❛ ━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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
─•~❉ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ❉~•─
Feeling noticeably weaker than I had just two days prior, compounded by an unrelenting cold and a stubborn fever, San and I made the difficult decision for Hwa-Young to stay with my parents. It was a precaution I felt was necessary, not just to shield her from my current bout of illness but also to ensure she didn't miss out on her usual activities like nursery and playdates with her friends. As I lay in bed, wrapped in a quilt that seemed too heavy today, I couldn't help but cough lightly, a sound muffled by the fabric surrounding me. From the kitchen, I could hear the comforting noises of San shuffling about, busily preparing a soothing tea with ginger and honey for me. His unwavering dedication was the backbone of our family's daily life.
San was not just the physical center of my world; his emotional resilience anchored me. He managed our lives with a grace that made daunting tasks seem effortless. He cared deeply for our daughter, ensuring her life remained as normal as possible amidst the turmoil. Yet despite his brave front, I often caught glimpses of profound sadness lurking behind his forced smiles—his eyes sometimes betrayed the fear and weariness he fought so hard to hide.
The reality of my illness, leukemia, was a harsh intruder in our lives. It had transformed me, stripping away my health and occasionally pushing me to the brink of despair. San saw it all—the sickness, the hair loss, and my numerous emotional breakdowns. Yet, he stood by me, embodying the vow he took to be by my side for better or worse, in sickness and in health. His commitment was steadfast, even as we faced the haunting possibility that my time might be cut short, challenging our hopes for a long future together.
Amidst these reflections, a song began to play quietly in the background—Seungkwan's "Dandelion." This melody was woven into the fabric of our memories, reminding me of a lighter, happier time. It was the same song that filled our old apartment years ago when we first moved in together, laughing and joking as we hung curtains and set up our first shared space. Those were the days when our biggest concerns were decor and dinner plans, not doctors and diagnoses.
Compelled by a mix of nostalgia and a need to connect, I gathered my strength and slowly stood up from the bed. I made my way toward the kitchen with careful steps, each movement a small assertion of my remaining independence. I found San there, paused in the middle of washing dishes, his posture rigid with concentration—or perhaps it was the burden of his thoughts. One hand was frozen on a sponge, the other holding a plate underwater, as if he was momentarily lost in his own contemplations or perhaps the lyrics of the song.
"San," I whispered, breaking the silence as I reached out to touch his arm gently. He turned around, a look of surprise flitting across his face before it settled into an expression of deep concern. Our eyes met, sharing a silent conversation filled with all the things we were too scared to voice aloud.
He turned around quickly, a mix of surprise and concern in his eyes. "Hey, you should be resting. What do you need?"
"I just wanted to be where you are," I replied, moving closer. "Can we sit down for a bit? Maybe just... be together for a while?"
