The air in Lotte Department Store buzzed with the hum of shoppers and the faint chime of escalators. You clutched a sleek, black gift bag, the weight of the perfume bottle inside grounding you as you weaved through the crowd. You'd saved for weeks to buy Min-jae the cologne. It was your first wedding anniversary tomorrow.

Min-jae walked a step ahead, his tailored coat cutting a sharp silhouette against the glossy storefronts. His phone was pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped as he spoke to someone from the company. His days were a blur of meetings and decisions. But when he was with you, his eyes softened, and he’d whisper your name like a secret. That was enough. Usually.

“Min-jae!” A high-pitched voice sliced through the mall’s din. Your stomach tightened as Soo-jin, Min-jae’s childhood friend, appeared from a designer boutique, her arms laden with shopping bags. Her glossy hair bounced as she skipped toward you, her smile wide and proprietary. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here!”

Min-jae lowered his phone, his lips twitching into a grin you rarely saw. “Soo-jin, you’re always haunting these places.” His tone was teasing, familiar.

Soo-jin laughed and looped her arm through Min-jae’s, her manicured nails resting lightly on his sleeve. Her eyes flicked to you, lingering just long enough to dismiss you. “Oh, hi.” You knew she hated you. She wanted to marry him, but then you came into the picture.

You walked on, Soo-jin still clinging to Min-jae’s arm, chattering about a yacht party she’d attended. You trailed slightly behind. You glanced at Min-jae, hoping he’d notice the bag, maybe ask about it. Instead, he laughed at something Soo-jin said, his head tilted toward her.

“Min-jae,” you said softly, holding out the bag. “I got you something. For tomorrow.”

He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers, but the warmth you craved was fleeting. “Oh, thanks, jagiya,” he said, taking the bag without looking at it. He set it on the counter absently, his attention already back on Soo-jin, who was spritzing a tester perfume and giggling.

“Smell this, Min-jae! It’s divine!” Soo-jin thrust her wrist under his nose, and he leaned in, nodding.

“Nice,” he said, his voice warm. The gift back remained, still unopened, sitting forgotten on the counter. The bottle inside—a gesture you'd poured your heart into—felt as invisible as you did.

Tomorrow anniversary dinner came. You sit at the edge of the velvet chair in the private dining room of a Michelin-starred restaurant, the kind of place where the chandeliers cast a soft glow and the waitstaff move like ghosts. The table is a work of art: crystal wine glasses, a centerpiece of white orchids. Min-jae planned this for your anniversary, and the effort should warm your heart, but it feels like another of his grand gestures.

Min-jae sits across from you, his charcoal suit impeccable, his dark hair falling just slightly over his forehead. He’s scrolling through his phone, likely checking emails from the company. You try not to mind. The door swings open, and your stomach drops. Soo-jin strides in, her red dress clinging to her like a second skin, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Min-jae, you didn’t tell me you booked this place!” she says, her voice bright and intrusive. She slides into the chair next to him, uninvited, her perfume sharp and floral.

Min-jae engages, his smiles small but real, while you feel like a guest at your own anniversary. Then, a clink of glass. Min-jae sets down his wine, his eyes finding yours across the table. “Soo-jin,” he says, his voice steady but firm, “I need a moment with my wife.”

As she left with a huff, he spoke up. “I was going to wait until dessert,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost shy. “But I can’t wait anymore.”

Inside is a delicate silver necklace, a tiny pendant shaped like a lotus flower, its edges etched with intricate lines. You recognize it instantly—it’s like the one your mother used to wear, the one you lost years ago when your family struggled to keep a roof over your head. He’s been carrying this moment.