❛ ━ꜱᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ━ ❜ After their world went up in smoke following the heartbreaking loss of their child, Choi San and Jung Wooyoung's engagement shattered into pieces. Each day became a battle for survival in a sea of grief. Struggling to c...
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─•~❉ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ❉~•─
During the following days, I retreated into the sanctuary of our bedroom, locking myself away from the world. The floor became my refuge as I sat there, running my fingers through strands of hair that were barely even there anymore. Despite knowing what to expect with the chemotherapy, the reality hit me harder and faster than I anticipated, and I found myself teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown.
My interaction with Hwa-Young dwindled to nothing. I just hadn't felt up for the joyful, energetic demands of our little girl. I avoided San and my parents too, who tried their best to reach out and offer support. Their words tried to pierce the haze surrounding me, but I couldn't absorb them, lost as I was in my own miserable state.
I spent days crying, feeling sick, and wrestling with bouts of sleeplessness. One particularly tough day, I looked down at my hands, clumps of hair lying lifelessly across my palms, and my emotional dam broke completely. The floodgates opened, and I sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by a profound sense of loss—not just of my hair but of my normalcy, my health, my control over my life.
As I wept, the door creaked open softly. San stepped inside, his presence calm and steady. He sat down beside me on the floor, not saying a word at first. He just sat there, sharing the space, sharing my grief. After a while, he reached out, gently pulling me into his arms. I resisted initially, stiff and unyielding, but his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against mine gradually softened my resolve.
As I stood up from the floor, pulling away from San's comforting embrace, the words spilled out of me in a breathy, desperate whisper, "I fucking hate myself so much... I can't even look at myself anymore." The weight of my despair threatened to crush me as I struggled to hold back a sob, feeling utterly overwhelmed by my own reflection and the relentless toll of the chemotherapy.
San rose to his feet, his expression filled with concern. He stepped closer, trying to bridge the gap I had put between us, his voice soft and steady. "You don't have to go through this feeling alone," he said, reaching out to gently turn me to face him. "You are so much more than what you see in the mirror. I see you—you, the person I love, the soul I adore. Not your hair, not this disease."
I shook my head, tears brimming over despite my best efforts to contain them. "It's not just about how I look. It's everything. I feel like I'm losing myself, San. The person I used to be is just... fading away."
He pulled me gently into his arms again, his embrace a solid, reassuring presence. "You're still here, still you," he whispered, his hand lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "And I'll be here every step of the way to remind you of that. We'll find new ways to fight this together."
I pulled away, sobbing and shaking my head. I wasn't me anymore, and I was tired of hearing that I was. Frustration and anger boiled up inside me, threatening to spill over.
