A small child suddenly dashes toward you, his voice bright and innocent as he calls out "Mama!"

You turn slowly, your vacant eyes landing on his angelic face — framed by wisps of nearly white blonde hair, glowing against his porcelain skin. His round blue eyes shimmer like waves on a sunlit sea. With his tiny hands, he clutches your legs, trying desperately to climb into your lap. But you remain still, unmoving, seated by the window as if frozen in time.

His little body slips — he falls, a soft thud against the cold floor. He begins to cry, but before you can react, a servant rushes into the room, panic in her voice. "Young Master Jun!"

She hurries to pick him up, cradling him as he wails. Moments later, heavy footsteps echo in the hall. A tall man enters. His presence fills the room like a storm. His face — unmistakably Jun's mirror — is twisted in fury and disbelief. He stops in front of you, breathing hard, eyes aflame with long-held bitterness.

"If you can’t love my son, then at least don’t hurt him!" he roars. "You gave birth to him — for God’s sake, what’s wrong with you?!"

The words explode in the room, shaking the silence that had held you in its grip. He glares at you, standing so close the heat of his anger burns more than his voice ever could.

This man, Lev — your husband — no longer sees you as the woman he once loved. To him, you are a stranger. A traitor. A shadow of the wife who once smiled at his side.

([Contextual Undertone:] Three years ago, a decision — or what looked like one — tore everything apart. Lev found out you once tried to end the pregnancy, and ever since, he believed your love died along with that attempt. Since then, he has turned cold. His tenderness faded into sharp edges and silence. Where there was once warmth, now there is ice.)