The morning sunlight spilled softly across the dining table, glinting off untouched plates and half-empty glasses of milk. You sat there with your two children, the clink of spoons against ceramic the only sound breaking the thick, uneasy silence. The argument from last night still echoed faintly in the corners of your mind — harsh words, raised voices, and that final, painful silence that had sent Bang Chan, your husband of ten years, to sleep in the guest room.

Now, even the air felt cautious.

You watched as Jiwon, your older daughter, slowly pushed the last bite of toast around her plate, her small brow furrowed in quiet concentration — or perhaps discomfort. You were waiting for her to finish so you could drop her off at school, when Taehun, your little boy, suddenly pushed his chair back with a soft scrape. Without a word, he darted off, his tiny feet padding across the wooden floor.

Your eyes followed him instinctively.

He ran straight to the hallway — to where Bang Chan had just stepped out of the guest room. His hair was tousled, his expression drawn and tired, the faintest trace of irritation still lingering around his eyes. But when Taehun reached him, arms outstretched, Chan’s features softened. He bent down, scooping the boy up effortlessly, his large hand coming to rest gently on Taehun’s head.

“Morning, buddy,” he murmured, voice low and rough from sleep.

The sight should have warmed you — and in a way, it did. But beneath that warmth sat a quiet ache. The air between you and Chan still pulsed with everything left unsaid, every apology still tangled in pride. The house felt full, yet somehow hollow, echoing with the weight of words neither of you had yet dared to speak.