TANGLED HEARTS

Chapter 10: Confessions to Huiju

The soft hum of the city outside was a comforting backdrop in Kang Huiju's small apartment, but tonight, that hum did little to ease the growing tension gnawing at her insides. She sat curled up on the couch, her phone resting on the coffee table in front of her, its screen dark and silent. The apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the lamp beside her, but the warmth of the light couldn't chase away the coldness that had settled in her chest.

Huiju glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late. Again.

Tae-Oh had promised he would be home earlier tonight. Another late meeting, he had said. Another work deadline. Another excuse. She had smiled when he told her, kissed him on the cheek, and reassured him that she understood. But the truth was, she didn't understand. Not anymore.

Something had changed between them. It was subtle at first—small things that she had brushed aside, thinking she was being paranoid. The way Tae-Oh would be more distant when they talked, his eyes drifting to his phone during their dinners, the late nights becoming more frequent. But now, those small things had grown into something larger, something she could no longer ignore.

Huiju reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over Tae-Oh's name in her contacts. She wanted to call him, to ask him where he was, but she hesitated. He would just say he was at work. He would tell her he was busy with the merger and that he'd be home soon. He had told her that so many times lately that it was starting to feel like a script—one she knew by heart.

Her thumb hovered over his name for a moment longer before she sighed, dropping the phone back onto the table with a soft clink. The doubt had crept into her mind weeks ago, a whisper she had tried to ignore. She had always trusted Tae-Oh, and believed in him without question. But now, that trust felt fragile, like it was balanced on a knife's edge, ready to shatter at the slightest push.

The apartment felt too quiet, too still, and the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her until she could no longer sit still. She stood up, pacing the length of the living room, her mind racing. She loved Tae-Oh—loved him deeply—and the idea that something was wrong, that he might be hiding something from her, was too painful to fully accept.

But something was wrong.

She could feel it in the way he kissed her goodnight, the way his hands lingered on her waist but didn't pull her close like they used to. The way his eyes looked at her but seemed to be searching for something—or someone—else.

Huiju wrapped her arms around herself, the soft fabric of her sweater offering little comfort. She didn't want to confront him. She didn't want to believe that her doubts were real. But the silence between them was growing too loud to ignore.

Later that night, when the door to the apartment finally opened, Huiju was still sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, waiting. The sound of the lock turning made her heart skip a beat, a mixture of relief and anxiety tightening in her chest. Tae-Oh stepped inside, his expression tired, his tie slightly loosened as he set his keys on the small table by the door.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that used to comfort her. But tonight, that warmth felt distant, as if it were meant to soothe her but couldn't quite reach.

"Hey," Huiju replied, her voice soft but tinged with the uncertainty that had been building for weeks.

Tae-Oh walked over to her, leaning down to kiss her forehead before collapsing onto the couch beside her. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the clock.

"I'm sorry I'm late again," he said, his voice filled with weariness. "The merger is... it's a mess. So many last-minute things to handle."

Huiju nodded, though her heart wasn't in it. She studied his face, the way his eyes avoided hers, the way he shifted in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. There was a distance between them now, a space that had grown wider with every passing week. And Huiju, ever the optimist, had ignored it, hoping it would close on its own.