Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past
Have you ever noticed how no one warns you about the cost of caring too much?
They tell you to be kind.
To give your heart honestly.
To believe that love, or loyalty, or effort will somehow be returned.
But they never tell you what happens when it isn't—
when you pour everything into someone, or something,
and it just... disappears.
At first, you tell yourself it's fine.
That this is what love or devotion means—sacrifice.
You smile, convincing yourself it's worth it.
But one day, you wake up and realize you've built your whole life around something that no longer looks back at you.
That's the cruel part—the silence. It doesn't scream; it doesn't break you all at once.
It just eats away at you slowly until the warmth in you starts to fade. People say, "Let go." Easy words for those who've never had to.
Letting go isn't brave; it's hollow.
It's waking up every day knowing the world keeps turning
even without you in someone else's orbit. You learn eventually—not how to move on, but how to live with the emptiness.
How to walk around carrying a ghost. And maybe that's what growing up really is—realizing that some things don't heal. They just become part of you, like a scar you stop noticing but never really forget.
Five years.
That's how long Akane and I have been married.
To everyone else, I was the perfect husband—well-mannered and considerate, even voted "Best Husband" by some gossip magazine.
People envied that I married such a great wife.
They had no clue what my role really was in this marriage.
For five years, she had always been somewhat distant.
And the passionate love I had once chased her with had slowly faded.
Deep down, I knew the truth—I wasn't the one she truly wanted.
This afternoon, Masato—her secretary—texted me:
"Mr. Shun, Miss Akane has an event tonight, so she'll be late. She should be home around 11:30 p.m. or so."
I stared at the message for a moment and replied,
"Alright, thanks."
10:30 p.m.—she'd probably have eaten by then.
All I needed to do was run her bath and leave out some fresh clothes.
It was a routine I'd done countless times.
My hands moved automatically, like a machine following instructions.
After that, I left a light on in the living room and went to bed.
Around 11:15, half-asleep, I thought I heard the door—the faint sound of water running in the bathroom.
Just as I was drifting back to sleep, I felt the bed sink beside me, warmth pressing against my back.
She kissed me.
"Why are you asleep already?" she whispered near my ear, her breath warm.
"Just... tired," I murmured, nudging her gently.
But she didn't move.
Later that night, she slept heavily beside me while I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
I got up, poured myself a glass of red wine, and sat alone in the living room, gazing at our wedding photo on the wall.
Hm... When is the right time to talk about the divorce?
I thought love could fix everything. I wanted to stay. I truly did. But sometimes the heart alone isn't enough.
Akane and I met in college.
She was the superstar—perfect family, top grades, stunning looks. Everything about her was impeccable.
Naturally, I also developed a crush on her.
Back then, I was fearless and persistent.
But two semesters of trying didn't win her over.
I tried everything to get her attention—stayed late in the library hoping to see her, found reasons to pass by her dorm.
I even made her something—a small leather bookmark, carefully cut and stitched by hand to gift her.
I remember waiting in the snow to give her the gift, only to hear:
"Shun... you should stop chasing me. I like someone else."
I was stubborn. I thought it was just an excuse—until one day, I stumbled upon her and Takumi.
I saw her soothing him, gently stroking his hair, then lifting his chin to kiss him.
That was when I realized Akane could be gentle and affectionate.
Their romance spread quickly around campus—the star and the impoverished student, Takumi.
She even managed to shut down the school forum to protect him.
But as intense as their love was, it didn't end well.
I never heard why they broke up directly from Akane.
But the rumor was that she wanted Takumi to marry into her family.
After graduation, he refused, saying he didn't want to depend on anyone and wanted to make it on his own.
People saw them argue on campus, then make up, then argue again, until Takumi decided to become a country teacher.
They split half a year later.
And there I was, watching it all like some unwilling spectator. Haa... Funny how I'd always thought relationships were supposed to be simple: you like someone, they like you back, and you try to make it work. But apparently, life doesn't deal in "supposed tos." It deals in timing, expectations, stubbornness, and secrets. You think love is enough, but it rarely is. I wondered if anyone ever really knows what they're doing when they're with someone. Maybe that's the point—to keep learning that no amount of hope or effort guarantees anything.
Love isn't fair. It isn't neat. It's messy, inconvenient, and heartbreakingly slow to teach its lessons. And yet... we keep chasing it, don't we? Because the alternative is admitting that we don't even know what we're missing.
Maybe that's why, when we met again years later, I didn't resist.
Our families happened to collaborate on a project, and we met again—rekindled through work.
I suppose, looking back, I probably took advantage of the situation... and maybe of her emotions, too.
I treated her well, just like before—reminding her to drink less alcohol at gatherings, cooking hot meals to bring to her office on snowy nights, and making sure she stayed healthy even when she forgot to care for herself.
Months later, on a winter night, she found me shivering by her company's entrance with a hot meal that I cooked for her. My coat did little to keep the chill away, and I could feel the snow melting slowly on my hair.
She stopped a few steps away, brushing the flakes from my shoulders with a calm, almost indifferent expression
"Shun..." she said quietly.
"Do you really... like me that much?"
My mind went blank. Without even thinking, I nodded, a bit dumbfounded.
"Then... do you want to marry me?" She said while laughing softly, brushing snowflakes from my hair.
I had been so caught up in the joy of her proposal that I didn't stop to think.
At that time, I thought it was my persistence that finally reached her heart. But... now, looking back... I'm not so sure. Maybe there was something else that I was too blinded to notice.
For most of the five years, I had been enthusiastic because I liked her—
and naively thought her proposal meant she liked me too.
Even when she rarely replied to my texts,
even when I had to learn her schedule from her secretary,
even when all we had was routine married life without deeper emotional connection—
it never changed my love for her.
I knew she was busy. It didn't bother me.
Even when I was sick or facing any trouble, I handled it all alone.
Until one day, while cleaning the storage room, I noticed a box in the corner of the room.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it.
Inside were documents showing that she'd been anonymously donating funds to a rural school for years.
The principal wrote a thank-you note for each donation, asking for it to be delivered.
They were neatly stacked—no creases, no stains.
Huh... turns out the school principal was Takumi.
To be continued...