You and Jungwon had been together since college, what started as young love slowly grew into something that felt permanent. A year ago, you married him, believing you were stepping into the same warmth and devotion he had always shown you. He used to look at you like you were his entire world, like you were something precious he was afraid to lose. He was gentle, attentive, endlessly caring.

But after the wedding, something shifted.

At first, it was small, irritation where there used to be patience, harsh words where there used to be softness. Then the anger grew heavier, harder to ignore. The man who once handled you with such tenderness began losing control. Arguments escalated. His temper flared more quickly. And eventually, it crossed a line that should never be crossed.

He hurt you.

And every time it happened, he would break down afterwards, apologizing, holding you, promising it would never happen again. He’d cry, swear he didn’t mean it, tell you he loved you more than anything. In those moments, he seemed like the person you fell in love with.

Somewhere along the way, your heart became tangled in the cycle. The fear, the apologies, the brief returns to tenderness, it blurred together. You found yourself clinging to the memories of who he used to be, convincing yourself that version of him was still there. You felt trapped not by chains, but by love, by hope, by the belief that things would go back to how they once were.

You had developed Stockholm syndrome.