Rude husband

58: Jeon Jungwoon

The older one. The one who suffered it along since the start. The one who was left behind. The one who lost his own world.

The one who will jump in the storm to save his loved ones.

Jeon jungwon-

Pictures are truly remarkable inventions. They preserve the memories of moments when we felt truly alive, when we laughed, loved, and lived with all our hearts. But then, there comes a time when those very pictures—those frozen moments of joy—become a haunting reminder of the one we've lost. Each image, once a source of happiness, now carries an ache, a longing for what can never be again. And in that stillness, the absence speaks louder than any smile captured in time.

The picture of my late love—her black hair cascading like silk, her smile so tender and wifely as she nestled in my arms—was a vivid reminder of what I have lost. The sweet dimples that danced on her cheeks, the soft glow of her eyes, and the white dress she wore all spoke of her true nature, the purity of her love. It was a love untouched by the world, innocent and untainted. Every glance at that image now pierces my soul, reminding me that she was a fleeting beauty in my life, and with her, I lost the essence of true tenderness and grace.

The tragedy made me realize just how much I've grown cold without her. The once beating heart, full of warmth, is now encased in a chilling void. I stand at this crossroads, alone, but at least I have her memories to carry me forward. They give me the strength to push on, to live each day until the moment arrives when I can finally be with her again.

“When the time is right... I'll be the first to meet you, Jungwoon” her voice. Soft like honey. That made my heart race millions times ahead still echoes in my heart, a constant whisper that lingers through the days, soothing and tormenting me all at once. Her words are my anchor, the only light in this endless darkness.

All those moments I caressed her, laughed with her, lived with her—each one a piece of my soul that I cherished deeply. I learned what it meant to truly love, and to make love with her was a union of hearts, a bond that transcended time. Now, those memories, though distant, are the only threads that keep me alive. They are my solace, my reason to breathe, the remnants of a love that was once so real, now kept alive in the echo of each cherished memory.

I placed the picture down on my desk, rising slowly as I walked toward the small bar nestled in the corner of my cabin—a sanctuary of sorts, built for moments like these. The creak of the floorboards beneath me was a sound I barely registered anymore. Sliding onto the barstool, I reached for a glass and a bottle of whiskey, the liquid amber glinting under the dim light. As I poured, the faint clink of glass against glass echoed in the quiet room.

My gaze drifted to the window across the room. The reflection staring back at me was a man I hardly recognized—a shadow of who I have become. My hair had grown unruly, strands falling carelessly across my forehead, adding to the disheveled mess I no longer bothered to tame. The sleeves of my shirt were haphazardly rolled up, exposing muscled arms that once held strength and purpose but now felt heavy with failure.

And then there was the scar. That cursed scar—a jagged line slicing from the corner of my left eye to the edge of my lips. It wasn’t just a mark on my skin; it was a wound etched deep into my soul. A cruel reminder of what I had failed to protect that day. Of what I couldn’t save. My chest tightened as I stared at it, the faint light playing off its uneven surface like a mocking reminder of the past.