Stuck With You || Kim Taehyung

Part 68

The hospital had been quiet that night when Ryujin opened her eyes, but the silence wasn't peaceful—it was hollow. The kind of silence that fills every corner of your chest until breathing feels like betrayal.

She turned her head slowly, and the white walls blurred for a moment before she focused on the empty cradle across the room. The cradle that would never hold the baby she had prayed for. Her fingers curled against the bedsheet, her body trembling as the truth settled in.

The baby was gone.

Jimin was sitting by her bedside, still wearing the same clothes from the night before, his hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles had turned pale. He didn't speak when she woke up. He only looked at her, eyes swollen and raw, as though he'd cried but didn't want her to know.

She didn't cry. Not then. She only turned her face toward the window, whispering something that sounded like a prayer or a curse.

Days passed after that, though she didn't really live them. The mansion felt bigger than ever, every step echoing with memories of what could have been. Jimin tried to fill the silence—checking on her, leaving food she barely touched, reminding her to take her medicines. But he was broken too, carrying the same loss in quieter ways.

Mr. Park watched them both from afar. His age showed more these days—the faint tremor in his hands, the cough he tried to hide—but he never said a harsh word. Even when grief made the air heavy, he stayed patient. He didn't blame Ryujin, not once. He only told her, gently, "You're still family." But she couldn't believe it.

When the doctor finally declared her stable, Jimin got called into a meeting he couldn't ignore—a business deal that had been in negotiation for months. It was the kind of partnership that could strengthen their company for years to come. He hesitated at first, not wanting to leave her alone, but Mr. Park insisted.

"You have to go, son," his father told him, his voice firm. "This is what we've built everything for. I'll be here. Take care of what's waiting for you. I'll take care of her."

Jimin nodded, though the guilt in his chest burned. He promised he'd call every night, and he did. But distance has a way of stretching more than just miles—it stretches the heart too.

Ryujin spent most days alone after that. Sometimes she'd stand in the nursery that was never used, staring at the tiny clothes folded neatly in drawers. She ran her fingers along the edges of the crib, remembering how excited she had been to show Jimin the room. How she had imagined his smile.

Now, the walls only echoed her sobs.

She started convincing herself that the Park family's kindness had been only for the baby. That without the child, she was just a mistake they tolerated out of duty. Every unanswered call from Jimin, every soft sigh from Mr. Park, became proof in her mind that they blamed her, that they hated her.

One evening, she told them she wanted to go out for some fresh air. Her voice was calm enough that no one suspected anything. Mr. Park nodded and told the driver to take her to the nearby beach. She thanked him, smiled faintly, and left.

It was already late afternoon when she reached the shore. The sky hung low, the sea restless beneath it. She took off her shoes and walked toward the water, her reflection rippling with each step. Her thoughts were loud—too loud.

"They don't want me anymore," she whispered. "They loved the baby, not me."

The waves answered back with a cold hush.

She waded deeper, feeling the chill crawl up her legs, then her waist. Her tears blended with the saltwater as she looked at the horizon. She thought about the nights Jimin had held her hand when she was scared, about the day he promised to protect her, even if he couldn't love her. That was enough for her. It always had been.

But now, even that promise felt far away.

The last thing she remembered was the pull of the current around her ankles, and how strangely peaceful it felt to stop fighting.

Hours later, the police received a call from local tourists about a body washed ashore.

By the time Jimin landed back in Seoul, his phone buzzed with the call that shattered everything. The officer's voice was formal, detached—too calm for the words it carried.

When he reached the beach, the air was thick with sea breeze and sorrow. He ran toward the van parked near the waterline, stumbling when he saw the white cloth draped over the stretcher. For a moment, his legs refused to move.

He stood there, chest heaving, until one of the officers gently lifted the edge of the cloth.

Her face was pale, her lips tinged with blue, her hair tangled and damp.

Jimin's breath caught in his throat. "No," he whispered. "No, not her..."

His hand trembled as he reached out but stopped halfway. He couldn't bring himself to touch her—it felt wrong, too final. He sank to his knees beside the stretcher, his tears falling freely, mixing with the sand.

"I told you to wait for me," he whispered hoarsely. "I was coming back."

He stayed like that until the officers urged him to move, but he didn't. He just sat there, staring at her still face, the sound of waves crashing behind him, the world moving on while his heart froze in that single, unbearable moment.

To everyone else, Ryujin had been Jimin's wife. But to him, she had been something rarer—a soul he couldn't love the way she deserved, yet someone he would have protected with everything he had.

And now, she was gone.

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