Later on I was discharged and Kang Taejun ordered me to sit in his car.
The ride was too quiet. The silence pressed against my ears until I thought I might choke on it. Outside the tinted windows, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white, rushing past like a world that no longer belonged to me. I shifted in my seat, wincing as the ache in my abdomen pulled at my stitches. Every movement reminded me of what I had lost, of the child I had carried, the child I hadn't even held.
Kang sat beside me, his posture rigid, his suit flawless as always. He looked untouched by the night, by the hospital, by the way my world had collapsed in a sterile white room hours ago. His eyes never once strayed to me. They remained fixed on the phone in his hand, the screen lighting up his face in cold, blue tones. His thumb moved with precise taps as if every message, every notification, mattered more than the man bleeding silently beside him.
I pressed my hands together in my lap, the knuckles white, nails biting into skin. My eyes kept darting to the thick envelope that sat between us on the leather seat. I didn't want to touch it, didn't want to know what lay inside, but my gaze was drawn to it like it was some venomous creature waiting to strike.
Finally, the weight of the silence broke me. My voice came out small, trembling.
"Taejun… where are we going?"
He didn't look up. "Somewhere you'll stay."
"Stay?" My chest tightened. "What do you mean? We—we're going home, aren't we? Back to—"
"No." His tone was clipped, final. "You won't be coming back."
My stomach dropped, colder than the night outside. I stared at him, waiting for his face to soften, for him to take it back. "I… I don't understand. What do you mean I won't be coming back? That's—this is our home. You said—"
He slipped the phone into his pocket, finally picking up the envelope. He placed it onto my lap with deliberate weight. "Read it."
My fingers shook as I unfolded the flap, the thick paper inside whispering against itself. The first words that leapt at me were bold, black, final: Divorce Decree. Custody Agreement. Financial Settlement.
My throat closed. I flipped through page after page, words swimming as my eyes blurred. I could barely make sense of the legal phrases—irreconcilable differences, dissolution of marriage, sole custody—each one slicing deeper into me.
"No…" My voice cracked. "No, this isn't—this can't be real."
Kang's gaze finally shifted to me, but there was no softness, no hesitation. Only that cool, unreadable stare. "It's real. Sign them."
The papers trembled in my grip. I clutched them to my chest like I could crush them into nothing, like I could erase the words if I just held tight enough. "Why?" My voice broke into a whisper. "Why are you doing this? Did I… did I do something wrong?"
"Don't be dramatic." He leaned back against the seat, his tone flat. "This is practical. Our arrangement has reached its end."
"Arrangement?" The word tore out of me like glass. "Is that all I was to you? An arrangement?"
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Don't twist my words."
"I gave up everything for you!" The words burst out before I could stop them. My hands shook violently, crumpling the papers. "I stayed when you treated me like nothing. I let you own me, control me, break me—because I thought you loved me, even if you didn't say it. And now you're just… throwing me away?"
His gaze turned back toward the window. "This conversation is pointless."
"No!" My chest heaved, breath burning. "It's not pointless! We have a child—your child! How can you just—"
"The child stays with me." His tone sliced through mine, cold and final. He didn't even blink. "You are no longer necessary."
The world tilted. My ears rang. I sat frozen, staring at him as though the words had turned me into stone. My lips parted, trembling. "No longer… necessary?" I repeated, the phrase breaking apart in my mouth. "That's our child. My baby. How can you say I'm not—"
"I'll take care of the child," he interrupted. "You don't need to worry."
"I don't need to—" A bitter laugh ripped out of me, jagged and broken. "You're taking everything from me and telling me not to worry? You don't even let me see—"
"Enough." His voice sharpened like a blade.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, tears spilling despite my struggle to hold them back. My shoulders shook. "Please, Taejun…" I whispered. My voice was so small, I hated how pathetic it sounded. "Please don't do this to me. Don't leave me alone. Don't take my baby away. I can be better—I'll do whatever you want, just—just don't end this."
He remained silent for a long moment, I searched his face desperately for something—hesitation, remorse, anything. But when he finally spoke, it was colder than before.
"It's already done."
I let out a strangled sob, clutching the envelope until the edges cut into my palms. The silence stretched once more, heavier than stone, swallowing every plea I wanted to make.
And in that silence, I realized—he wasn't going to save me this time.
The car slowed. I lifted my head, blinking at the unfamiliar streets outside. Gone were the wide avenues, the glowing signs, the polished glass buildings that screamed wealth and power. Here, the sidewalks cracked under the weight of time, the streetlamps flickered weakly, and shadows stretched too long across narrow alleyways.
My chest tightened. "Where are we?" I asked, my voice unsteady.
Kang didn't answer.
The driver turned the wheel sharply, pulling up in front of an old, gray building with peeling paint and rust eating at the balconies. A neon light buzzed faintly in a convenience store downstairs, casting everything in a sickly glow.
When the car stopped, he opened the door without hesitation. "Get out."
The words landed like stones. My hands shook as I fumbled with the seatbelt, stepping out onto the cracked pavement. The night air smelled faintly of mildew and cigarette smoke, stinging my nose.
I stared up at the building, my chest constricting. The windows were dark, curtains hanging in tatters. It didn't look like a home. It looked like a place people disappeared into.
"This…" I swallowed hard. "This isn't—this can't be—"
"Follow me." His tone left no room for argument.
He didn't wait for me to catch up, his strides long and purposeful as he pushed through the squeaking front door. The hallway inside was dim, the single bulb overhead buzzing, moths circling around it in endless loops. The air was thick, heavy with dampness. My footsteps echoed against the stained tiles as I trailed after him.
Each step felt like a descent into something deeper, darker.
We climbed one flight of stairs. The banister wobbled under my hand, splinters catching at my skin. Kang didn't look back once. He stopped at the very end of a narrow corridor, pulling a key from his pocket. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the smell of dust and old wood immediately flooding out.
I stepped inside hesitantly.
The apartment was small. Too small. One room with a sagging bed pushed into the corner, a chipped table with a single chair, a sink against the far wall. The curtains were thin and yellowed with age, barely covering the cracked window. The air was stale, as though no one had breathed in this space for years.
My heart clenched. "What is this?" My voice trembled. "Why are you bringing me here?"
"This is where you'll live from now on." He walked inside as if inspecting the place, his gaze scanning over the furniture with disinterest. "It has everything you need."
I shook my head, stepping back. "No. No, I can't… You can't just leave me here, Taejun. This place—it's—"
"It's sufficient." His reply was firm, final.
"It's not home," I whispered, my throat raw.
He didn't respond. Instead, he set the envelope of divorce papers down on the table, followed by a sleek black card. "There's money on this. It should cover your expenses."
The sound of the card hitting the table was sharp, cold. Like a blade severing the last thread.
I stared at it, then at him, my vision blurring with tears. "Is this it? You're just… giving me money and walking away? After everything? After I gave you—" My voice broke. "After I gave you my whole life?"
"You'll manage." He adjusted his cufflinks, his eyes never softening. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
My knees weakened. I reached out, grabbing his sleeve before I could stop myself. My fingers curled into the fabric desperately. "Please. Don't leave me here. I can't… I can't be alone like this. Not after—"
He looked down at my hand gripping him, his jaw tightening slightly. For a heartbeat, I thought maybe—just maybe—he would relent. But then he pried my hand off with cold precision, one finger at a time, until nothing of me touched him.
His eyes were empty when they met mine. "You'll survive."
And with that, he turned and walked out.
The door shut behind him with a hollow thud. The sound echoed in the bare apartment, louder than any scream, heavier than any silence.
I stood frozen, staring at the chipped wood, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to fade down the hall. Waiting for him to turn back.
But he didn't.
The door didn't just close.
It sealed me in.
For a long time, I stood there, unmoving, staring at the chipped wood as though if I kept my eyes on it long enough, it would open again. My chest rose and fell unevenly, every breath shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how to work.
He was gone.
The thought struck like a hammer to my ribs. It wasn't just that he had walked out—it was the way he had done it. Without hesitation. Without a backward glance. Without even the faintest trace of doubt.
The silence pressed in on me, heavier than any chain. I turned slowly, my eyes sweeping over the small, suffocating space. The room felt too quiet, too still, as though it wasn't a place meant for the living.
I lowered myself onto the bed, the springs groaning under my weight. My body ached from the birth, my stitches pulling painfully, but the ache in my chest drowned everything else out. My arms moved instinctively, wrapping around my torso, as though I could still cradle something there—someone there. But there was nothing. Just emptiness.
My baby.
My baby wasn't with me.
The thought tore through me, violent, merciless. My breath caught in my throat as sobs ripped out, raw and broken. I bent forward, pressing my face into my hands, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
"I carried you," I whispered into the hollow air, my words broken by gasps. "I carried you, I wanted you—I should be with you."
The silence didn't answer.
Images flashed in my mind—of the hospital room, of the first cry I barely heard before they whisked the baby away, of Kang's cold voice claiming him as his own. My heart twisted until I thought it might tear itself apart.
He had taken everything. My child. My marriage. My sense of belonging. And left me here… in this empty, forgotten place.
I lifted my head, eyes swollen with tears, and looked around the room again. The walls seemed to close in, peeling paint curling like cruel smiles. The ceiling leaked faint shadows that looked like cracks in my sanity. The air itself was heavy, stagnant, pressing against my skin.
My gaze fell to the envelope and the black card on the table. The divorce papers lay there like a final verdict, the neat legal phrases mocking me with their finality. Dissolution of marriage. Sole custody. Termination.
I staggered to my feet, my legs trembling, and walked over. My hand hovered above the envelope, fingertips brushing the cold surface.
This was all I was worth now—paperwork and a card.
The tears came again, hot and relentless. I slammed my palm down on the table, my voice cracking as I cried out:
"Why wasn't I enough?"
The walls absorbed my question, offered nothing back.
I slid down onto the floor, my back against the table, my knees pulled to my chest. The coldness of the tiles seeped into my skin, but I didn't care. I buried my face into my knees, muffling my sobs as the night stretched on.
I didn't know how long I sat there, rocking back and forth, letting grief claw at me until I was raw inside. Time had no meaning in that empty apartment.
All I knew was this:
Kang Taejun was gone.
My baby was gone.
And I was left behind, discarded, forgotten—like I had never mattered at all.