two or three years older, bathed in fresh morning sunlight.

The diagnosis: a fractured left pelvis, bruising on the left hip and left shoulder. The doctor explained that due to the nature of the injuries, immobilization wasn’t possible, so absolute rest was required for the fracture to heal quickly. I was deeply troubled.

Thankfully, my daughter could stay with my younger sister-in-law, who ran a daycare in Seoul during summer break. But what about meals? What about changing underwear? Those could be managed somehow. But what about urination and defecation?

Even though I’d routinely worn tight, sleeveless leotards at the gym we attended together, even though I’d once teasingly swayed my hips in a yellow bikini at the beach last summer just to provoke my father-in-law, even though I’d danced freely in a skin-tight white bodysuit that made every curve visible—just the thought of needing help with basic bodily functions made my hair stand on end with embarrassment.

"Jung-ah has called your younger sister-in-law. She’ll come pick up the child tonight..."

"Yes, that’s good. But Father, what about you? I can’t even take care of your meals. I’m so sorry."

"Shin Hyejeong, your mouth may be crooked, but your words should be straight."

Startled by the sudden remark, I had no time to collect my thoughts before my father-in-law’s fist lightly tapped my forehead.

"Honestly, I’ve probably served as cook more times than you by at least threefold. Hahaha."

I finally caught on and stuck my tongue out playfully, but my face burned with worry—had the woman in the other bed heard?

It wasn’t uncommon for me to see him returning early in the morning after waking my daughter, feeding her, and taking her to school. Whenever I awkwardly sat down at the neatly set table, he’d lift the cloth cover, hand me a freshly warmed bowl of soup, and quietly excuse himself—as if to spare me embarrassment.

"Oh, someone might believe you if they heard that."

I shot him a teasing glare to hide my embarrassment, but he just turned his gaze to the wall and feigned ignorance.

"Family member, please help the patient put on this hospital gown."

A cold voice delivered a hospital gown to my father-in-law. He hesitated, glancing between me and the gown, then clicked his tongue and spoke cautiously.

"Come on. Time to put on the gown."

He set down the gown and gently pulled back the blanket, clearly intending to dress me himself.

"Oh. Father. I can’t. I’ll do it myself."

Overwhelmed with embarrassment, I stammered. My father-in-law’s face hardened, clearly hurt.

"Then wait until your sister-in-law comes later to change."

He turned away, and I sensed sorrow in his posture—hurt by the coldness of a daughter-in-law he’d cherished like his own child.

My younger sister-in-law arrived with my whining daughter just before midnight. Exhausted from the shock, I dozed off, only to wake in the pale dawn light, unable to endure the sharp pain any longer.

I noticed my father-in-law lying on a fold-out bed pushed right against mine, but I couldn’t bring myself to wake him.

Yet, despite my endurance, the pain from my fractured hip grew unbearable. Unable to hold back, I urgently called out to him. He shot up instantly, looking so pitifully concerned that my heart ached.

"Father..."

He stared at my tightly clenched face for a long moment before nodding, as if understanding. He brought in a bedpan from outside the room. My blood rushed to my face, burning hot—but my bladder was at its limit. Swallowing my shame, I lifted my hips as he pulled down my clothes, though neither of us had ever done this before, making it incredibly awkward.

We tried placing the flat bedpan under my bare hips while covered by the blanket, but my urethra stubbornly refused to open. More than physical difficulty, it was the embarrassment that made it hard. By the time a drop of sweat from my father-in-law’s brow fell on my nose, I still hadn’t managed to urinate.

"Don’t do that—just carry her to the toilet. I’ve tried it too, it doesn’t work well."

The woman across the room had woken up and offered advice. My father-in-law seemed to agree. He pulled up my pants and, sliding his arms under my buttocks, carefully lifted me.

Holding tightly to his thick neck to avoid straining my fracture, I felt a cozy warmth—like being held in my real father’s arms as a child.

Gently setting me down in front of the toilet, he pulled down my hospital gown pants while avoiding my eyes. As I carefully straddled the seat, he placed a hand on my shoulder and, clearly embarrassed, cleared his throat.

"Pssshhh..."

The sound of my stream was louder than the relief I felt. My face burned with embarrassment, but I pretended not to notice—and nearly burst out laughing when I saw what caught my eye.

The prominent tent in the crotch of my father-in-law’s sweatpants. Was it from the lewd sounds of a thirty-three-year-old daughter-in-law relieving herself? Or was it the unmistakable bulge, thicker and longer than my daughter’s arm, proudly on display? Rather than feeling shocked, I found it amusing—perhaps because of past similar experiences that had made me unnaturally calm.

At home, when I’d sweat and move suggestively during exercise, or when I’d clean the house on my knees, swaying my hips, I’d often catch my father-in-law’s crotch visibly bulging. Knowing it was a natural male reaction, I didn’t feel embarrassed or shocked—instead, I secretly felt pleased that my body could elicit such a response.

Pretending composure, I tore off a few sheets of toilet paper, pressed them firmly between my legs, then flushed. Only then did his gaze shift back to my face.

"I’m sorry, Father."

He gently cupped my lowered cheek.

"I’ve always thought of you as my daughter. I’m glad I can take care of you when you’re in pain. Don’t worry about me. Don’t hold back—just let go. Think of me as your own father. It’ll be easier that way. I’d be happy if you could."

His whispered words, careful not to be overheard, touched me deeply. Nodding slightly in understanding, I saw his expression soften. He slid his hands under my armpits and lifted me carefully. My breasts clearly pressed against his palms, but I pretended not to notice, reached for my pants, and nestled back into his strong arms as he carried me to bed.

"Feeling better? Much more comfortable?"

The woman in the next bed had sat up and smiled brightly at me.

"Yes, much better. Thank you. Hehe."

It amazed me that such a basic physical release could bring me the ease to laugh.

"Still, you’re lucky. You have your father here to care for you."

"Yes. Hehe."

I winked playfully at my father-in-law, who looked startled, then turned to the woman and asked what I’d been curious about since yesterday.

"But... does no one come for you?"

"Hehe. He comes every other day. I’m almost better now. Actually, I can’t leave because I haven’t settled with the insurance company. I could do outpatient treatment."

"Then who...?"

"My brother-in-law. Hehe. My husband’s abroad. He’s a sailor. My parents and his parents are all gone. So my brother-in-law takes care of me. Oh, let me introduce myself. I’m Jiyoung. Jung Jiyoung. I’m thirty-six. And you?"

"Oh, three years older than me. I’m Hyejeong. Shin Hyejeong. My husband’s in the military, so I’m here alone."

I almost introduced him as my father-in-law, caught myself, and glanced at him.

"I’m her father. Haha. Please take good care of my daughter."

Does smooth-talking come with age? I stared at my father-in-law’s face, so casually lying, and when his thick, dark eyebrows lowered and his eyes tightly closed, I had to clamp my mouth shut to stifle laughter.

"Oh, what are you saying? Your daughter is so lovely. Hehe. I don’t know if I should say this, but I thought she was in her twenties. You look so young too. Hyejeong, let’s be close friends while we’re here. The previous patient was an old man—so boring. He kept passing gas whenever he wanted. Hehe."

"Hehe. Yes, unnie."

Calling her “unnie” made her beam with delight.

"Come, let’s eat, our Hyejeong."

"Yes, Appa."

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at how naturally and smoothly my father-in-law played along—only to see him startled by my response, which made me laugh even harder.

With the woman watching, and for reasons I didn’t understand, I instinctively leaned into the affectionate daughter role, playing out a tender parent-child scene.

Why did his occasional hand stroking my face feel so warmly familiar and dear?

"You’re less like a father and more like a husband. Age-wise, I mean."

That was what the woman across said while my father-in-law was away getting food from the hospital cafeteria.

"He’s fifty-two..."

"Oh, really? You wouldn’t guess it. Hehe. If I didn’t know he was your father, I’d have guessed he was in his thirties."

It was true. My father-in-law Kim Dongjin stood over 180 cm tall, and thanks to daily exercise since youth, he was in better shape than his two slender sons. His rugged, masculine features made such an impression that during our first family meeting, Hyejeong’s youngest aunt fell for him at first sight, and Hyejeong’s mother openly said she preferred her son-in-law’s father over her own son-in-law.

Over the next few hours, I had to go to the bathroom four times. The intense embarrassment I’d felt at first had faded. I even gained the courage to steal glances at my father-in-law’s face—pretending to look elsewhere—as I urinated in front of him. I began to quietly enjoy noticing how, each time, his crotch would stiffen and rise unmistakably.

"Father."

I finally spoke up while the woman across was slowly dragging her casted leg to the bathroom. It wasn’t easy.

"...I’m sorry, but could you bring me some underwear?"

"Oh. Yes. I’ll bring it."

He stammered, clearly caught off guard.

"But... I don’t even know where they are."

"Oh. Right. Haha."

"In the top drawer of the dresser next to my bed. I’m sorry for making you run errands."

He should’ve known without my telling. After all, I’d noticed the disarray in my underwear drawer after his unexpected visits home. For over a year, I’d even caught the faint scent of his body on my clothes pulled hastily from the laundry.

The woman’s caregiver arrived—a man in his mid-forties, unimpressive and somehow untrustworthy. His pale, sallow face gave off a womanizer’s vibe. Though she was under the blanket, his lingering gaze over my body sent chills down my spine, seeming lewd. I barely nodded in greeting and fixed my eyes on the TV.

Despite being ignored, he occasionally stole glances at me. I caught sight of the woman sharply pinching his side, and the man gently patting her buttocks in return—strange, unsettling.

According to her, he was her brother-in-law. Yet their behavior—something I never expected to witness—was utterly inappropriate. Such intimacy belonged in secrecy, making it all the more shocking.

My odd curiosity led me to pretend to watch TV while secretly observing the couple. Perhaps assuming I was engrossed in the drama, their behavior escalated.

The man traced the woman’s lips with his fingers; she bit down hard. When he traced again, she opened her mouth, sucking and gently chewing his finger like a treat.

The man sat beside her, glanced at me, then slowly lifted the blanket and softly stroked her buttocks. The woman, checking my gaze, glared at him but then slid her hand down to rub his thigh.

His face flushed visibly. Unable to resist her provocation, he grabbed her hand and placed it over his crotch.

She teasingly tapped it, giggled, then firmly grasped and gently massaged it.

Seeming unsatisfied, he covered her hand with his, pressed down hard, leaned close, and whispered something.

A suffocating excitement surged through me. My thighs tensed involuntarily, sending a sharp pain through my left hip, forcing me to grimace.

They were no ordinary brother- and sister-in-law