#+romance

The morning after the burial arrives with sunlight. You hate it immediately. For five days the world had seemed willing to grieve alongside all of you. Rain had fallen against funeral home windows. Gray clouds had covered the city. The air had felt heavy enough to match the ache sitting inside your chest. But this morning the sky outside your apartment is painfully blue. Sunlight spills across the floorboards. Somewhere below your building, a delivery truck unloads crates. A child laughs while walking to school. The café across the street opens exactly at seven. The world has already resumed.

Mina has been buried for less than twenty-four hours. You stand in your kitchen holding a mug of coffee that has long gone cold. You barely slept. The wedding video still sits paused on your laptop from the night before, frozen on a frame of Mina laughing while Jungkook looks at her as if he has forgotten the rest of the room exists. You eventually closed the computer sometime before dawn. You could not keep looking at them.

The apartment feels hollow this morning. Even your own belongings appear unfamiliar. Your shoes by the door. The books stacked beside the couch. The blanket thrown across the armrest. Everything belongs to a woman who still lived in a world where Mina existed.

You shower quietly. You choose simple clothes. A cream sweater, blue jeans, comfortable shoes. Nothing black. You cannot wear mourning forever.

Before leaving, you stand by your front door for several moments with your hand resting on the knob. You do not understand why your heart feels nervous. You have been entering Jungkook’s house for almost four years. You celebrated birthdays there. Watched movies there. Held Hana for the first time inside that living room. You know where every light switch is. You know which cabinet contains the tea. You know where Mina keeps extra blankets. And yet this morning feels different.

The house you are about to enter is no longer the house you remember. Something vital has disappeared. The drive passes quietly. The city appears almost offensive in its normalcy. People stand in line for coffee. Office workers wait for buses. Mothers walk children toward school. You stop at a red light and suddenly remember the cemetery. Jungkook standing beside the grave. Hana sleeping against his shoulder. The sound of earth falling. You grip the steering wheel tighter.

By the time you reach the neighborhood, your chest hurts. Jungkook’s house stands exactly as it always has.

The white fence, the flower boxes Mina planted every spring, the small swing Hana loved, the ceramic welcome sign hanging beside the porch, nothing has moved.

Several funeral arrangements still stand near the entrance. White lilies have begun curling at the edges. Some petals have turned brown beneath the morning sun. The ribbons attached to them move gently in the wind. You suddenly hate flowers. They are beautiful at funerals. Afterward they simply become evidence that time continues.

You ring the bell. The front door opens. Jungkook stands there. Your heart sinks.

He has not slept. Anyone can see it. His hair is damp as though he showered during the night simply because he could not remain in bed any longer. He wears gray sweatpants and an old black shirt. His eyes are swollen. His face looks pale. For several seconds he simply stares at you. Almost as if he forgot you said you would come. “You really came.”

His voice sounds rough. You offer a small smile. “I told you I would.”

He steps aside. The silence inside the house nearly overwhelms you. The refrigerator hums softly. A clock ticks somewhere. Wind brushes against the windows. The house sounds exactly the same. Only one voice is missing.

The living room remains untouched after the funeral. Empty water bottles sit on the coffee table. Sympathy cards remain stacked beside framed photographs. White flowers surround Mina’s picture. You look away quickly.

Jungkook closes the door. “I made coffee.”

You follow him into the kitchen and immediately stop. Two mugs sit beside the sink, one black, one yellow. Mina’s mug. Tiny painted flowers decorate the ceramic. A faint pink lipstick mark remains along the edge.

Jungkook notices your eyes. He lowers his gaze. “She used it before she left.”

His voice almost disappears. “I can’t wash it yet.”

You do not answer, because you understand. Grief does not live inside cemeteries, it lives inside dishes, inside unfinished laundry, inside shoes beside the front door, inside coffee cups. Jungkook pours coffee into a mug. His hands shake slightly.

“Did Hana sleep?”

“Eventually.”

“And you?”

He gives a small laugh that contains no humor. “I don’t think so.”

The floor above creaks. Small footsteps. Hana appears at the top of the stairs holding her rabbit. Her hair is tangled from sleep. Her pajamas are wrinkled. Her eyes search the room immediately. When she sees you, her face brightens slightly.

“Y/N."

You smile. “Good morning.”

She walks downstairs. Her eyes move behind you. The question arrives. “Where’s Mommy?”

The room falls silent. Jungkook lowers his head. You kneel before her. Your hands touch her small shoulders. “Mommy loves you very much.”

Hana frowned, and your chest tightened. Children noticed patterns. They understood when adults avoided answering their questions, even if they couldn’t explain why. Without another word, she climbed into your lap, wrapped her little arms around you, and whispered, “I want Mommy.”

You held her close, your arms tightening around her small frame, but no words came. For the first time, you didn’t know what to say.

Breakfast becomes an hour-long negotiation. Hana refuses toast, refuses eggs, refuses fruit. Eventually she agrees to strawberries because Mina used to cut them into heart shapes.

Jungkook sat at the table, absentmindedly drinking coffee that had long since gone cold, his gaze fixed on a place far beyond the room. You watched him in silence. This wasn’t the Jungkook you had spent your life loving. The man before you looked exhausted, hollowed out, as though grief had stripped away every unnecessary part of him, leaving behind nothing but responsibility.

After breakfast, Hana falls asleep on the couch beside her stuffed rabbit. Jungkook finally stands.

“I should clean.”

“I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to.”

You look at him. “I want to.”

The laundry basket waited upstairs, and you carried it into the laundry room. Morning sunlight streamed through the small window above the washing machine, illuminating tiny specks of dust that drifted lazily through the air. Inside the basket were towels, Hana’s tiny clothes, pajamas… and Mina’s. You began folding everything with quiet care, a cream blouse, a blue cardigan, a tailored business jacket. Then your hands stilled. Something caught your attention.

A scent lingered, faint, almost gone. You lifted the jacket slightly and inhaled. Men’s cologne. You frowned. The explanation came almost immediately. Jungkook, of course. Married couples shared closets. They embraced in passing. Scents clung to fabric without anyone noticing. It was nothing.

But something feels strange. You have known Jungkook for fifteen years. You know his cologne. He has worn the same one since college. You carry the folded clothes downstairs. Jungkook stands near the kitchen counter. His cologne bottle rests beside his keys. Without thinking, you pick it up. You spray a small amount onto your wrist. The scent fills the air.

Clean. Fresh. Cedar. Citrus. Familiar.

The jacket smells different.

Warmer. Heavier. Older somehow.

Your eyes move toward the folded clothing. Perhaps it belonged to a coworker. Perhaps she borrowed someone’s coat. Perhaps it came from an airport.

Your mind offers explanations. Your chest remains uneasy.

Jungkook notices. “What is it?”

You look up. The morning light falls across his face. He looks exhausted. A man who buried his wife yesterday. A father who has not slept.

You fold the jacket carefully. “Nothing.”

He watches you another moment, then nods.

Nothing. You tell yourself the same thing. Nothing.

The afternoon settles quietly around the house.

Hana sleeps. The television plays cartoons nobody watches. Jungkook sits at the dining table staring into a cup of coffee. The clock continues ticking.

Outside, wind moves through the trees. Inside, the house waits for someone who is never coming home.

Eventually he speaks. “I don’t know what to do.”

You look at him. His eyes remain lowered. “Everyone left.”

His fingers trace the edge of his cup. “I thought after the funeral things would make sense.”

You wait.

“But the house is still empty.”

The honesty in his voice hurts. You look toward the living room. Toward Hana sleeping peacefully. Toward Mina’s photograph.

“It’s going to stay empty for a while.”

His eyes become red. “Hana keeps asking.”

You nod. “She’ll keep asking.”

He laughs softly. “I don’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to answer perfectly.”

He looks at you. “What if I do everything wrong?”

You think about the cemetery. His speech. The way he held his daughter. The way he worried about her before himself. “You won’t.”

He remains quiet. Then he says something so softly you almost miss it. “I missed having you here.”

The words lingered in the space between you, carrying the weight of years, distance, marriage, work, and everything life had placed between the two of you.

You look toward the window. “I never really left.”

His eyes lower. “No.”

His voice is quiet. “You didn’t.”

Outside, evening slowly approaches. Inside the laundry room upstairs, Mina’s folded jacket waits among ordinary clothes. And somewhere within the fabric remains a scent that does not belong to her husband.

You tell yourself it means nothing. You tell yourself grief makes people notice strange things. You tell yourself to forget. But as sunlight slowly disappears from the house and shadows begin filling the corners of the room, you realize that one small question has already taken root inside your mind. And questions, once they begin growing, rarely stay small for very long.

By evening, the house had become tired. The dishes had been washed. The laundry sat folded in neat piles. Hana’s toys had returned to their basket. The funeral flowers near the entrance had begun bowing beneath their own weight, their petals slowly losing the brightness they carried only yesterday. The house no longer looked like the place where people had gathered to mourn. It looked like a home trying to survive.

You stood in the kitchen stirring soup while the soft sound of boiling water filled the quiet room. Outside, the neighborhood settled into evening. Porch lights flickered on one by one. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. The smell of rice and garlic slowly spread through the house.

Jungkook sat at the dining table. Most of the day had passed with him sitting exactly there. Sometimes he watched Hana. Sometimes he stared out the window. Sometimes he simply sat with his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since turned cold. Grief had not made him cry all day. It had simply made him disappear a little.

Hana sat beside him coloring on scrap paper with three broken crayons. Every few minutes she looked toward the front door. Every single time. As though she expected somebody to walk inside. As though mothers always came home.

Dinner happened quietly. Hana refused vegetables. She pushed away her rice. She asked for strawberries. You cut them into small pieces while Jungkook watched his daughter with tired eyes. Suddenly Hana looked toward the hallway. “Mommy eat?”

The spoon stopped in Jungkook’s hand. You looked down. “Mommy isn’t home tonight, sweetheart.”

The little girl frowned. “Work?”

Jungkook lowered his eyes. His voice sounded gentle. “Mommy is resting.”

Hana seemed to think about that. Then she nodded. Two-year-olds often accept answers adults wish they could believe themselves.

Later, after dishes were finished and the sky outside had turned completely dark, Hana climbed onto the couch carrying her rabbit. She rubbed her eyes.“Daddy.”

Jungkook looked up. “What is it, baby?”

She held her rabbit tightly. “Mommy story.”

The room became quiet. Jungkook looked at you. You looked at him. The lamp beside the couch cast warm light across the room while darkness gathered against the windows. Hana patted the empty space beside her. “Story.”

You sat first. Jungkook sat beside you. Hana climbed between both of you. The little girl leaned against your shoulder while holding her rabbit.

You realized something then. She was not asking about death. She was asking for her mother. And perhaps those things were different.

You smiled softly. “Once upon a time there was a girl named Mommy.”

Hana looked up. “Mommy.”

“Yes. When Mommy was little, she had a yellow raincoat.”

Hana listened carefully. “And Mommy loved ducks.”

“Ducks?”

You nodded. “Very much. Every time she saw ducks, she talked to them.”

Jungkook smiled faintly. Because it was true. Mina had always loved ducks. You continued. “One day Mommy saw a duck at the park and gave the duck her crackers.”

Hana giggled. “Duck eat crackers.”

“Yes.”

“And Mommy laughed.”

Hana looked satisfied. “Again.”

Jungkook spoke next. “When Mommy was pregnant with you, she wanted strawberries every day.”

Hana’s eyes widened. “Strawberries?”

“Every day.”

You smiled. “Your daddy had to buy them.”

Jungkook looked down. “Even during winter.”

Hana laughed. “Mommy silly.”

“Very silly.”

The stories became smaller after that. The kind of memories a child could understand. How Mommy danced while cooking. How Mommy sang the wrong words to songs. How Mommy always put too much syrup on pancakes. How Mommy cried during cartoons. How Mommy loved yellow flowers. How Mommy called Hana her little bunny.

Sometimes Hana laughed. Sometimes she repeated the words. Sometimes she simply listened. At one point she looked toward the ceiling. “Mommy hear?”

Jungkook became very still. You could see him trying to answer. Trying to find words that a father could give his daughter. His hand moved gently through Hana’s hair. “I think Mommy likes hearing stories.”

Hana nodded. Children ask the hardest questions. And somehow accept the smallest answers.

The little girl eventually became sleepy. Her eyes closed and opened. Closed and opened. She leaned against her father.

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“Mommy hug?”

Jungkook kissed her forehead. “Mommy loved hugging you.”

She touched her rabbit. “Bunny too.”

“Very much.”

Ten minutes later she had fallen asleep against his chest. Jungkook remained still. As though moving would somehow break the moment.

You watched him. The lamp illuminated one side of his face. The exhaustion. The sadness. The father trying desperately to protect his daughter from something he could not protect himself from.

Eventually he carried her upstairs. The house became quiet again. You stood in the laundry room folding the final load of clothing while the washing machine clicked softly beside you.

Jungkook came in a few minutes later, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, exhaustion still lingering in his eyes. He reached for the stack of freshly folded clothes without a word. Neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt strangely familiar, older than grief itself. It was the quiet shared by two people who had long ago learned they didn’t need to fill every moment with words.

Then his hand paused on the cream business jacket, the one you had noticed earlier. He held it for a few long seconds, his brows slowly knitting together. “I don’t remember this.”

You looked up. “What?”

He turned the jacket slightly. “I’ve never seen her wear this.”

You tried to sound casual. “Maybe for work?”

“Maybe.”

There was uncertainty in his voice. He studied the label, his fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve before lifting the jacket for a closer look. A faint crease formed between his brows, and something in his expression shifted. “That’s strange.”

Your stomach tightened. “What is?”

He looked down. “It doesn’t smell like her.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. The dryer hummed softly in the background while water rushed through the pipes, the ordinary sounds suddenly louder in the stillness.

Outside, the wind stirred gently through the trees. Jungkook lifted the jacket once more, inhaling quietly. A flicker of confusion crossed his face as his brows drew together. “I don’t know.”

He folded the jacket carefully. Placed it on the pile. Neither of you spoke about it afterward. Some questions arrive quietly. Too quietly to notice the damage they might eventually cause.

By ten o’clock the house was finally clean. The dishes had dried. The toys had been put away. The lights downstairs had been turned off. Only the kitchen remained illuminated.

You picked up your bag. Jungkook walked you toward the front door. The porch light cast soft shadows across the yard. The night felt cool.

You looked at him. “You should try sleeping.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll try.”

“Call me if Hana wakes up.”

He nodded.

“Call me if you need anything.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The silence between you felt ancient, worn smooth by years neither of you could ever get back. You remembered him at sixteen, at twenty, at twenty-five, every version of Jungkook somehow standing before you at once. And now there was this version: a grieving husband, an exhausted father, a man carrying more than anyone should have to bear.

You spoke softly. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

He lowered his eyes. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

You looked toward the dark house. Toward Hana sleeping upstairs. Toward the empty bedroom. “Yes,” you said quietly. “I do.”

His eyes glistened, but he only gave a small nod. Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. The hug was brief, gentle, and over almost as soon as it began. Two people standing in the ruins of someone they both loved. When you stepped away, he said: “Drive safely.”

You walked toward your car. The porch light remained behind him. He stayed standing there until your headlights disappeared from the street. Only then did he go back inside.

Hours later, your apartment was quiet. Your laptop sat open on the table, its screen filled with unread emails, unfinished documents, and deadlines waiting patiently for your attention.

Your fingers moved across the keyboard, but your mind was somewhere else. The jacket. The unfamiliar scent. Jungkook insisting he had never seen it before. You told yourself it meant nothing, that you were overthinking it. You tried to let it go. You couldn’t.

Across the city, Jungkook climbed the stairs slowly. For the first time since Mina died, he entered their bedroom alone. The room remained exactly as she had left it. Her book sat beside the bed. Her hair tie rested on the nightstand. Her lotion remained beside the mirror.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, the silence in the room pressing against him from every side. His eyes drifted to the evidence bag resting on the dresser. The police had returned Mina’s belongings earlier that afternoon, a wallet, her passport, keys, and phone. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch any of it. Until now.

He carefully took out the phone. The battery was dead. After a moment, he found the charger, plugged it in, and waited. For several long seconds, the screen remained dark.

He lay down beside the empty pillow. Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Downstairs, the clock continued ticking. Beside the bed, Mina’s phone slowly began charging. And somewhere across the city, while you stared at your laptop unable to focus, a question neither of you were ready to ask quietly waited for morning.

The house was quiet when Jungkook woke. For several moments he remained caught somewhere between sleep and grief, unable to remember where he was or why his chest felt so heavy. Rain had begun sometime after midnight. The soft sound of water against the windows filled the bedroom, blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the neighborhood. The digital clock beside the bed read 2:34 a.m.

He had slept for perhaps an hour. Maybe less. The other side of the bed remained untouched. Mina’s pillow still carried the faint indentation of her head. Her favorite book rested beside the lamp, a bookmark tucked carefully between pages she would never finish. Her hand cream sat exactly where she had left it before leaving for what she called another business trip, another conference, another flight, another promise that she would return home on Friday.

A soft vibration broke the silence, and Jungkook sat upright, his heart leaping into his throat. For one impossible, terrible second, he thought it was Mina. The sound came again. Her phone, resting beside the lamp, glowed softly in the darkness before the screen lit up with nothing more than a promotional notification. It was insignificant, yet the simple sight of her phone coming to life unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. Everything about death felt wrong. Her body had been buried. Her clothes still hung inside the closet. Her toothbrush remained beside his. And her phone continued receiving notifications as though she were merely asleep.

He picked up the phone and was met with a password screen. He entered Hana’s birthday. Incorrect. Their wedding anniversary. Incorrect. His birthday. Nothing. Mina’s birthday. Nothing. A frown settled on his face as he tried the day they started dating, the day he proposed, then the day Hana was born. Each attempt was rejected until the phone temporarily locked him out. Jungkook stared at the screen, unease settling deep in his chest. Three years together. A marriage. A child. A home. And yet, he didn’t know the password to his wife’s phone. The realization settled heavily inside him. He looked toward the empty pillow. Toward the darkness. And another date entered his mind.

Your birthday. He did not understand why. Perhaps because Mina always remembered it. Perhaps because all of you celebrated together every year. Perhaps because grief reaches for familiar things.

His fingers hesitated before entering the numbers. The phone unlocked. Jungkook went completely still as the home screen appeared before him. Your birthday. He stared at the screen, a strange feeling settling deep inside him. Something about it didn’t sit right, though he couldn’t explain why. But he was too exhausted to linger on the thought.

Notifications flooded the screen, work emails, missed calls, promotional alerts, and unread messages. He opened the message list, his eyes scanning absentmindedly until they stopped near the top. One name caught his attention.

Mr. Yun.

He knew that name. He had known it for years. Mr. Yun was Mina’s supervisor, the one who approved business trips, organized overseas meetings, scheduled conferences, and so often required her to work late. Jungkook had heard the name countless times. Sometimes jokingly. Sometimes with irritation. He remembered saying once: “Your boss works you too much.”

Mina had laughed. “He works everyone too much.”

Mr. Yun.

The man Jungkook had always believed was nothing more than a senior executive. He opened the conversation. At first, everything seemed ordinary, flight details, hotel confirmations, meeting schedules, conference locations. Then his eyes caught on a single message.

Room 1812.

I’ll check in first. You can come up later.

His fingers became cold. He continued reading.

I told Jungkook the meeting was extended.

My wife thinks I’m staying in Busan.

I miss you already.

Only three more days.

He stared at the words, then slowly began to scroll. His eyes moved upward through months of conversations, then an entire year, then another. Two years. Two years of messages. Two years of lies. Hotel reservations. Private photographs. Flight itineraries. Restaurant bookings. Weekend trips. Different cities. Messages sent long after midnight. Others exchanged before sunrise. Jungkook read each one in stunned silence, as though he were trying to understand a language he had never known. One message made him stop completely.

You know he still thinks you’re my boss.

A laughing emoji followed. Mr. Yun replied:

And my wife still thinks you work with me.

Jungkook’s breathing grew unnaturally slow as his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. There was no boss. Mr. Yun had never been Mina’s supervisor. The truth revealed itself in old conversations, in forgotten details, in explanations he had never thought to question. Mina had built the story years ago. Jungkook lowered the phone. The rain outside seemed louder. His entire body felt numb. Memories began arriving.

Mina apologizing for another delayed flight. Mina missing anniversaries. Mina leaving before sunrise. Mina returning exhausted. Mina answering work calls during dinner. Mina crying because she had to leave Hana. He remembered comforting her. He remembered telling her to quit. He remembered saying: “We’ll manage somehow.”

She had smiled. “It’s only temporary.”

Two years. Temporary had lasted two years.

He opened another photograph. Mina sat across from Mr. Yun in a restaurant. She smiled. The same smile she wore in family photographs. The same smile from their wedding. The same smile resting now inside the frame downstairs.

His eyes burned. He stood and walked downstairs. The house was dark. Hana’s rabbit rested on the couch. One tiny sock lay beside the stairs. The blanket you used earlier remained folded neatly. Pieces of ordinary life surrounded him.

He sat on the living room floor. Exactly where he sat the night Namjoon called. The same place. The same silence. Only now grief had changed shape.

He looked toward Mina’s photograph. White funeral flowers surrounded the frame. The woman smiling there had died six days ago. The woman inside the phone had died only tonight. He whispered into the darkness. “Who were you?”

No answer came. The only two people who could answer him were buried. Mr. Yun. Mina. Both gone. Both silent. Both had carried their secrets with them into the grave.

Upstairs, Hana slept peacefully. The little girl who had spent the evening asking for stories about her mother. The daughter who believed her mother was still resting somewhere.

Jungkook covered his face, and for the first time since the funeral, he cried without restraint. Not for the woman he had lost, but for the marriage he had believed in. He mourned every airport goodbye, every business trip, every anniversary postponed, every apology he had accepted without question, and every lie he had trusted as the truth.

Across the city, you sat alone at your dining table. Your laptop remained open. The cursor blinked against an unfinished document. Your thoughts continued returning to the cream-colored jacket. The unfamiliar scent. You eventually closed the laptop. Rain fell quietly outside your window. You had no idea that only a few miles away the man you had loved since middle school sat alone on his living room floor. And while the city slept, Jungkook buried his wife for the second time.

The phone call came at 5:42 in the morning. You had not slept much. The rain had continued long after midnight, tapping against your windows while your laptop remained open on the dining table. You had attempted to work. You had answered emails. You had written half a paragraph before deleting every word.

Your thoughts kept returning to Jungkook’s house. The dying flowers. Hana asking for her mother. The unfamiliar scent lingering inside the cream-colored jacket. Jungkook standing beneath the porch light after you left.

When your phone rang, the sky outside remained dark blue. You sat upright immediately.

Jungkook. Your stomach dropped.

You answered almost instantly. “Jungkook?”

For several seconds, there was only silence. The silence of someone trying to remember how to speak.

Rainwater dripped somewhere in the background. You heard him breathe. Once. Twice. Then very quietly he said your name.

You sat on the edge of your bed. “What happened?”

His voice sounded unfamiliar. As though every emotion had been removed during the night. “Can you come over?”

You stood before he finished speaking. “Is Hana okay?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Did something happen?”

Another silence. When he finally spoke, his voice almost disappeared. “Please come.”

The call ended. The city had not fully awakened yet. Streetlights still glowed against wet roads. Convenience stores remained open. Delivery trucks moved through empty streets while the sky slowly turned pale above the buildings.

You drove with both hands gripping the steering wheel. Your thoughts raced.

Was Hana sick? Had Jungkook broken down? Had the police called?

The neighborhood appeared exactly the same. The same houses. The same trees. The same quiet streets. Only now every familiar place felt altered. The funeral flowers outside the entrance had already begun to wilt.

You knocked, and the door opened almost immediately. Jungkook stood on the other side, and your heart sank. His eyes were swollen, his hair was uncombed, and he was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, as though he hadn’t slept, or even noticed the passage of time.

You stepped inside. “Jungkook?”

He closed the door quietly behind you. The house felt different. There was no television playing, no coffee brewing in the kitchen, no ordinary sounds to soften the stillness. Only silence, the kind that settles in the wake of a disaster.

Mina’s phone rested on the dining table, still connected to its charging cable. Beside it lay several printed screenshots and a glass of water that had gone untouched. Jungkook stood across from you. For several moments neither of you spoke. Then he said: “The person driving the car wasn’t an Uber driver.”

You frowned. “The police said—”

“He wasn’t a coworker either.”

The room suddenly felt colder. You looked at him, but his gaze remained fixed somewhere near the table, not on you, not on the phone, but somewhere in between, as though the truth had become too heavy to look at directly. His voice cracked slightly. “Mina was having an affair.”

The words hung heavily between you. The refrigerator hummed quietly in the background. A car passed outside. Somewhere upstairs, Hana shifted in her sleep. You opened your mouth, but your mind refused to accept what you had just heard.

“No.”

At last, he looked at you, and the expression on his face made your heart lurch. There was no anger. No rage. Only quiet devastation, as though something inside him had finally broken beyond repair.

“I thought he was her boss.”

He sat down slowly. “You remember Mr. Yun?”

Of course you remembered. Everyone did. For years, Mina had spoken about him, the demanding supervisor who always needed her to work late, the reason for countless business trips, endless meetings that stretched into the evening, postponed anniversaries, and family vacations that were constantly rescheduled. You had heard the name for years. Jungkook laughed softly. The sound almost broke your heart. “He wasn’t her boss.”

His hands trembled. “He was married.”

He swallowed. “He has children.”

Your chest tightened. “No.”

“They were together for two years.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Outside, dawn slowly crept through the kitchen windows, washing the floor in soft gray light. Somewhere nearby, birds began to sing as the city stirred awake. The world kept moving, indifferent to the devastation inside the house. Your gaze drifted to the phone. Jungkook noticed. He reached for it, his fingers hovering for a brief moment before he quietly unlocked the screen.

“I kept thinking there was some mistake.”

His voice became quieter. “I thought maybe I misunderstood.”

He opened the conversation, and the moment your eyes fell on the screen, you wished they hadn’t. Hotel reservations. Flight itineraries. Messages. Photographs. Different cities. Private jokes. Plans made together. The evidence was painfully ordinary, and somehow, that made it even worse.

Affairs in movies were always dramatic, passionate, reckless, chaotic. This wasn’t. It looked painfully ordinary. Two people talking about flights, dinner reservations, traffic, missing each other… and lying to the people waiting for them at home.

One message sat open.

I told Jungkook my conference was extended.

Another.

My wife thinks I’m still in Busan.

Another.

Only two more days.

I miss you.

You lowered your gaze, your throat tightening with every passing second. Neither of you spoke for a long while. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the silence, Jungkook asked,

“How do you bury someone twice?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him. He seemed so exhausted, so broken, so painfully small. You had spent half your life loving him. You had imagined him heartbroken before, imagined him rejected, imagined him sad. But you had never imagined this.

You sat across from him. Very softly you asked:

“When did you find out?”

“Around two.”

“You’ve been awake all night?”

He nodded. “I kept reading.”

His eyes became distant. “I thought if I kept reading eventually there would be an explanation.”

He laughed again, only this time tears appeared. “I kept thinking maybe there was something I missed.”

His voice shook. “Maybe they were just close.”

Another tear fell. “Maybe I was stupid.”

You reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away. His skin was cold beneath your fingers. He lowered his gaze to your joined hands, and after a long silence, he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I drove her to airports.”

The tears finally came. “I packed her luggage.”

His shoulders trembled. “I stayed home with Hana.”

His breathing became uneven. “And every time she left, I felt guilty because she looked tired.”

The grief inside the room changed. Until now both of you had been mourning Mina. Now you were mourning the version of her that existed inside your memories.

Memories came rushing back, her laughter, movie nights, birthdays, sleepovers, late-night study sessions. The girl who helped you write your first résumé. The girl who stayed beside you through your first heartbreak. The girl who knew every secret you had ever trusted her with. How could she be that person… and this one, too?

Your best friend. His wife. The woman who lived inside those messages.

You spoke carefully. “Jungkook.”

He looked at you. Your voice trembled.

“I don’t know what happened.”

Neither did he. You could see it in his eyes. Part of him still wanted to defend her, still wanted to understand, still wanted her to walk into the kitchen and explain everything. Grief was cruel like that. Sometimes, even betrayal wasn’t enough to make love disappear overnight.

He lowered his eyes. “I still love her.”

Your heart broke, because that was the truth neither of you could escape. He still loved her. Even now. Even after this. Even after two years of lies.

Upstairs, small footsteps suddenly sounded. Both of you looked toward the stairs. Hana appeared wearing pink pajamas. Her hair was messy. She rubbed her eyes. “Daddy?”

Jungkook immediately stood. The phone stayed on the table, the messages still open, the truth still exposed. Yet none of it mattered in that moment, because his daughter needed him.

He knelt. Hana walked into his arms. She touched his cheek. “Daddy crying?”

Jungkook kissed her forehead. “No, baby.”

She looked around. Her eyes found you. She smiled sleepily. “Y/N.”

You smiled through tears. She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Breakfast?”

Jungkook closed his eyes for only a moment before pulling her closer into his arms. Perhaps this was the only truth he had left, the little girl clinging to him, the daughter he loved more than anything, the child who still believed her mother would come home. A few feet away, Mina’s phone remained illuminated on the dining table, its screen still glowing like a wound neither of you yet knew how to touch.

“I don’t know who I’m grieving now.”

His voice sounded worn thin. You looked at him. He continued quietly. “I keep looking at her pictures and I still see my wife.”

His eyes remained fixed on the table. “Then I read those messages and suddenly I don’t know who she was.”

He swallowed. “I don’t know which one is real.”

Your throat hurt. Because the answer was cruel. The woman who packed Hana’s lunches. The woman who kissed Jungkook goodbye before work. The woman who cried after difficult flights. The woman who spent two years lying. People were rarely one thing. Sometimes they carried entire lives inside them that nobody else ever saw.

Jungkook finally looked at you. “They should know.”

You understood immediately, the others. Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin. The six people who had spent almost two decades loving Mina like family.

You hesitated. “Jungkook…”

He interrupted softly. “They carried her coffin.”

His eyes became red again. “They cried for her.”

He looked toward the staircase where Hana slept “They deserve the truth.”

The messages were sent shortly afterward. Nobody asked questions. Perhaps everyone had become accustomed to emergencies.

Namjoon arrived first, his expression shifting the moment he saw Jungkook. Hoseok came in next, followed by Jimin, then Taehyung. Seokjin followed after, and Yoongi arrived last, still carrying food no one would end up touching. Slowly, the house filled with familiar voices and familiar footsteps.

The same people who had once crowded school libraries, graduation ceremonies, birthdays, and wedding receptions. The same people who sat together during Mina’s wake only days earlier. Only now something felt different. The walls seemed smaller. The silence heavier.

Nobody noticed the phone. Namjoon asked if Jungkook had eaten. Hoseok checked on Hana. Jimin made coffee. Taehyung sat quietly beside the window. Seokjin stood near the kitchen speaking softly with you. Yoongi watched everyone.

Eventually Hana fell asleep upstairs. The television went silent. The house settled. And Jungkook finally spoke. “Can everyone sit down?”

Something in his voice immediately shifted the room. People exchanged glances, but no one argued. One by one, they sat down. The phone remained on the table. Jungkook stood beside it, his hands trembling faintly. You had never seen him look this exhausted, like a man who had aged years in a single night.

For several seconds, he said nothing. His gaze moved slowly across every face in the room, his family, his brothers, the people who had grown up beside him.

“The man in the accident wasn’t Mina’s coworker.”

Confusion appeared immediately. Hoseok frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook looked down. “He wasn’t her boss.”

Namjoon sat forward. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook’s voice nearly disappeared. “Mina was having an affair.”

The house became quiet after the truth was spoken. No one moved. The phone remained in the center of the coffee table, its dark screen reflecting the faces surrounding it. Eight people sat inside the same living room where birthdays had been celebrated, where movie nights had stretched until dawn, where Mina had once fallen asleep against Jungkook’s shoulder while everyone argued over which takeout restaurant to order from.

The room still held traces of her. The entire house still believed she lived there. Only the people inside it had begun to understand that perhaps they never fully knew her.

Jungkook remained standing. His face looked pale beneath the afternoon light. The exhaustion from the previous night had settled deeply into him. His eyes were swollen. His voice sounded worn thin.

“Mina was having an affair.”

Nobody answered. The question seemed impossible inside this house, inside this family.

Jimin stared down at his hands. Taehyung looked toward the floor. Hoseok sat motionless beside the couch. Namjoon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Yoongi remained silent. And Seokjin slowly stood. “No.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. Jungkook looked at him. “The messages are there.”

“No.”

Seokjin repeated the word more firmly. The room immediately became uncomfortable. You felt your heartbeat quicken.

Jungkook reached toward the phone. “I saw everything.”

“And you haven’t slept.”

Seokjin’s voice finally rose. “You buried your wife three days ago.”

Jungkook stared at him. “You think I want this?”

Seokjin looked at the phone. “I think you’re grieving.”

“I am grieving.”

“No, Jungkook.”

Seokjin’s eyes had become red. “I mean grieving.”

He pointed toward the table. “You found messages from a dead woman who can’t explain anything.”

The words landed heavily. Because they were true. Mina could not speak. She could not defend herself. She could not answer questions. She could not tell anyone whether the messages represented two years of her life or only the worst parts of it.

Seokjin continued. “You found conversations.”

Jungkook’s hands trembled. “I found hotel reservations.”

“You found private messages.”

“I found lies.”

Seokjin stepped closer. “You found one side.”

Jungkook laughed quietly, a painful sound. “One side?”

His voice shook. “My wife spent two years sleeping with another man.”

“We don’t know that.”

Jungkook stared at him, his eyes widened. The room became even quieter. “We don’t know that?” he repeated.

Seokjin’s voice softened. “We don’t know everything.”

Jungkook pointed toward the phone. “Read it.”

“No.”

“Read it.”

“No.”

The word echoed sharply.

Seokjin’s tears finally appeared.

“I am not reading the phone of my dead friend.”

Nobody moved.

Because suddenly this was no longer about the affair.

This was about grief.

Two different kinds of grief.

Seokjin looked at Jungkook.

“I carried her coffin.”

His voice cracked.

“I stood beside her mother.”

His breathing became uneven.

“I watched Hana asking for her.”

His eyes filled completely.

“And now, three days later, we’re sitting here discussing whether she was a liar?”

Jungkook finally exploded.

“Because she was.”

The entire room froze.

Even Jungkook seemed startled by his own voice.

His breathing became heavy.

His eyes filled.

“I didn’t make these messages.”

He grabbed the phone.

His hands shook violently.

“I didn’t write these.”

His voice broke.

“I didn’t book these hotels.”

Tears finally spilled.

Jungkook looked at every person inside the room.

His family.

His brothers.

The people who loved him.

The people who loved Mina.

And suddenly he realized he was standing alone.

His voice became smaller.

“I’m the one she lied to.”

No one spoke.

“I waited for her.”

He swallowed.

“I packed her luggage.”

His eyes became red.

“I stayed home with Hana.”

He looked at Seokjin.

“I believed every single thing she told me.”

The silence hurt.

Because his pain had become visible.

Raw.

Open.

He looked around the room.

“You all lost your friend.”

His voice shook.

“I lost my wife.”

Nobody moved.

“You buried Mina.”

Another tear fell.

“I buried my entire life.”

The room became still.

Seokjin lowered his eyes.

But he wasn’t finished.

His voice sounded quieter now.

“You think I don’t understand?”

Jungkook looked at him.

Seokjin’s tears continued falling.

“I loved her too.”

He laughed softly.

The sound was heartbreaking.

“She called me when she fought with you.”

Jungkook became still.

“She called me when Hana was born because she was scared.”

His breathing became uneven.

His eyes filled.

“I watched her become a mother.”

He looked directly at Jungkook.

“So forgive me if I need more than three days to believe she’s capable of this.”

Nobody spoke.

Because Seokjin’s pain was real.

His grief was real.

His love for Mina was real.

And Jungkook’s pain was equally real.

Two people grieving the same woman.

Two completely different funerals.

Jungkook lowered himself into the chair.

Suddenly exhausted.

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“I wish you were right.”

Seokjin’s face changed.

Jungkook stared at the floor.

“I wish all of you were right.”

His tears fell quietly now.

“I wish I was crazy.”

The room blurred.

You covered your mouth.

Because for the first time since the accident, Jungkook looked small.

Not a husband.

Not a father.

Not the boy who protected everyone.

Just a man who wanted someone to tell him his life had not been a lie.

“I spent all night trying to prove myself wrong.”

Nobody moved.

“I kept reading because I thought eventually I’d find a mistake.”

His voice trembled.

“I wanted one of the messages to say it wasn’t real.”

He looked at the phone.

“It never happened.”

Seokjin wiped his face.

His anger had disappeared.

Only sadness remained.

The house became quiet.

The clock ticked.

Footsteps upstairs.

Hana turning in her sleep.

Life continuing.

And suddenly you began crying.

Years of friendship suddenly stood before you.

The nine of you promising to remain together forever.

And now one person was buried.

One person was broken.

One person was being defended.

One person was being mourned.

And the family all of you built was beginning to split apart.

Yoongi quietly moved beside you.

Your shoulders shook.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

Your voice cracked.

“How do we miss her and hate this?”

Nobody answered.

Because nobody knew.

Seokjin finally walked toward the door.

He stopped.

His hand rested against the handle.

Without turning around he said:

“I can’t do this today.”

His voice broke.

“I can’t lose her twice.”

Then he left.

The front door closed.

And everyone felt it.

Because for the first time in fifteen years, one of the nine had walked away.

The room remained silent.

Jungkook stared at the closed door.

His eyes empty.

His voice barely audible.

“I think I lost everyone.”

And sitting only a few feet away, you realized that grief had finally done what time, distance, adulthood, and life never could.

It had broken the family Mina spent fifteen years building.

Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter. This was one of the most emotionally heavy parts to write, and I really hope it made you feel everything the characters are going through. I would love to hear your thoughts, please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I read everything and appreciate your reactions so much!🥹

For those who want early access, Chapter 9 is already available on Ko-fi. Chapter 4 will be posted here on Tumblr on July 11.