Bricks whose red color had faded from enduring long years, and walls whose shells were peeling off as if crumbling. An old playground where a rusted swing creaked sorrowfully, and a yard that grew exceptionally cold in winter because not a single piece of sunlight reached it.

As if time had stopped, nothing here had changed.

Although I had finally risen to the position of 'CEO' after enduring and surviving from the bottom on my own, strangely, whenever I stood in front of this old iron gate, I would return to being that helpless child of those days who couldn't even tie his shoelaces.

Christmas, when everyone in the world returns to a warm home.

Even though I had achieved decent success, I had no family to lean on and return to, nor anyone to share warmth with.

It was bitter that the only place I could visit as a proper CEO was this old orphanage where I was abandoned, but every year around this time, my feet would head here as if possessed.

Giving a half-hearted greeting to the director and nonchalantly handing out gifts to the children. That was the cold and only greeting I could offer toward the past, and the most stoic way to endure this day.

"CEO, you take care of them like this every year, you have no idea how much the children love it."

I just nodded roughly at the director's words as she handed me a cup of tea. My gaze, looking at the teacup with steam rising from it, remained coldly chilled.

In the first place, I didn't come to see the innocent smiles of the children. It was closer to a numb report to myself that I had survived another year safely.

Tightening the collar of my coat and stepping outside, the biting winter wind brushed past my cheeks as if cutting them.

Just as I was about to open the door of my parked car, someone caught my eye.

Beside the iron gate, a small child stood facing the cold wind with their whole body. They were clutching the cold iron bars tightly with both hands, which had frozen red from standing there for who knows how long.

"...You'll catch a cold. Go inside."

"I have to wait for my dad. He said he'd come on Christmas."

A brief, chilly silence followed. I spoke in a flat, cutting voice.

"...Your dad isn't coming."

The child shook their head firmly.

"He is."

"He's not."

"He is."

In the end, I was the one who let out a hollow laugh and turned away first.

Next year's Christmas.

The child was still in the same spot, in the same posture. Only the fingertips holding the iron bars had grown a little more.

"...Go inside."

"I have to wait for my dad."

"I told you he's not coming."

"He is."

The year after that, and the year after that. Even as the paint on the iron bars they were holding peeled off a bit more, the child's answer never wavered once.

They were a persistent child. Despite being at an age where they should have realized the despair that no one was coming, they were a stubborn child who did not let go of their faith until the end.

...Just like the old me.

I had been like that too. That my father would come looking for me someday. That today he was just late because he lost his way. That tomorrow he would surely open the door and find me at sunset.

When I endured while engraving that vain belief into my bones and eventually no one came, I left the orphanage gate and rolled on the bottom. That's why I knew well.

That waiting also has an expiration date. That hope is ultimately the most terrible poison that eats away at oneself. That someday, you will be broken and give up.

So every time I saw that child every year, I spat out the same words as if casting a low spell.

"...He's not coming."

That might not have been a warning to the child, but a cruel scream directed at my younger self who might still be waiting for someone in the darkness.

For the next few years, I was terribly busy. I spent even Christmas alone in an office full of piles of documents, and the company grew in size without rest. In the meantime, my steps toward the orphanage naturally stopped.

As I ran forward busily, several years had passed in a flash, and I visited that place again after taking time off for the first time in a long while.

After setting down gifts amidst the shouts of the children, I cast my gaze toward the iron gate, pretending to be indifferent.

The small shadow that always kept that spot was nowhere to be found.

"...Excuse me."

The director, looking at where my gaze landed, spoke with a bitter smile.

"Ah, that child? They became an adult and left the facility not long ago."

"...Ah, I see."

I spat out a dry response, but my gaze lingered blankly in front of the empty iron gate where snowflakes were blurring the air for a long time.

...No matter how busy I was, maybe I should have come by at least once.

I, who didn't have a hair's breadth of interest in other people's business, even let out a hollow laugh at the fact that I harbored such a feeling like regret because of a mere child. I moved my feet, tasting the bitterness in my mouth.

On the way home, small lights on the street trees were dimly illuminating the late night street. I stopped the car and walked to a convenience store to wash away the stuffiness sitting in my chest. As I opened the door, the steam on the glass and warm heat rushed in.

I wiped the foggy glass door of the refrigerator with my hand, took out four cans of beer, and walked to the counter.

"Marlboro Red, please."

"One pack?"

When I raised my head to answer, my eyes met the part-timer across the counter.

....

In that moment, I took a short breath.

The eyes looking down at me while holding the barcode scanner with hands that had grown a bit larger. Even though years had passed, I could recognize them at once.

The kid who used to wait alone for a dad who wouldn't come, facing the cold wind with their whole body every Christmas.

Looking at the child's fingertips as they put the scanned beer cans into a bag, I lowly asked the question that had been sitting in my heart.

"...Did you, meet your dad?"

At my cold voice, the child stopped their hands for a moment and looked straight at me. And they answered lowly with that same stubborn and straight gaze from childhood.

"Not yet."

Not 'He didn't come,' but 'Not yet.' A hollow laugh escaped me at that toxic stubbornness that remained unbroken even after becoming an adult several years later.

Seeing that gaze, which was solid to the point of being foolish, I finally realized why I had no choice but to be the one to turn away first every time.

A child's indefinite waiting, insisting that their dad would come on Christmas.

Perhaps what the kid needed was not the parents who never came, but someone who would finally end this long and sorrowful waiting.

I reached out my hand to the child who resembled my younger self. Along with a single phrase that would end the long winter.

"Let's go."

The child's eyes blinked once.

"Where?"

Instead of answering the question, I reached my hand out a little further while staring straight into the child's eyes.

Because they would already know what that hand meant.

The child looked at the extended hand for a moment, then moved their gaze to the electronic clock displayed on the POS screen.

ㅤ Saturday, December 25th, 23:41

....

After staring at the numbers written in the corner of the screen for a long time, the child silently took my hand.