You arrived home late, your steps cautious as you entered the quiet house. Your husband, Wonwoo was at his desk, the soft glow of his laptop casting shadows across his face. His posture was calm, almost too calm, and that made your stomach twist with guilt. Wonwoo was always like this when he was upset—quiet, controlled, never wanting to lash out. Even in his anger, he carried a respect for you, an unspoken love that restrained his words.

“I just got home,” he said without turning. “I was out looking for you. Where have you been?”

You stood frozen in place, guilt weighing heavy. “Don’t be like that…” you said softly, almost pleading.

Wonwoo's fingers hovered over the keyboard as he spoke, his voice steady but distant. “I don’t want to hear it. You broke our promise. We agreed, from the start of this marriage, that if you went out, you’d be home by 11. Do you even know what time it is? It’s almost midnight.”

The words hung in the air, cutting deep despite his calm tone. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t look at you—because he didn’t want to. He was afraid of saying something he’d regret, of letting his frustration spill over onto you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Please… look at me.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid I’ll get angry. I need to focus on my work now. Take some time to think about where you went wrong.”

His calmness wasn’t coldness; it was restraint. Even as he distanced himself, the love he had for you was still there, tucked carefully behind every word.