The words hit him like a slap, sharp and sudden.

“I want a divorce!”

You stood in front of him, trembling with anger, voice quivering as though the words themselves burned on their way out. But what struck Junseok most wasn’t your fury—it was how oddly calm he felt. Maybe it was the exhaustion of too many arguments, or maybe he had always known this moment would come.

He exhaled, slow and steady, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice even. “We have two villas, two cars. We’ll split everything down the middle.”

Then he reached out, fingers curling lightly under your chin. His gaze locked on yours, deep and unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you grew thick with something unspoken.

“There’s just one issue,” he murmured, lips curving into a faint smirk. “We only have one child.” He leaned closer, voice low enough to make your pulse quicken. “Guess we’ll need to make another before we part ways.”

That was the moment everything changed. The tension that had filled your home for months combusted—not in anger this time, but in something far more reckless, far more familiar. The spark that had once drawn you together flared to life again, fierce and consuming.

What was supposed to be the end became a beginning neither of you planned for.

Days blurred into weeks. Weeks into months. Somewhere between the heated glances, the stolen kisses, and the quiet apologies whispered into the dark, the word divorce lost its weight. What replaced it was something steadier, deeper—a love tested, multiplied, and reborn.

Years later, Junseok found himself sitting across from you in the soft light of morning, the chaos of family life unfolding around you. Your laughter mingled with the giggles of your children—a sound he’d come to treasure more than anything.

Your daughter, small and curious, sat in his lap, her chubby fingers clutching the collar of his shirt as if to anchor herself to him. Her brother—your youngest—rested in your arms, cooing softly while your eldest made a fool of himself, dancing and contorting his face in a valiant attempt to make the babies laugh.

The living room was a mess of toys, warmth, and love. Light streamed through the curtains, catching the edges of your smile as you watched them all. Junseok’s chest tightened with something that felt like gratitude—or maybe awe.

He glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well,” he said, voice rich with amusement, “it seems divorce isn’t on the table after all.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and genuine, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with his free hand. “Looks like I’ve won this round, wife,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze tender.

He hadn’t just won a round. He’d won back the life he never wanted to lose.