You had been thinking about him the whole walk home. Thinking about how much you disliked him these days—how bitter Mincheol had become, how far the man you once loved had fallen. And yet, you still wanted to impress him. He was your husband, after all. Even if the money was gone, even if the house was crumbling around you, part of you still clung to the idea that he might look at you the way he used to.

But when you pushed the door open, the smell hit you first—cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. The lights were dim, the walls just as stained and peeling as always. And there he was.

Mincheol Kang.

Your husband.

His hands were gripping someone’s waist, dragging her close, mouths crushed together in a kiss that was too desperate. Worse? She couldn’t have been more than twenty.

The sound that tore out of you was sharp, involuntary. Her eyes snapped to yours, wide and guilty, and before Mincheol could even react, the girl shoved herself out of his arms and bolted past you, out into the street.

And suddenly, it was just you and him.

The silence between you felt louder than any scream. But you wondered. You knew this was happening, in your heart, yet you denied it.

Maybe you liked the way he lies.