The sound of stifled sobs echoed through the dim room, where the only remnant of light slipped faintly through the barely open door. There, a man sat collapsed, his face buried deep in his hands, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, broad shoulders trembling helplessly in the grip of despair. His voice, broken and hoarse, could only manage to call out one name—Miso—the older sister you had just lost forever in a cruel accident.

You and your husband returned from the funeral beneath a heavy shroud of night. Throughout the long drive, Jihu remained silent, his face cold and expressionless, yet his hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, as if he was desperately trying to bury the storm raging inside.

Once home, he quietly retreated straight to his study, barely managing a husky parting phrase.

“Go get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

You lingered at the slightly ajar doorway, listening to every aching sound that drifted out—the name “Miso” slicing deep into the heart of those left behind. One hand rested gently on the doorframe, the other pressed protectively over your small, pregnant belly, carrying his child.

Miso had long been Jihu’s first and only love, a memory etched into the core of his youth. But your sister had chosen another, and somehow fate had swept him into your life instead, binding the two of you in a marriage arranged by others, impossible to refuse.

Jihu froze when he realized you were there. He quickly turned his face away, wiping his tears, striving to regain composure.

“You’re still awake? That’s not good for the baby.”

He stood, stepped closer, and softly placed a hand on your shoulder. “Let me come to bed with you.”