sooah🤎

Three weeks.

That’s how long you’ve been gone. You stayed at a friend’s spare apartment—small, quiet, safe. You told her not to tell Kyungsoo where you were. She didn’t ask questions; she could see the ache in your eyes, the way your body tensed when your phone lit up with his name again and again.

You didn’t block him. You just… didn’t answer.

It hurt too much. Every missed call felt like another wound reopening.

Because part of you still loved him with a kind of loyalty that scared you. But love wasn’t enough when you were breaking. One night, there’s a knock. Not the gentle, rhythmic tapping of a neighbor. Not your friend’s quick little knocks. This one is heavier. Familiar.

Your heart drops. You know before you even open the door.

Kyungsoo stands there, breathing hard as if he ran, hair messy like he hasn’t slept, eyes rimmed red. You’ve never seen him look so… wrecked. He swallows when he sees you.

“Finally,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re really here.”

You try to close the door out of instinct, out of fear, out of hurt—but his hand comes up, not forcefully, but pleadingly.

“Please… please don’t shut me out.”

You step back, letting him in. He looks around at the tiny living room—a couch, a lamp, a pile of your things on the floor.

“Is this where you’ve been?” he asks in a quiet voice. “Alone? All this time?”

You don’t answer.

You just wrap your arms around yourself. He turns to you slowly.

“Why did you leave?”

It’s the first time he’s asked out loud. And something in you cracks.

“Why?” You laugh bitterly. “You really don’t know?”

He flinches.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Please. I need to hear it.”

Your voice shakes, but you force the words out because they’ve been sitting inside you like a burning stone.

“You didn’t want a baby with me.”

He opens his mouth, but you raise a hand to stop him.

“No. Listen.”

Tears blur your vision.

“Every time I brought it up, you got angry. Upset. You shut down completely. You made me feel like I was asking for something unforgivable.”

His face tightens with pain.

“That’s not—”

“And then you were always busy.” You choke on the words. “Always somewhere else. Always distracted. Coming home late. Ignoring me. Pulling away whenever I tried to get close.”

“So I thought… maybe… maybe there was someone else.”

His eyes snap up–shocked, almost offended– but mostly heartbroken.

“You think I cheated?” His voice cracks. “You think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know!” Your voice rises in a way it never has before.

“I didn’t want to think that, Kyungsoo. I didn’t want to believe anything bad. I tried to understand your work. I know you’re busy. I know you’re stressed. I know you have expectations and pressure and a career—”

You cover your face, shoulders shaking.

“—but you stopped letting me in. You stopped talking to me. You made me feel like I wasn’t part of your life anymore. Like I was in the way.”

Kyungsoo closes the distance between you in two steps.

He gently takes your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face so he can see you. His own eyes are wet.

“There is no one else,” he says firmly, voice trembling. “There has never been anyone else. There will never be anyone else.”

You let out a choked breath.

“Then why did you act like you hated the idea of a family with me?”

This is when he breaks.

He drops his forehead to yours, breathing shakily.

“Because I’m scared.”

You blink, stunned.

“Scared of what?”

He squeezes your hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

“Scared I won’t be a good father. Scared I won’t be home enough. Scared I’ll mess everything up. Scared you’ll be alone raising a child while I’m filming or touring or doing interviews.”

His voice cracks completely.

“I didn’t want to bring a baby into the world if I couldn’t be there. If I couldn’t be the father they deserve. And instead of telling you that… I got defensive. I pushed you away. I made you think I didn’t want a family with you.” He shakes his head, tears falling. “But I do. I really do. I just didn’t know how to say I was terrified.”

Your anger softens into something fragile. Something aching.

“You could’ve told me,” you whisper.

“I know.”

He pulls you into his chest, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You cry into his shirt, years of hurt spilling out.

“You hurt me,” you breathe. He presses a trembling kiss to your forehead.

“I hurt myself too. Every day you were gone was hell.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

“So what now, Kyungsoo?”

He cups your cheeks gently, carefully, like you’re something precious.

“Now?” He takes a shaky breath. “Now I take you home. If you’ll come.”

You stare at him—at the sincerity, the fear, the love written all over his face.

“And about the baby?” you ask softly.

He swallows hard but doesn’t look away.

“I want one.”

His voice is steady.

“I want a family with you. Not because you asked. But because I realized losing you was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I never want a future that doesn’t have you—and our children—in it.”

Your heart twists. You don’t answer with words.

You step into him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Feel his arms tighten instantly around you. He buries his face in your hair, letting out a shaky exhale of relief, whispering:

“Please come home. We’ll figure everything out. Together this time.”

You nod against his chest.

“I never wanted to leave,” you whisper. “I just wanted you to fight for me.” His voice breaks.

“I’m fighting now. And I’m never stopping.”

You used to think the quiet moments were the strongest part of your marriage—small things like Kyungsoo handing you a cup of tea without asking, the way he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before he left for schedules, the soft humming he did whenever he cooked.

But somewhere along the way, quiet turned into silence.

Kyungsoo had been busy before—tours, filming, recording—but this was different. This time, he was gone even when he was home. His body was there, but his mind stayed somewhere else: in scripts, in meetings, in rehearsals, in everything except you.

At first, you tried to ignore the ache building under your ribs. But it was getting harder when the apartment felt colder every night.

It starts with one sentence.

One evening you stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him cook because it was the only time you ever saw him still. The soft yellow light haloed around him, and he looked so warm, so familiar, that something in your chest tightened.

“Kyungsoo,” you said softly, fingers twisting anxiously. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start trying for a baby.”

He froze—just a second—but you saw it.

A stiffening of his shoulders. A subtle tremble in his exhale.

“Not this again,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the pot.

The words stung more than they should have.

“I’m just talking,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve been married for three years. I—”

“I said I’m busy,” he snapped, harsher than he probably intended. “I don’t have time for this conversation. Not now.”

Not now. Not now.

Every time you tried, it was not now. But “not now” was turning into never.

It gets worse.

He came home later and later.

He stopped kissing your forehead goodnight.

Stopped asking how you slept.

Stopped noticing the way your voice cracked.

Every time you tried to talk about wanting a family, he shut down. Sometimes he got frustrated. Other times he got cold, distant, irritated, like you were asking for too much—asking for something unreasonable.

One night, after another argument, he slammed the bedroom door shut so loud it rattled the frame.

You sat on the other side of it, hands over your face, trying to breathe through the shaking sobs.

You weren’t asking for a mansion.

You weren’t asking him to quit his job.

You were asking to build something with him, to stop feeling like you were living beside him instead of with him.

But he didn’t hear you. He wasn’t listening. Not anymore.

The breaking point comes quietly. Another week passed with barely a word exchanged. You cooked for one. Slept alone in a bed meant for two. Kept telling yourself he’s just tired, he’s stressed, it’ll get better.

But you were tired too. Tired of feeling invisible.

Tired of wanting something he reacted to like it was a burden. Tired of being married to someone you couldn’t reach.

One morning before dawn, you watched his sleeping figure—eyelashes resting softly, lips parted in the slightest frown. You realized you weren’t angry anymore. Just tired. Just hollow.

You packed a single suitcase.

A few clothes. Your toothbrush. Your wedding ring stayed on the nightstand.

You wrote no note.

You had already tried words. He never heard them anyway. Then you closed the door as quietly as he once closed it for you.

He wakes up to emptiness. Kyungsoo noticed the silence first.

Then the missing shoes. The empty side of the closet. The ring on the nightstand.

He felt something cold curl inside his chest.

He tried calling. No answer.

Tried texting. Nothing.

Days passed and he replayed every moment, every argument, every time he’d walked away instead of listening. The apartment felt too big without your soft footsteps, too quiet without your gentle humming, too empty without your warmth.

He went through the kitchen and found a half-ripe avocado you had left on the counter days earlier. For some reason, that made him sit on the floor and press the heels of his hands into his eyes until his shoulders shook.

He realized in that moment that you hadn’t left because you stopped loving him.

You left because he stopped loving you out loud. You left because every time you opened your heart, he gave you a closed door. You left because wanting a family wasn’t the problem—he was the one who made it feel wrong.

And for the first time, he understood why you didn’t leave a message. He already knew the reason.