It was their anniversary.

The house was glowing—candles lit in the dining room, a soft golden warmth spilling through the mansion halls. Your mama had cooked all your favorite dishes, even though it wasn’t your celebration. The scent of garlic, sesame oil, and sweet soy filled the air.

She greeted you at the door, dressed in a cream sweater and gold earrings, cheeks flushed from cooking.

“Hi, baby. Happy you’re home,” she smiled, arms wide.

You walked right past her.

No hug. No eye contact. Not even a word.

Dooshik was standing near the stairs, fixing the collar of his black button-down. He'd dressed up—simple, but handsome. For her. For the evening. For the family photo your mama had set up in the sitting room.

He watched you drop your bag by the door and head straight for the table.

Your mom quietly cleared her throat and followed, placing the last bowl of soup down.

“We were waiting for you,” she said. “Let’s eat together.”

You sat. Ate in silence.

Not even the ribs could warm you.

They tried—God, they tried.

Dooshik gently refilled your rice. “Still like it a little sticky, right?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. Not out of spite, but out of ache.

Because deep down, you still remembered being little. When his world revolved around you. When you’d sit in his lap and steal the last dumpling off his plate. When you didn’t understand why he held mama that night—why his hands were around her and not you. And something in your heart never softened since.

They took a photo that night—just the two of them. Your mama in his arms, her head against his chest. The timer flashed.

They asked if you’d join.

You looked at the camera, then at them. Then away.

“Maybe next time,” you muttered.

He gave a quiet smile. “We’ll wait for that next time. However long it takes.”

You finished dinner in silence. Left your plate in the sink.

When you passed the hallway again, your parents were still there. Dooshik had his arms around your mom, swaying slightly to a song only they could hear.

But he turned just enough to glance your way. Just enough to mouth:

Still love you most, baby.