It has been 2 years since than. I'm married with Kang Taejun.
It wasn't no where near hell. I enjoyed every moment.
Lately, things had been different.
I hadn't even noticed the emptiness in the apartment until that morning. Kang hadn't kissed me goodbye. He hadn't even glanced at me. Just left, briefcase in hand, leaving me staring at the quiet walls like they had swallowed him whole.
I wrapped the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders, shivering—not from cold, but from that hollow ache in my chest. 2 years ago, I would have expected this. I was used to being invisible, to being dismissed, to being… nothing.
But now it burned differently. Now, I felt the absence of him sharply, personally.
And then came the nausea.
It started as a dull twist in my stomach, subtle at first. I brushed it off as a leftover from last night's meal, or maybe stress, or the lingering chemicals from my body's history. But it didn't fade. By noon, the queasiness was impossible to ignore.
I ended up in the bathroom, knees pressed to the cold tile, gripping the edge of the sink as the room spun. My fingers shook as I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Eyes hollow, cheeks pale, and the faintest tremor in my lips. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
The test was simple, but my hands didn't stop shaking as I waited. Heart hammering. Breath caught. And then—positive.
Positive.
My mind froze.
I pressed the paper to my chest, sinking to the floor, tears spilling over before I could stop them. I should have felt joy. I should have felt anything. But all I felt was the crushing weight of inevitability.
Kang Taejun.
The first thought wasn't happiness. It wasn't hope. It was fear.
Because when he came home later that evening, he barely noticed. Barely looked at me. He set his briefcase down, muttered a short, distracted greeting, and vanished into the bedroom for a meeting call.
And the world tilted on its axis.
I had carried something inside me that he had created—and he didn't even pause to notice.
I sat at the dining table with untouched food in front of me. The soup had gone cold, the rice clumped together.
The door to the bedroom was still closed. His voice drifted faintly through it—low, commanding, all business. The same voice that once made my knees weak now felt like a wall between us.
I placed a hand over my stomach, hesitant, like I was touching a stranger. There's really something there.
I remembered the first time he touched me — harsh, commanding, like I was just another thing he owned. And yet now, I found myself wishing he would touch me again. Anything to prove he still saw me.
When the bedroom door finally opened, Kang stepped out, loosening his tie. His eyes flickered toward me briefly before landing on his phone again.
"You didn't eat?" he asked absently, already scrolling through some notification.
I shook my head. "Wasn't hungry."
"Eat anyway," he said, voice flat, distracted.
I swallowed, something tight forming in my throat. "Taejun"
He glanced up at me, annoyed at first, but stopped when he saw my expression.
"I… I'm pregnant."
The words felt foreign, heavy as they left my lips.
He blinked once. Twice. Then his gaze hardened—not with anger, but with something worse. Something unreadable.
"I see," he said finally, putting his phone down.
That was it. I see.
No smile. No relief. No warmth.
Just those two words before he walked past me, his hand brushing my shoulder like an afterthought.
I sat there frozen, my nails digging into my palm until it hurt.
Something inside me crumpled.
I wanted to scream. To demand why he wasn't happy. Why he wasn't here with me.
Instead, I forced a small laugh, bitter and sharp. "You don't even care."
He stopped near the hallway. "It's not about caring," he said without turning around. "It's about timing. And this… isn't good timing."
"Timing?" My voice cracked. "Do you even hear yourself? This is your child—our child—and you're talking about timing?"
He turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Don't make this dramatic, Seojoon. Just… rest. Take care of yourself."
And with that, he left the room.
I pressed both hands to my stomach and curled forward, biting back a sob that tore its way up anyway.
I was alone again.
Even with his child inside me, I was still just… alone and empty.
The house grew quieter as the days went by.
Kang Taejun still came home every night — late, tired, always smelling like cologne and expensive wine — but he barely looked at me anymore. His kisses, when he remembered them, were short and distracted. His touches were mechanical.
He had always been a man of few words, but now, his silence felt like a punishment.
I sat by the window most evenings, staring at the empty driveway, listening for the sound of his car. Some nights it never came.
"Do you want to eat?" the maid asked one night, peeking into the room.
"No," I said automatically.
Even food felt pointless.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and rested my chin on them, my eyes landing on my reflection in the glass. My face looked pale, thinner than before. My hair fell limply over my shoulders.
I almost didn't recognize myself.
When Kang finally came home that night, I waited for him to come into the room, to ask about the baby, to at least look at me.
But he just walked past the doorway.
"Good night," he said, like we were strangers.
I stayed there, sitting in the dark, until I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
"Good night," I whispered back, though he was already too far to hear me.
It was worse than hate.
At least hate meant feeling something.
This felt like being erased.