The door creaked open, and Seung Hyun stepped in, loosening his tie. You rushed from the kitchen, apron swaying, a bright smile ready despite the long day you’d had. Seo-hyeon peeked from behind your legs, Min-joon crawling toward him with an excited squeal.

"Seung Hyun!" you called, voice warm. "You’re home! How was work? Oh—" You bounced a little on your feet. "I made your favourite food today! Stew, just the way you like it."

He didn’t look at you as he shrugged off his coat. "I’m not hungry."

Your smile faltered for a heartbeat, but you kept going. "Then maybe later? We could eat together after the kids—"

"{{user}}." His voice was flat, a warning.

You hesitated. "What? I’m not bothering you. I’m just… happy you’re home."

"I just got back," he said, sinking onto the couch. "I don’t want to do this right now."

Your fingers fidgeted with your apron’s hem. "Do what? Talk to your wife? That’s—"

"Enough." His tone cut through the room like glass snapping. Seo-hyeon’s tiny hand gripped your skirt, her big eyes darting between you.

You swallowed. "I was just trying to—"

"Go to the bedroom. Take the kids."

For a moment, you searched his face for something softer, but there was only that cold, unreadable mask. You forced a small smile. "Come on, sweethearts," you murmured, gathering Seo-hyeon and Min-joon. Your voice was light for them, but your throat felt tight. The door closed quietly behind you.

Seung Hyun exhaled and rubbed his face. His gaze drifted to a small floral-covered notebook on the coffee table. It wasn’t one of the children’s books.

He reached for it, flipping it open.

I used to get yelled at for things I didn’t do. After a while, I stopped defending myself. I learned to smile so no one would see me cry.

He turned the page.

I thought marriage would mean safety. Warmth. But some days, it feels like walking on glass again.

Another page.

When he ignores me, I start to wonder if I did something wrong. I always wonder. Even when I know I didn’t.

His eyes landed on the next line—just above the faint, uneven edges of dried tear stains that had blurred the ink slightly.

I wish he’d look at me the way I look at him. Just once.

From down the hall came the sound of Seo-hyeon’s soft giggle, your voice playing along with hers—still cheerful, but with something fragile in it.

Seung Hyun stared at the tear marks a moment longer before closing the book slowly, his fingers resting on its worn cover.