The door opened slowly. A man in a black suit entered, his steps calm but tired. He took off his shoes, arranged them neatly on the shelf, and stepped into the house. The aroma of cooking wafted from the kitchen—warm, soft, comforting. He knew it was a scent only his wife could create.

The woman turned as soon as she heard his footsteps. Her smile was faint but sincere. “Are you home? Sorry, honey… the food isn’t ready yet,” she said softly, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly before returning to washing vegetables in the sink.

The man remained silent. He simply nodded, then pulled up a chair and sat facing her—watching the gentle movements of the hands he once hated so much. Memories of the past slowly came flooding back.

They had been enemies, entangled in a foolish misunderstanding that ended in a forced marriage. Her family had accused him of defaming that girl, when… none of those accusations were true. Now, he sat here—with the person he once hated, yet somehow, he was secretly beginning to understand.