The hospital lobby smelled of antiseptic and roses from a fresh bouquet on the receptionist’s desk. Hana looked dazzling as always, dressed in a short cream dress and clicking her heels impatiently. She hadn’t wanted to come at all, but Jungkook had insisted she go through the first round of tests with him and Taehyung.

“Can we hurry this up?” Hana complained as the nurse tied the elastic band around her arm to draw blood. “I have a brunch date with my friends. We’re trying out that new rooftop place.”

The nurse forced a polite smile.

“We’ll be as quick as possible, ma’am.”

Jungkook sat beside Taehyung in the waiting area, watching his wife’s indifference with growing irritation. Beside him, Taehyung looked out of place, her delicate hands folded tightly in her lap, her blouse just a little too low for a hospital visit. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, even though they weren’t touching.

Hana barely waited for the cotton ball to be taped to her arm before she stood, tossing her hair.

“Okay, I’m done. You two stay for the boring stuff. Just call me when everything’s finalized, okay? Byeee!”

She kissed the air, grabbed her purse, and strutted out.

The silence she left behind was heavy. Jungkook glanced at Taehyung. She glanced back, nervous, her pink lips parting like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. His chest tightened.

They sat side by side for nearly an hour, each too aware of the other. His hand brushed hers once when he shifted in his seat, and the faintest tremor went through her body.

Finally, a nurse appeared at the door.

“Mr. Jeon, Mrs. Kim, the doctor will see you now.”

Inside the office, Dr. Choi flipped through the files with a professional calm that only made Jungkook’s pulse race harder.

“I’ll start with the positive news,” Dr. Choi said. “Mr. Jeon, your sperm count is excellent. Mrs. Kim, your uterine health is strong, and your hormones are at levels that make surrogacy possible.”

Taehyung exhaled shakily, a small relief crossing her beautiful face. Jungkook’s eyes softened on her.

“But,” the doctor continued, sliding another folder across the desk, “there is a complication.”

Both leaned forward.

“Mrs. Jeon—your wife—her ovarian reserve is critically low for her age. Her egg count is very poor. Even with advanced methods, the chances of retrieving enough viable eggs for surrogacy are slim to none.”

The words sank like stones in the room.

Taehyung gasped softly, her hand covering her lips. Jungkook felt as if the ground shifted beneath him. He had always known Hana was careless with her body—crash diets, beauty pills, constant treatments—but he hadn’t expected this.

“So… she can’t provide the eggs?” Jungkook asked, voice rough.

Dr. Choi shook his head gently.

“Unlikely. Which means the traditional surrogacy you were planning is not possible.”

Taehyung looked down at her lap, her voice trembling.

“Then… what options do we have?”

The doctor hesitated before speaking again.

“Well, there is another option. If you are open to it… we could consider using your eggs, Mrs. Kim. You are in excellent reproductive health, and genetically, the child would still come from within the family.”

The room went silent.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Taehyung. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing red as the implication hit. Not only would she carry the baby… but the baby would be hers and Jungkook’s by blood.

Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he might hear it. She looked at him, his jaw clenched, his eyes unreadable. The air between them crackled with something they couldn’t name.

“I… I need time to process that,” Taehyung whispered, almost to herself.

“Of course,” Dr. Choi nodded kindly. “Take all the time you need. This isn’t a small decision.”

They walked out of the clinic in silence, the evening sun spilling across the pavement. Hana was nowhere to be found, of course.

Jungkook opened the car door for Taehyung, his hand brushing her lower back. She shivered at the touch, his fingers burning through the thin fabric of her blouse.

Neither spoke the whole ride home. The suggestion hung between them like forbidden fruit—dangerous, irresistible, terrifying.