❛ ━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❉~•─
As the tears silently streaked down my cheeks, the quiet of the room felt heavy around me. I turned away from San, not wanting to wake him or show him the depth of my despair. He had been my rock, tirelessly caring for me, yet each glance at his exhausted form filled me with guilt. He needed rest, peace, just as much as I did.
The quilt felt oppressive, a physical reminder of my confinement to this bed, my body a traitor that no longer heeded my commands. The helplessness was suffocating, each moment a reminder of everything cancer had stolen from me.
Yet, in the darkness, as I listened to the rhythmic breathing of the man who had vowed to be by my side in sickness and in health, a fragile resolve formed within me. For San, for Hwa-Young, I had to muster whatever strength I could find. They believed in me, their faith unwavering, and I couldn't bear the thought of letting them see how close I was to giving up.
I wiped the tears from my eyes, the saltiness a sharp contrast to the bitterness swelling within my heart. I shifted slightly, trying to make myself comfortable without disturbing San. I looked over at him, his features relaxed in sleep, a stark reminder of the normalcy we both craved.
"Even in your sleep, you're fighting for me," I whispered into the darkness, my voice barely audible. "How do I tell you that each day feels like a little more of me is slipping away?"
Despite the warmth of the room, a chill settled over me. I pulled the quilt closer, trying to find some comfort in its embrace. I knew I had to keep fighting, not just for my sake but for all of us. The thought of Hwa-Young growing up without remembering my laughter, my love, spurred a quiet determination.
As dawn approached, the first hints of light casting shadows across the room, I made a decision. I would write it all down—the fears, the love, the hopes—everything I wanted Hwa-Young and San to know. If my voice failed me, if my strength waned, these words would stand testament to my fight, to the depth of my love for them.
With a deep, steadying breath, I reached for the notebook and pen that San had left on the nightstand, always ready for when inspiration or need struck. I began to write, each word a promise, each sentence a bridge spanning the growing gap between my desires and my realities.
"I am here, I am fighting, I love you," I wrote, the pen shaking slightly in my grasp. This was my legacy, crafted in the quiet moments before the world awoke, a legacy of strength, fear, and undying love.
As the pen moved across the page, my thoughts spilled out, raw and unfiltered. Each word was both a balm and a blade, healing and hurting as I confronted my reality and the possible futures without me. My writing was not just for San and Hwa-Young but also a way to speak to myself, to rally my waning spirit against the shadows that crept ever closer.
"Every day, I see the burden my illness places on you, and it tears at me," I wrote, acknowledging the silent struggles that San bore with a smile. "But know that your strength gives me strength. It's the light that guides me through my darkest days."
