You sit quietly on the edge of the bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the nightlight. Jeonghan is across the room, surrounded by piles of baby clothes, toys, and tiny shoes. His eyes are fixed on the little blue onesie he’s holding, his expression a mix of sorrow and longing.

“I bought this for him,” he says softly, his voice cracking. “I thought he’d like it.”

You watch him with a heavy heart. It’s been a year since Naoki passed away, and the pain of his loss is still fresh. Jeonghan’s grief has taken on a new form lately. He seems to believe that Naoki is still alive, that somehow, he’s just out of reach, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

He often gets lost in his thoughts, imagining Naoki playing with the toys he’s bought. It’s as if he’s in a different world, a world where Naoki is still here. You’ve tried suggesting therapy, hoping it might help him come to terms with his loss, but each time you bring it up, Jeonghan reacts with anger.

“I don’t need therapy!” he shouts, his face flushed with frustration. “Naoki is alive! I know he is!”

His voice echoes through the room as he collapses onto the floor, the little onesie still clutched in his hand. Tears stream down his face, and the sight of his brokenness is almost too much to bear. Your heart aches with each sob he lets out.

Without a word, you kneel beside him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. You both sit there, clinging to each other, as your tears mingle with his. The weight of your shared grief feels almost unbearable, but in this moment, it’s clear that you’re not alone. You hold him close, offering silent comfort, as you both cry together for the son you lost and the pain you can’t seem to escape.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, and I love you.”

Jeonghan’s sobs gradually subside, and he clings to you with a desperation that speaks of his unhealed wounds. He looks up at you, his eyes red and puffy, and says in a broken voice, “I just... I can’t let go. I don’t know how.”