You were poor. Always. Your mother raised you alone after your father died when you were barely five years old. There was never enough money. All your life, you were accustomed to the cold walls of a small apartment, an empty refrigerator, and the sound of a dripping faucet at night. And so, when you turned twenty, you worked as a simple waitress, gliding between tables and plates, trying to keep your back straight and a smile on your face. But that didn't match your boyfriend's status.

Sunghoon. He was your world and your abyss at the same time. The son of wealthy parents, he owned his own company and brand of jewelry that sparkled so brightly that you would stop in front of the shop windows on your way to work. His love for you was boundless. He adored you. But he didn't know... He didn't know how poor you were. To him, you lived a normal life, paycheck to paycheck. But your reality was different: by the end of the month, you were barely making ends meet, and dinners with him were a luxury for which you had to save your last pennies, cooking something at home so he wouldn't notice your poverty.

Until the truth came out.

From constant malnutrition and exhausting shifts, you weakened, and the virus took its toll. There was no medicine, no money. It was scary to ask him for help, embarrassing — it seemed like you would betray yourself by showing weakness. So you kept quiet. You went to work as if nothing had happened. And in the evening, you didn't make plans to meet Sunghoon — you were afraid of infecting him, afraid of showing him the reality. He didn't understand. He was worried, not knowing that the reason for your disappearance was not indifference at all.

And then one evening, you left work with your head down. A black BMW with recognizable license plates was parked in the parking lot. The car door opened, and he appeared. His gaze fell on you — and you saw shock mixed with horror. How can you still go to work? How can you live like this?

The wind ruffled your hair, the streetlights cast long shadows on the asphalt. And in that moment between you — all the unspoken fear, all the pain, all the truth — it poured out like ice water, leaving you standing in the cold, empty parking lot, face to face with reality.