Se-Ri's POV
At first, I thought we were making progress.
Small steps.
Weekend grocery trips.
A few mornings where he dropped me at work.
Sometimes we had breakfast together — him on one side of the table, me on the other.
But even in those moments, something was missing.
He was there, but he wasn't with me.
He'd scroll through business news while I stirred sugar into coffee.
The car rides were quiet — not peaceful, just… hollow.
Like we were two strangers playing house with the shell of something that used to be love.
That Morning
We sat over toast and coffee.
I stared at his plate.
He hadn't touched the eggs.
I hadn't touched the silence.
Then I asked, gently:
"We haven't been… close, for a while. Should we…?"
He didn't even look up.
Just picked up his bag, checked his watch, and said,
"Let's go. We'll be late."
He didn't say no.
But he didn't say yes either.
And that silence was louder than a scream.
That Night
Still, I tried.
I got dressed — carefully.
A black silk nightgown I hadn't worn in months.
I lit a candle. Tidied the space. Cleared the table.
Then I waited.
He came home around ten.
When I turned, he was just there.
Looking at me.
Not in wonder.
Not with affection.
Just… looking.
Then, without a word, he walked over and pulled me hard against him.
His mouth found mine.
Urgent. Demanding.
Rough.
But not in the way that once left me breathless.
This wasn't about closeness.
It was about release.
About something breaking loose inside him,
and slamming into me.
I tried to meet him halfway.
But I flinched when his hand gripped too tight.
My tongue stung when his kiss turned too sharp.
And still… he didn't notice.
When it was over,
he let go.
Turned.
And walked straight to the bedroom.
No glance back.
No question.
No Are you okay?
I stayed behind.
Leaning against the side table, still catching my breath —
Not from pleasure.
From shock.
My lips throbbed.
My chest felt hollow.
The candle still burned in the corner, flickering like it didn't know whether to stay or give up.
I stood in the nightgown I'd chosen so carefully.
Now wrinkled. Unnoticed. Unwanted.
I wasn't hurt because it was wild.
I was hurt because I wasn't seen.
He used to hold me like I was something fragile.
That night, I felt like a wall he leaned on to keep from collapsing.
Later, I lay beside him —
His back turned.
Breath steady.
Already asleep.
I sat up again.
Stared at the ceiling.
At the cracks.
At the silence that didn't even have the dignity to echo.
Not anger.
Not even heartbreak.
Just a quiet devastation.
The kind that sinks slowly.
Like ink in water.
Like a bruise you don't notice until it's already deep.
My tears didn't come.
Even they were tired.
I lay on my side, facing away —
Then turned and pressed myself gently against his back.
Not to wake him.
Not to forgive him.
Just to feel something warm.
Something alive.
And even then, he didn't move.
I wrapped my arm around him.
My eyes stayed dry.
My body sore.
And I wondered…
How did we end up this far apart, in the same bed?