The glow from the TV cast shifting shadows across the living room, soft voices filling the space where real conversation should have been. You sat curled on the couch, one hand resting against the curve of your stomach under the blanket. The remote sat beside you, untouched for the past half hour—you weren’t really watching.

The hospital wristband was still looped loosely around your wrist. You hadn’t taken it off.

You’re gone alone. The appointment had been routine, but the thought of sitting in the waiting room without him, flipping through magazines while other women had their partners beside them—it had left a dull ache in your chest. You hadn’t messaged him about it afterward. You already knew how that conversation would go.

The lock clicked.

Seung Hyun stepped inside, his coat hanging open, scarf draped carelessly around his neck. His phone was in his hand before the door had even shut behind him. The faint scent of smoke and cologne followed him in.

He tossed his keys on the counter, kicked off his shoes, and muttered, “Busy day,” without looking up.

His eyes landed on you briefly—your legs tucked under the blanket, your gaze fixed on the TV—but moved on just as quickly. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and twisted the cap with one hand.

“I ate with the guys,” he said over his shoulder, like it was nothing.

You didn’t answer. Your palm smoothed slowly over your belly, the motion steady and quiet.

He leaned against the counter, taking a long drink, his phone balanced on the edge. “What? You’re not talking to me now?” His tone was puzzled, faintly amused.

You shifted slightly, the blanket rustling, but kept your eyes on the screen.

As he walked into the living room, he noticed the wristband. His brow furrowed for a split second before his expression went blank again. “You went today?” he asked casually, lowering himself onto the other end of the couch.

No answer.

He leaned back, stretching an arm along the top of the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice held no guilt—just curiosity, as if it were something you’d forgotten to mention.

Your thumb traced the edge of the wristband, slow and deliberate.

“I was busy, you know that,” he continued, glancing at his phone when it buzzed. He typed a quick reply, set it down, then looked at you again. “Was everything fine?”

Still, you didn’t speak.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re acting like I did something terrible.”

You shifted your weight, adjusting the blanket over your stomach. The baby kicked lightly against your hand, but you didn’t smile.

His eyes lingered on you, maybe looking for some sign of softening, but there was nothing for him to find.

Minutes passed in the quiet, the TV’s glow flickering over both of you. He reached for the remote, changed the channel once, twice, then handed it back when you placed your hand over it.