il mio primo e ultimo amore

Serene Aftermath

Night falls as he returns home. The door opens silently, his bloodied hands leaving imprints on the metal handle. He expected to be greeted by a familiar, comforting scene, something he had grown used to seeing whenever he came home late.

But unlike before, the living room is cold, the air devoid of any nostalgic aroma, and her petite figure is absent from the kitchen. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off, and it feels as though no one has ever lived here.

Years ago, this sight would have been all too familiar. But then she came and changed everything. Now, it almost seems as if history is repeating itself. He walks in slowly, turning on the light.

Until it's not.

He silences the pessimistic voice that had resurfaced with the flood of past incidents. He walks to their room, where they'll stay until their child is strong enough to travel back home.

Staying in a hotel is never an option when he owns a penthouse—rarely used, but bought with the intention of being used one day. He remembered his father saying this when he mentioned he was comfortable in an apartment while traveling from Italy to look after business in Korea.

And he was right, it has come handy.

He lets out a silent exhale as he places his bloody hands on the door handle.

Air rushes into his lungs once he sees her, covered in duvet, eyes glassy and facing the door as if waiting for him.

"You're here." She smiles and it makes his heart ache and beat faster at the same time. She was waiting for him.

He smiles, it is a sin if he doesn't and nods.

He tries to keep his hands away in an unnoticeable manner-so as not to let the occurrence of a few hours earlier take over her mind again.

He knows she's been grieving.

He knows what the truth came with–all the aching, longing for her father with new raw wounds piled together to stab her.

What an irony, he thinks, gazing at her with love.

They both bear the scars of past misfortunes, wounds that time has not yet healed.

They say it right, he muses, God did create everyone in pairs. Like two stars destined to orbit each other, their lives intertwined by fate's delicate threads. In her eyes, he sees the reflection of his own struggles, and in his heart, he feels the echo of her sorrow.

Their love, forged in the crucible of suffering, shines brighter for the darkness they have endured. It is a love that speaks of endurance, of finding solace in each other's presence, and of the unspoken promise that they will face whatever comes next, together.

And in that moment, he wants to hold her close and never let go.

He's tired, physically and mentally and her presence is always inviting and warm–always there for him, becoming his sanctuary, tiny arms uplifting his burden.

His vigilant wife notices his arms behind and smiles wider before sighing with fondness.

"Go clean yourself, I'll wait."

He nods again, unable to reply verbally as he's still experiencing a surge of emotions–not the ones that make him swallow the lump in his throat but the ones that make him thank god immensely for the glad tidings–her and his child he's blessed with.

He showers and washes the blood on himself off, dons on his nightwear and moves out of the bathroom.

Cha Young lies there waiting for him and then pulls the duvet up for him to slip inside.