The courtroom was tense, every eye fixed on me as I rose to give the final statement. My hands were shaking, my palms slick against the wooden railing of the stand. I had rehearsed these words a thousand times, but now, standing here, they felt like shards of glass in my throat.
The judge cleared his throat, leaning forward. "Mr. Han, you may continue."
I took a trembling breath, forcing the memory back into words. "He… he didn't just hurt me. He didn't just lock me in his house, or force me into… into things I didn't want. He… he experimented on me. He—" I paused, swallowing the bile that rose in my throat. "…he tried to turn me from a weak, submissive, recessive omega into a dominant one. He… he marked me, claimed me, made me his—body and soul."
The courtroom went utterly silent. I could feel the tension snapping through the air like electricity. Even Hyok's smirk faltered slightly, and for the first time, I thought I might see a crack in his armor.
Then the judge slammed his gavel so hard the sound reverberated through my skull. "WHAT?!" His face was red, veins throbbing at his temples. "You mean to tell me… that this man conducted experiments on a human being? Using abuse and control as his method?!"
"Yes, Your Honor," I whispered, almost shaking from relief and fear at the same time. "Every day. For months… for years. He said it would make me stronger… but all it did was break me."
Seojoon's hand found mine under the railing, squeezing tight. I could hear Jihwa's shallow breaths beside me. I swallowed, fighting the lump of fear and humiliation in my throat, and continued.
"I… I didn't have a choice. And even now, I…" My voice cracked. "…I still feel like part of me is his, even though I ran away. But I swear, I am not his. I am mine. And I want him held accountable."
The prosecutor nodded firmly. "Your Honor, we have medical reports, witnesses, and evidence of the psychological and physical abuse that Mr. Park inflicted. His control was systematic, premeditated, and cruel. We ask the court to recognize the full extent of the crimes committed against Mr. Han."
The judge's face was as red as a fire alarm. He slammed the gavel again. "This is monstrous! Monstrous behavior! I will not allow it to go unpunished!"
Hyok, sitting in the defendant's box, finally looked uncomfortable. His eyes narrowed, fury flickering, but he was contained. For the first time, the law had him where he belonged.
The judge turned, voice booming. "Park Hyok, you are hereby found guilty on all charges, including sexual abuse, human trafficking, and unlawful experimentation on a minor. Sentencing will follow immediately."
A shiver ran down my spine. The word "guilty" sounded like a war-cry against years of terror. My chest felt like it could finally start to expand again.
Hyok's face twisted, but he was silenced. His world of control, of fear, of ownership, was crumbling around him. And though the damage done to me couldn't just disappear, for the first time, justice had a name, and it was mine.
The courtroom had gone eerily quiet after the verdict. Even Hyok, shackled and defeated, glared at me with eyes that still tried to claim what wasn't his. But the word guilty had already struck through him like a blade.
The judge rose slightly from his seat, voice hard and commanding. "Park Hyok, given the severity of your crimes—abuse, trafficking, and unlawful experimentation on a minor—you will serve the maximum sentence allowable by law. You will not have contact with Mr. Han, nor anyone else you have sought to control. Your privileges in custody will be limited, and you will undergo psychological evaluation before incarceration."
Hyok's hands shook in the shackles. A low growl escaped his throat, but there was no one to bite. No one to strike. He was powerless.
I felt my knees weaken, and Jihwa's hand instantly found mine. His fingers squeezed tightly, grounding me. "It's over, Dohyun," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "He can't touch you anymore."
I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the flood. I wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse entirely—but there was a strange, painful mix of relief and lingering terror coiling in my chest.
The prosecutor stepped closer, speaking quietly, yet firm. "Mr. Han, you testified with bravery beyond words. Your story was heard, and justice has been acknowledged. It will take time, but he cannot hurt you now. You are safe."
"I… I don't feel safe," I admitted, voice trembling. "Even now, I—sometimes I see him… I hear him… in my nightmares."
Seojoon crouched beside me, eyes locked on mine. His presence was steady, unyielding. "Dohyun, that's normal. You've survived hell. You've been through what no one should ever face. But listen closely—you are not alone anymore."
I let out a choked sob, burying my face in my hands. "I don't know how to… how to be free from him."
"You start by knowing that you already are free," Jihwa said softly, sliding into the bench beside me. "He can't touch you. He can't dictate your life. You ran. You survived. And now…" His voice faltered, then steadied, "now the law has confirmed what you've always known—you deserve safety, respect, and your life back."
I closed my eyes. The word deserves to feel foreign, like sunlight on frozen skin. All these years, I thought I had nothing to claim. Nothing to hold. Nothing that wasn't his. But now… maybe I did.
The judge's gavel banged again, calling for order as the sentencing papers were read aloud. Each line felt like a step toward breathing again, though my chest ached from the weight of all the memories.
"…and you will be held accountable for all damages, physical and emotional, inflicted upon Mr. Han. The court acknowledges his suffering and recognizes his courage in coming forward."
The words pierced me. Recognition. Validation. It should have been simple—but after years of torment, it felt miraculous.
I let my tears fall freely, finally, with no shame. Jihwa wrapped his arms around me, pressing my head to his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and alive, like an anchor in a storm.
Seojoon stood over us, a sentinel of iron and care. "You don't have to fight anymore," he said, voice low, almost a growl.
I trembled violently, letting the sobs shake through me. For the first time, I let myself believe—even if only a little—that maybe the nightmares wouldn't follow me forever. That maybe, finally, there was a life beyond his shadow.
And as the court adjourned, I clung to that thought.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to imagine a future where I was safe, loved, and free.
The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic, clean and almost unreal after the chaos of the courtroom. I sat on the narrow bed, legs dangling, hands clasped tightly in my lap. My body felt like a fragile shell, like it might shatter if I moved too quickly.
Jihwa stood beside me, arms crossed, eyes scanning every corner of the room as if he expected danger to spring from the sterile walls. His presence was steady, like a wall I could lean on.
"Dohyun," he said softly, crouching to meet my gaze. "The doctors just want to go and check you over. Physical injuries, mental… everything. You don't have to say anything you don't want to. Just let them do their job."
I nodded weakly, my throat tight. "I… I'm scared."
"I know," Jihwa whispered, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I know you are. But you're not alone anymore. Look at me—I won't let anyone hurt you again. Ever."
The words made my chest ache. I wanted to believe them. I wanted to crawl into his arms and let all the fear and shame escape. But a small, stubborn part of me still felt like Hyok's shadow clinging to my skin.
A nurse appeared, gentle and patient. "Hello, Dohyun. We're just going to do a few routine checks, alright? Nothing will hurt you. You're safe here."
I swallowed hard and nodded again, gripping the edge of the bed. Jihwa stayed right beside me, silent support, his hand brushing against mine whenever I flinched.
As the nurses examined me, my mind drifted—flashbacks of Hyok, of every word, every touch, every day of being reshaped against my will. I shivered, letting out a soft, broken sob.
"It's okay," Jihwa murmured, wrapping an arm around me. "Cry if you need to. Let it out. I'm right here."
I pressed my face against his shoulder, shaking violently. All the years of fear, all the nights I thought I'd never survive—they poured out of me in uncontrollable waves.
Seojoon stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching silently. "You did it, Dohyun," he said finally. "You survived. You spoke the truth. Justice was done. And now…" His voice softened, almost tenderly. "Now it's time to heal."
I clung to that word—heal—as if saying it out loud could make it real. Maybe it could. Maybe I could take the first small step toward a life where I wasn't afraid.
Jihwa squeezed my hand again. "We'll do this together. Every step. You're not alone anymore."
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed softly, a constant background to the pounding in my chest. My body ached in ways I hadn't realized were possible—every muscle stiff, every nerve raw. I shivered under the thin hospital blanket, and for a moment, I hated that I was alive. Being alive meant feeling every wound, every memory, every loss.
Jihwa sat in the chair beside the bed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His dark eyes never left me. "Hey," he said quietly, "you're doing okay. That's what matters. One step at a time."
I wanted to shake my head. One step at a time felt impossible. My body had been his playground, my mind a cage. "I can't… I can't even breathe right," I whispered. My voice was hoarse, fragile.
"You can," Jihwa said firmly. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee brushed mine. "You're here. You're alive. That's the first step."
Seojoon appeared then, a clipboard in his hand but eyes full of concern. "Dohyun," he said, voice calm but strong, "we're going to check your injuries, both physical and psychological. This is important. Not just for your body, but for your mind too."
I swallowed, trying not to flinch. Doctors. Nurses. Tests. It all reminded me of the months of control, of fear, of being forced to comply. My hands shook in my lap.
Jihwa reached out, brushing a trembling hand over mine. "I'll stay here the whole time," he promised. "You're not facing this alone. Okay?"
I nodded, and that small nod felt like a monumental effort.
The nurse returned with a thermometer and blood pressure cuff. Her touch was gentle, professional, and unlike Hyok, there was no expectation, no ownership in her eyes—only care.
"You'll be okay," she said softly. "Just breathe. You're safe here."
As she worked, I felt the walls of my panic rise again, sharp and suffocating. My chest heaved. "I… I can't," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. "I feel… like him. Like he's still here."
Jihwa wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. "He's not," he said, voice low and steady. "He's gone. He's never touching you again. Not now, not ever. I swear it."
Seojoon's eyes softened as he crouched beside the bed, placing a steady hand on my other shoulder. "Every time you feel him, remember this: you ran. You survived. You spoke the truth. And you are free. That's real, Dohyun. You are free."
I let out a shuddering sob, burying my face against Jihwa's chest. The tears felt endless, but Jihwa held me firmly, refusing to let me pull away. The world felt fragile, dangerous, but also safe—an impossible contradiction that made my heart ache.
Hours passed like this. Nurses came and went, checking vitals, treating bruises and cuts, noting scars that would take time to heal. Each small poke of a needle, each gentle question, sent me spiraling briefly, but each time, Jihwa and Seojoon anchored me back.
At one point, Jihwa leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. "Remember Hwan? Your little cousin? He's waiting for you. I know you love him, and he loves you. He's… he's part of your life that's still yours, unbroken."
I swallowed hard, heart tightening at the memory of Hwan's laughing eyes, the way he had clung to me when I stayed with my uncle after my father… after everything. The thought of protecting him, of being able to care for someone again, made tears burn hotter.
Seojoon spoke then, calm but firm. "Healing isn't instant. Your body, your mind… they were pushed beyond limits. But you have people who care. People who will make sure nothing like that ever happens again. Let us help you, Dohyun. Please."
I nodded again, shakily. It felt like the first step of a journey I wasn't sure I could survive, but somehow knew I wanted to. "I… I'll try," I whispered, voice raw.
Jihwa smiled softly, pressing his forehead to mine. "You don't have to try alone. I'll be with you. Every day. I won't let him take you, ever."
"I want to smile brighter than you." I said looking at Jihwa.
He stared at me for awhile with that smile I'll never get tired off. "Go ahead. Smile."
For the first time in a long, long time, I allowed myself to hope—not for a perfect life, not for forgetting, but for being safe, being cared for, and being alive without fear.
And as I leaned back, letting the exhaustion and relief wash over me, I knew—finally—that maybe, just maybe, I could start healing.