18

It had been a month since our wedding.

A month of silence, of sleeping in separate rooms, of passing each other like strangers in the hallway.

We lived under the same roof, but Jake and I had never once spoken like a real couple.

He came and went as he pleased. Sometimes with girls. Sometimes without.

He brought them into our home like it meant nothing.

They drank, laughed too loudly, left wrappers and empty wine bottles scattered in the kitchen.

None of them touched the food I made. Neither did he.

Every morning, I still woke up early to prepare breakfast for him. And every night, I wondered if he had eaten at all.

Even when I told myself I shouldn't care, I still did.

Where was he? Was he safe? Had he eaten?

It hurt more than it should.

I couldn't forget what happened between me and Heeseung. I told myself it was a mistake that I had only wanted comfort. But I couldn't deny how close I had come to crossing a line.

And still, a part of me whispered, Jake had crossed that line over and over again. He had slept with other women, openly, cruelly.

And yet, I had never raised my voice at him the way he had at me.

Maybe I was wrong too. Maybe we both were.

But if no one tried to fix it would stay like this forever.

I sat on the couch and typed a message with trembling fingers.

"Jake, when are you coming home? I want to cook dinner for us tonight."

I watched the screen light up with "Seen."

But no reply.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and placed my phone facedown on the table, my chest hollow with regret. I shouldn't have expected anything different.

Still, I waited.

And then, the front door opened.

I jumped to my feet, heart racing.

He stepped in quietly, giving me a strange look as I walked toward him.

He took off his coat and tossed it on the couch. I followed him into the living room.

He glanced back. "What do you want?"

It was the first time he had spoken to me in weeks.

I smiled faintly. "Let's have dinner later. I want to talk to you."

He didn't look at me. "Say it now. I don't have time later."

I hesitated. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

He stayed silent, unbuckling his watch.

"I shouldn't have let Heeseung come that close. I know what it looked like. It wasn't fair to you. I regret it. And I'll try harder—from now on."

He stood there, unmoving, his back still to me.

"Are you done talking?" he asked.

I blinked. "What?"

He didn't turn around. He just walked to his room and shut the door.

⸻

That evening, I cooked braised chicken with mushrooms—his favorite, according to the housekeeper.

I even set the table with candles, soft lights, and music playing faintly in the background.

It wasn't much. But it felt like something I'd always dreamed of.

A quiet, warm dinner between two people who shared a home... and maybe, someday, a heart.

I knocked on his door softly.

No answer.

I pushed it open.

Empty.

He wasn't home.

I picked up my phone and typed again.

"Jake, where are you? I made dinner for us."

The reply came quickly.

"Don't bother me with this nonsense. I never agreed to anything."

"But I don't want the food to go to waste."

"Then throw it away. Or feed it to the stray dogs."

My hand lowered slowly, and I turned off the screen.

The candles flickered across the untouched plates.

I sat down at the table and stared at the food I had made, the wine I had poured, the seat that would stay empty.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn't cry.

I just whispered to myself, barely audible over the soft hum of the music:

"Stupid, Han Jina."