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Iseul lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day's events over and over. She was exhausted—not just physically but mentally drained from the unexpected clash with Sunghoon. One simple encounter, and yet it had stirred up a whirlwind of old frustrations and resentment that felt almost suffocating.

Prideful as ever, she muttered to herself, "Bother you? As if I'm desperate to see you, Park Sunghoon." The words tasted bitter on her tongue, her irritation sharpening. "He really thinks he's on top of the world now, doesn't he?" She scoffed, folding her arms as she shifted restlessly on the bed.

"Probably didn't even give me credit for the work I did for him, all the effort I put in. It's like he's forgotten everything... or just never cared in the first place."

The silence of her room did nothing to soothe her thoughts, her mind buzzing with every little detail of how he'd acted, that cold, dismissive tone that felt like ice. She clenched her fists, feeling the sting of wounded pride.

Her thoughts drifted back to those days, memories she usually kept buried deep. Their marriage had once seemed like a dream—a promise of something more, of a life filled with love and ambition. But as the days turned into years, reality set in, eroding that promise bit by bit.

Sunghoon wasn't the man she had hoped he would be. She had wanted someone who would build a life with her, someone who shared her vision and would work with her to create something extraordinary.

But instead, he had been distant, wrapped up in his own world. It wasn't just about the money, though that had certainly played a part; it was the feeling of being alone, of fighting for a life that felt more like settling than truly living.

Iseul sighed, pulling her blanket closer. She wasn't willing to settle, not for him or anyone. She'd chosen to leave because staying would have meant giving up on herself. And now, seeing him like this—successful, polished, and dismissive—only reminded her of how far they'd drifted.

6 YEARS AGO

It was a bitterly cold January night, and exhaustion weighed heavily on the 21 years old Iseul as she trudged into the small, dimly lit apartment.

She'd spent hours working, pushing herself to the limit just to make sure they could keep a roof over their heads. Her arms ached, and a sharp sting reminded her of the burn on her forearm—an injury she hadn't even had the time to tend to.

Across the room, her husband sat at the dinner table, hunched over his laptop. His face was bathed in the pale glow of the screen, fingers tapping relentlessly at the keyboard. He hadn't looked up, hadn't noticed the burn, or the dark circles under her eyes.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching him. The silence between them was louder than any words could be. He was right there, yet it felt like he was miles away, engrossed in his own world, unaware of the struggles they both faced—struggles she seemed to carry alone.

Iseul sighed, flicking on the TV in search of a distraction. But just as it came to life, everything went dark—the electricity had gone out. Confused, she glanced out the window. The streetlights and neighboring apartments were all still lit; it was only their place that was shrouded in darkness.

Frustration simmered as she looked over at her husband, his face still lit by the faint glow of his laptop battery. "Sunghoon," she called, louder this time. "Why did the electricity go out?"

He didn't even look up, too absorbed in his screen to register her words. She marched over, closing his laptop with a firm snap. He finally looked up, startled. "Did you not pay the bill?" she asked, irritation edging her voice.

Sunghoon looked up, his expression tense. "I-I was going to pay for it, but... the money wasn't enough."

"I'm already covering the house loan and all the bills. You had just one job."

He reached for her shoulders, trying to steady her frustration. "Look," he said, his voice a mix of pleading and optimism. "Tomorrow, I have a presentation. If they accept my project, I'll get an advance. We can pay for everything—not just the electricity. This could finally be our chance."

Iseul shook his hands off her shoulders, frustration boiling over as she ran her fingers through her hair. "What are you even talking about? Can you, for once, get a real job? I'm tired—so tired. Can't you just listen to me?"

But Sunghoon, as always, was already halfway out the door, his attention somewhere else. He didn't even look back.

"Sunghoon! I'm talking to you!" Her voice wavered, desperate, but all she heard was the slam of the door as he left.

She slid to the floor, pressing her hands over her face, shoulders shaking as the weight of it all crashed down. Love, she realized with bitter clarity, wasn't enough to hold a marriage together.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the window as she stood there, her silhouette shadowed against the dim streetlights outside. She opened the window slowly, exhaustion written on her face as she looked down to see her husband, drenched and clutching his laptop like it was his last lifeline.

"Babe, what's up with the keyhole? I can't get in," he called out, rainwater dripping down his face, making him look strangely vulnerable.

She stared back at him, her eyes empty. "The key's under the rug," she replied flatly.

He blinked in confusion, shivering in the rain. "What? Iseulie... just open the door for me, please."

A sigh escaped her, heavy with weariness. "We're done. I want a divorce."

His face fell, panic flickering in his eyes as the words hit him. "Hey, come on, open the door first—let's talk about this," he pleaded, voice shaking.

She shook her head, her tone as cold as the rain. "No, Sunghoon. I'm tired. Tired of this life, of struggling to make ends meet, of your dreams and these... illusions you keep chasing."

He opened his mouth to speak, but the weight of her words left him silent, stranded in the rain, as he realized she was already slipping away.

Iseul slammed the window shut, her hands trembling. She could still hear Sunghoon banging against the glass, shouting her name through the downpour, but she didn't care. She turned her back on him, sinking down to the bare floor, not because she chose to, but because there was no furniture left to sit on.

Clutching her stomach, she felt a wave of grief and frustration rise up, raw and consuming.

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heres a little flashback of their past