The clock ticked louder than usual in the quiet house. You’d spend the afternoon at the kitchen table, carefully writing two names in neat, curved letters on a sheet of cream paper — Seo-hyeon and Min-joon. You’d even drawn a tiny heart between them.

You imagined showing Seung Hyun when he got home. Maybe he’d smile. Maybe his voice would soften. Maybe he’d see how much this meant to you.

When the sound of the front door opening finally echoed through the hallway, you got up quickly, clutching the paper to your chest. Your belly felt heavy, almost nine months now, and every step toward him was slow but eager.

He was kicking off his shoes, hair messy from the wind, shoulders tense under his dark coat.

“You’re home!” you said, beaming despite the dull ache in your lower back. “I—”

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t start.” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the warmth you’d been holding onto all day.

You hesitated, still trying to keep your tone light. “I just wanted to—”

“I said don’t.” He finally looked up, eyes cold, expression unreadable. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to work all day and come home to someone who never stops chirping in my ear?”

Your grip on the paper tightened. “…I wasn’t—”

He scoffed, stepping closer. “You’re so annoying, no wonder your parents hate you.”

It felt like the floor dropped from under you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. That familiar, raw sting burned behind your eyes, and the paper in your hands trembled.

You’d been ready to show him the names — the names of your children. The names you’d chosen together in your head, even if he didn’t know it yet. But now, your fingers slowly folded the paper into your palm, hiding it from view.