TANGLED HEARTS

Chapter 16: Do-Hee's Guilt

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, pale glow across the room. Do-Hee lay in bed, her eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sleep had become a fleeting luxury, slipping away from her grasp each night as guilt and confusion tightened their hold on her.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at the empty space beside her. Shi-Oh hadn't slept beside her for days now, choosing instead to spend his nights in the guest room. He didn't say why, didn't offer any explanations, but the distance between them was growing wider, impossible to ignore. And she felt it—every inch of that growing chasm between them, an invisible wall that neither of them seemed willing to breach.

The silence that stretched through the house was deafening. Do-Hee could feel it pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe. She used to find comfort in the quiet, in the steady rhythm of life with Shi-Oh, but now, that quiet felt like a punishment. It was a constant reminder of the lies she had built between them, lies that were slowly suffocating her.

Do-Hee shifted in bed, the sheets rustling softly as she pulled herself into a sitting position. The weight of her guilt hung heavy on her shoulders, dragging her down, making every movement feel like an effort. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt at peace. Her thoughts were consumed by Tae-Oh—by the affair, the passion, the danger of it all.

And then there was Shi-Oh. The man she had promised herself to, the man who had given her everything. The man she was betraying.

She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to shake the thoughts away, but they clung to her, refusing to let go.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She didn't need to look to know who it was. Tae-Oh. Her heart twisted in her chest, a familiar mix of excitement and guilt stirring within her as she picked up the phone.

"I need to see you."

The message was simple, but it carried a weight that made her breath catch in her throat. Every time he reached out, she felt that pull—that undeniable draw that had started this whole mess. But with every message, every meeting, the guilt only grew heavier.

She couldn't keep doing this. She knew that. The lies were suffocating her, and yet, the thought of ending things with Tae-Oh felt like losing a piece of herself. She typed a quick reply—*"Not today"—*and set the phone down with a sigh.

Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. It was still early, but she knew Shi-Oh would already be awake. He always was. She couldn't remember the last time they had shared a quiet morning together, the kind they used to have before everything went wrong.

With a deep breath, Do-Hee swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. She needed to face him. She needed to try.

In the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, the only indication that Shi-Oh had been there. He stood by the window, his back to her, staring out at the city beyond. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense. Do-Hee hesitated in the doorway, watching him for a moment before speaking.

"Good morning," she said softly, her voice hesitant, as if she were intruding on something fragile.

Shi-Oh didn't turn. He didn't even acknowledge her presence at first, his eyes still fixed on the view outside. After a long pause, he muttered, "Morning," but his tone was flat, devoid of any warmth.

Do-Hee swallowed hard, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. She had grown used to the coldness, the distance, but it still hurt. It still cut deep every time he pulled further away.

She moved to the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to steady herself. The weight of his silence pressed down on her, making the air in the room feel thick and suffocating.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice trembling as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Shi-Oh didn't answer right away. He took a slow sip of his coffee, his movements deliberate, and controlled. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost detached. "Work's been busy."

Do-Hee nodded, though she knew that wasn't the real reason for his distance. It couldn't be. But she didn't push. She never pushed anymore. The few times she had tried to bridge the gap between them, he had brushed her off with a cold, dismissive tone that left her feeling more alone than ever.

She stood there, staring into her coffee, her mind swirling with guilt and confusion. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to come clean, to confess everything, and beg for his forgiveness. But the words wouldn't come. She couldn't bear to see the look on his face if he knew the truth.

So instead, she stayed silent. She lied.

That afternoon, Do-Hee sat at her desk, her eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of her, though the words blurred together, meaningless. She couldn't focus. Her mind was too full, too heavy with the weight of her double life. The guilt gnawed at her, a constant, relentless ache in her chest.

Her phone buzzed again. Tae-Oh.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, her heart racing as she read his message.

"I miss you."

It was so simple, but it hit her like a punch to the gut. She missed him too. She missed the way he made her feel, the passion he ignited in her, the fire that had been missing from her life for so long. But she couldn't do this. Not today. Not after the cold morning with Shi-Oh, the silence that had stretched between them like an unspoken accusation.

"We can't keep doing this," she typed, her fingers trembling as she hit send.

She stared at the message, waiting, her heart pounding in her chest. But Tae-Oh's reply came almost immediately.

"We're not done. You know that."

Do-Hee's breath hitched, her chest tightening as she leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. He was right. They weren't done. Not by a long shot. But the guilt, the constant lies—it was all becoming too much. She was unraveling, piece by piece, and she didn't know how to stop it.

That evening, when Do-Hee returned home, the house felt even colder than it had that morning. Shi-Oh was already there, sitting in the living room, his eyes fixed on the television but not really watching. The flickering images cast shadows across his face, but his expression was unreadable, his body tense.

Do-Hee stood in the doorway, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside. She wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that had grown between them, but the weight of her guilt held her back.

"Shi-Oh," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at her, his eyes dark and distant, before turning back to the screen. "What is it?"

The coldness in his voice made her stomach twist, but she forced herself to speak. "I miss you."

He didn't respond. The silence that followed was louder than any words he could have said. It hung in the air between them, thick and suffocating, a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Do-Hee's heart ached as she watched him, the man she had once loved more than anything, the man she had betrayed. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to confess, to beg for his forgiveness, to try to fix what she had broken.

But the words wouldn't come.

So instead, she stood there, staring at the back of his head, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like a leaden cloak, suffocating her, drowning her in the silence that had become their marriage.