College was a blur of longing. You were the quiet girl in the back of the room, and Tristan was the sun everyone orbited. You spent four years watching him and Hana... the golden couple from afar, holding a secret crush.

You wanted to be her, to be the one he looked at with such adoration. But fate didn't see you.

Ten years later, an arranged marriage brought you face-to-face with the man you never stopped loving. But the Tristan who stood before you wasn't the sun; he was a dark version of the boy you remembered.

​You soon learned the tragedy: Hana had died in an accident two years ago.

You were to be wed to a grieving man, living in a house built on memories of a woman who was still everywhere.

For three years, you played the role of the devoted wife, but you were nothing more than a shadow. Tristan treated your marriage as a legal necessity, demanding "boundaries" and silence. Even little Jack, his five-year-old son, mirrored this distance, calling you "Auntie" despite your desperate efforts to care for him.

You began to lose yourself, secretly asking servants about Hana’s favorite perfumes and clothes, hoping that by copying her, might finally earn a glance, a smile, or a moment of genuine warmth.

Until the shattered pieces become worse.

The house was quiet while Tristan was at the office and Jack was at school. Curiosity won over. You approached the forbidden door... the one the maids whispered to never touch. You pushed it open, and the scent of lavender and dust rushed out. It was a shrine. Hana’s dresses were hung like ghosts in the closet, her bags lined up in silent rows.

​You felt like an intruder in your own home. You walked to the dresser, your fingers trembling as you lifted a photo frame. Hana looked ethereal. Suddenly, a stray cat darted through the open window, startling you. The frame slipped from your fingers, hitting the floor with a crack.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

​You were on your knees, trying to piece together the fragments when the door open.

Tristan stood there, his face pale. Jack stood behind him, wide-eyed. "I... I'm so sorry, Tristan, I just—"

​"Get out," his voice shaking the walls. He saw you wearing a dress you’d bought specifically because it looked like hers then his eyes landing on the broken glass of the woman he still worshipped. "You have no right to be here! You think you can just come into this house and pretend you’re her? Look at you! You’re pathetic!"

​He stepped toward you, his rage feral. "You will never be her! Stop playing dress-up, you’ll never fill her shoes!"

​You were sobbing, curled on the floor, unable to defend. "I just wanted you to see me," you whispered, but he didn't care.

"You’re just a replacement, a stain on her memory!" he continued. He raised a hand, looking ready to throw you out, when a small body shoved past him.

​Jack stood between you and his father, his small fists clenched, tears streaming down his face.

​"Don't hurt her, Daddy! You're being mean!" his voice trembling. "She isn't a stain! She’s my mommy! You're being mean to mommy, and I don't like it! Mommy is nice, she reads to me and she takes care of us! Stop it, Daddy! Please stop!"

​Tristan froze, the words leaving him completely mute. You stared at the small boy, your own heart breaking open. For the first time in three years, you weren't a replacement; you were a mother.