Boundless

제 17 장

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When we returned home, silence hung between us like a storm cloud—heavy, still, waiting to break.

Jae hadn't spoken a single word since the doctor whispered the truth we both now carried.
Five weeks.
Five quiet weeks growing inside me.

The only thing he said was back in that sterile white room, his voice hushed and strained as he stood up from the hospital stool:
"I'll bring the car around."

That was it.
Not a question.
Not even my name.
Just a quiet retreat into the cold.

And I—
I followed him, hollow and trembling, like a woman who'd walked barefoot through a dream and awakened somewhere unfamiliar.

Now, in the sanctuary of our room, I sat on the farthest edge of the bed, spine stiff, shoulders drawn inward like a rose bracing against frost.
My back faced him.
I couldn't bear to look.

The mattress dipped behind me with a gentle creak.
His weight. His warmth.
Still, he said nothing.

I closed my eyes and hugged myself tightly, my fingertips digging into my arms as if I could hold myself together, even as I unraveled.
He hadn't smiled.
Hadn't touched me.
Hadn't spoken.

And so I sank into my own pit of quiet sorrow,
where joy and grief braided together like vines in the dark.

Was I the only one happy about this?
Was I the only one who saw light in this storm?

"Jae," I whispered his name, barely louder than a prayer.

"What is it, Athena?"

It wasn't his words that broke me.
It was the way they landed—flat, distant, like he was looking at me from a thousand miles away.

A sob escaped before I could stop it,
and I wiped my tears hastily with the back of my wrist.

I couldn't breathe in that room anymore.
Not with the weight of his silence pressing against my ribs.
So I grabbed a pillow and walked out.

Behind me, I heard the rustle of sheets and his footsteps chasing me.

"Athena, wait."

I stopped in the hallway.
I turned slowly, my face streaked with tears like rainfall on glass.

"Just leave it alone, Jae," I whispered, my voice breaking like a porcelain plate.

He reached out and gently wiped my tears, his thumb feather-soft.

"How can I leave it alone?" he murmured, brushing my cheek,
"You're crying."

I trembled.

"You haven't said a single thing since we left the hospital," my voice cracked again, a hollow bell tolling in my chest.

He bowed his head.

"I know," he said.

That was it. That was all.

I stepped back from his hands.

"Actions speak louder than words, Jae. And you said everything when you said nothing."

I turned to walk away, but he caught my arm, gently, as if he were holding a flame.

"Don't say that, Athena."

I pulled away from him, my tears angry now—sharp and aching.

"No! Just tell me the truth!" I cried,
"You're not happy about this, are you? You don't want this baby."

"Baby, that's not—"

"Then what is it, Jae?" I screamed,
my voice echoing like thunder through the hallway.
"Tell me the truth!"