Yena
2026
The grief is a constant, suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Each breath is a struggle, a reminder of the life that was ripped away from me. From us.
I glance around Yul's sparse apartment, this strange place Yul has decided to hole himself up in to distance himself from us.
It's a hollow shell, devoid of warmth and laughter.
My gaze settles on Yul, sitting across from me on the couch, his body angled away as if to create an invisible barrier between us. His eyes are downcast, avoiding my scrutiny.
"Yul," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please, look at me."
He hesitates, the muscle in his jaw twitching ever so slightly. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he raises his gaze to meet mine.
The sorrow etched into the lines of his face is like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I reach out instinctively, my fingers grazing his arm.
He flinches, recoiling from my touch as if burned.
The rejection stings, sharp and raw, but I refuse to let it deter me. Not this time.
"Don't shut me out," I plead, leaning forward, my hand hovering in the space between us. "Not now, when I need you the most."
His eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching as he shakes his head. "I can't..." His voice cracks, raw with emotion. "Not after what I've done."
"It wasn't your fault," I insist, desperation creeping into my tone.
I scoot closer to Yul on the couch, closing the distance between us. His eyes fly open, filled with a swirling mix of emotions—pain, guilt, longing.
"It wasn't your fault," I repeat, my voice firm yet gentle. "I don't blame you, Yul. I could never blame you for what happened."
He shakes his head, standing abruptly.
"Wait—" but he's already gone, shutting the bathroom door behind him and shutting me out. Leaving me to tuck my legs in to my chest and bite back the flood of tears that want to burst free.
***
The days bleed together, an endless cycle of longing and sorrow. Each morning, I wake with a hollowness in my chest, an ache that lingers no matter how tightly Inha holds me.
Yul's absence is a constant, gnawing pain. He drifts in and out of our lives like a specter, appearing for fleeting moments before vanishing once more into the ether.
"Where does he go?" I ask Inha one night, my voice little more than a cracked whisper. We're tangled together in bed, my head pillowed on his chest as his fingers trail soothingly through my hair.
Inha's jaw tightens, and I can sense the tension coiling within him. "I don't know," he admits, his tone clipped.
I swallow back the lump in my throat, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that threaten to spill over. "Why won't he let me in?"
A heavy silence stretches between us, laden with unspoken words and fractured emotions. Finally, Inha lets out a weary sigh. "I wish I had the answers, Yena-ya."
His arms tighten around me, a futile attempt to shield me from the hurt that seeps into the very marrow of my bones. I cling to him, my anchor in the storm, but even his steadfast presence can't fill the gaping void left by Yul's absence.
The nights are the worst. I lie awake, staring into the darkness, my mind conjuring memories of happier times. Flashes of Yul's smile, the warmth of his embrace, the tender way he would gaze at me—all faded remnants of a life that seems to be slipping through my fingers.
Silent tears trail down my cheeks, and I bury my face in Inha's chest, muffling the broken sobs that wrack my body. He murmurs soothing words, his hands rubbing gentle circles on my back, but his efforts offer little solace.
I can't give up on Yul, not when the mere thought of losing him forever feels like a death sentence. But with each passing day, each unanswered call and ignored text, the distance between us grows ever wider, an abyss threatening to swallow me whole.
The weeks blur together, a hazy montage of hope and heartbreak. Each time I manage to catch Yul at his apartment, a spark of optimism ignites within me, only to be swiftly extinguished by his evasive behavior.
I try everything—gentle touches, lingering caresses, heated glances laden with promise. But Yul remains steadfastly distant, his body tensing at even the slightest physical contact.
"Yena, I can't..." he murmurs, his voice strained as he pulls away from my embrace. "Not right now."
The words are like a dagger to my heart, but I force a smile, nodding in acquiescence even as my insides twist with anguish.
Some nights, I manage to coax him into staying a little longer, our bodies tangled together on the couch as we lose ourselves in old movies and half-hearted conversation. But the moment my fingers trail along his skin, seeking that elusive connection, he stiffens, making his excuses before slipping away into the night.
"I have an early shoot tomorrow," he'll say, averting his gaze as he gathers his things.
Or, "You shouldn't stay out too late. You know how Inha worries."
Hollow justifications that leave me feeling emptier with each departure.
I cling to the fleeting moments when his guard slips, when the raw vulnerability shines through the cracks in his armor. The way his breath hitches when our eyes meet, the subtle tremor in his fingers as he brushes a stray lock of hair from my face.
These stolen instants offer a glimmer of hope, a whisper that the man I love—the man who loves me—still exists beneath the layers of grief and self-loathing.
But those slivers of intimacy grow increasingly rare, until one day, they cease altogether.
My calls go unanswered, my texts left on read. Yul has retreated so deeply into himself that I fear he may be lost to me forever.
I drift through the days like a wraith, my movements sluggish, my smiles hollow. Inha tries to coax me back, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with concern.
"Talk to me, Yena-ya," he pleads, cradling my face in his palms. "Don't shut me out."
But how can I share the depths of my anguish when the wounds are still so raw, so visceral? How can I give voice to the desolation that threatens to consume me from the inside out?
So I retreat into myself, a shell of the woman I once was, adrift in a sea of sorrow with no anchor.
It goes on and on. The cycle of sorrow and avoidance and emptiness. Then one day, out of the blue, the shrill ring of my phone shatters the heavy silence that has blanketed our home for far too long. My heart leaps into my throat as I fumble for the device, equal parts dread and desperate hope swirling within me.
The caller ID displays a name I've longed to see, a name that has become both a balm and a torment in recent months.
"Yul?" I answer, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter this fragile moment.
There's a pause, a weighted silence that stretches between us like a vast chasm. Then, his voice, low and guarded, drifts through the line.
"Can you…do you want to come over?"
The words I've been aching to hear, yet they're laced with a solemnity that sends a chill down my spine. I swallow hard, steeling myself for whatever is to come.
"Of course. When?"
Another pause, and I can almost envision him, jaw clenched, eyes downcast as he gathers his resolve.
"My place. Tonight, if you can."
My heart hammers against my ribcage. "I'll be there."
The line goes dead, leaving me to wrestle with the tempest of emotions. I draw in a shuddering breath, clutching the phone to my chest as if it's a lifeline.
This is it, I tell myself. The moment I've been both dreading and longing for. The chance to finally break through the impenetrable wall Yul has erected around himself.
The hours crawl by at an agonizing pace, each tick of the clock amplified in the deafening silence that permeates the apartment. Inha has retreated to his study, no doubt sensing the turbulence brewing within me and granting me the space I need.
At last, the appointed hour arrives, and I find myself standing before Yul's door, my hand poised to ring the bell. A tremor runs through me, equal parts anticipation and apprehension.
The door swings open, and there he is—Yul, his features etched with a weariness that tugs at my heartstrings. His eyes, once so vibrant and full of life, now carry a haunted shadow.
"Yena," he murmurs, his voice little more than a rasp.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I step forward, closing the distance between us in a single, fluid motion.
Yul tenses, his body rigid as I draw him into a fierce embrace, clinging to him as if he might disappear the moment I let go. For a fleeting instant, he relaxes into me, his arms encircling my waist as he buries his face in the crook of my neck.
Then, as swiftly as the moment began, it ends. Yul disentangles himself from my grasp, his features hardening into an impassive mask once more. He motions me into the apartment. I give him a long look but step past him, turning once I've kicked off my shoes. I watch him close the front door and shuffle stiffly into the space.
"I…I have something for you…to look over," he murmurs, his voice strained.
I open to ask what, but the words die on my lips as he reaches for a stack of papers on the nearby table. With a trembling hand, he extends them towards me.
My brow furrows in confusion as I accept the documents, my eyes skimming over the official-looking letterhead and dense legal jargon.
Then, like a physical blow, the realization hits me.
Divorce papers.
The ground seems to shift beneath my feet, and I sway, clutching the edge of the table for support.
The papers slip from my trembling fingers, fluttering to the floor in a cascade of crisp white sheets. My chest constricts, each breath a ragged gasp as I struggle to comprehend the weight of Yul's words.
"What..." I choke out, my voice little more than a strangled whisper. "What are you saying?"
Yul's gaze is resolute, his jaw set in a hard line as he regards me with those haunted eyes that have become all too familiar. "It's for the best, Yena. You know that."
A bitter laugh bubbles up from my throat, tinged with the sharp sting of disbelief. "For the best?" I echo, shaking my head slowly. "How can you possibly think this is for the best?"
He flinches, as if my words have struck a physical blow. "Look at us," he murmurs, his voice heavy with resignation. "We're only hurting each other by holding on."
The words slice through me like a razor's edge. I open my mouth to protest, but Yul presses on, his tone taking on a pleading edge.
"You can't tell me you haven't thought about it, Yena. About how much easier it would be to just...let go." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. "To be free of this constant pain."
My heart clenches at the anguish lacing his words, the suffering in every line of his face. But even as my soul aches for him, a flicker of defiance ignites within me.
"And what about you, Yul?" I challenge, taking a step closer to him. "Do you really think signing those papers will make you 'free'? That it will erase the pain?"
He doesn't respond, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"Because if that's what you think," I continue, my voice gaining strength with each syllable, "then you're only fooling yourself."
Reaching down, I gather the scattered pages, clutching them to my chest as I close the distance between us. Yul's eyes widen fractionally as I invade his space, but he doesn't retreat.
"I won't do it, Yul," I declare, my tone determined. "I won't sign these papers, and I won't let you give up on us. Not like this."
His brow furrows, a flicker of uncertainty flickering across his features. "Yena..."
"No." I cut him off, shaking my head vehemently. "You don't get to make that decision for me. For us."
Reaching out, I cup his face in my palms, forcing him to meet my unwavering gaze. "We're in this together, Yul. For better or worse, remember?"
A muscle twitches in his jaw, his eyes glimmering with a maelstrom of emotions—grief, guilt, longing. For a fleeting moment, the mask slips, and I catch a glimpse of the man I fell in love with, the man who has been slowly slipping away from me.
"Don't shut me out," I plead, my voice a mere breath against his skin. "Not again. Not after everything we've been through."
I grip Yul's face tighter, forcing him to hold my gaze. "Don't lie to me," I hiss, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of anger and heartache. "Don't you dare try to convince me that walking away is what's best for us."
Yul's eyes glisten with unshed tears, his lips pressed into a grim line. "Yena, please... I'm begging you," he rasps, his voice strained with anguish. "I only bring you sadness. I can't... I can't take care of you the way Inha can. There's nothing I can give you."
A bitter laugh escapes my lips, laced with disbelief. "Bullshit, Yul. That's absolute bullshit, and you know it." I shake my head vehemently, refusing to release him from my grasp. "The only thing I've ever asked of you is to love me. That's all I've ever wanted."
His jaw clenches, and I can see the internal battle raging within him, the war between his self-loathing and the love he still harbors for me. A single tear escapes, trailing down his cheek, and my heart clenches at the sight.
"Please, Yena," he begs, his voice cracking with emotion. "Just... just get it done. Sign the papers, and let me go."
My grip on his face tightens fractionally, and I lean in closer, our foreheads nearly touching. "Is this because of the baby?" I ask, my voice low and urgent. "Yul, I've forgiven you. You don't need to do this to yourself, to us."
He shakes his head violently, his eyes squeezing shut as if to shut out my words. "No, no... you don't understand," he rasps, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "There's nothing I can do for you, Yena. Nothing."
The words slice through me like shards of glass, each syllable a fresh wound to my already battered heart. I search his face, desperate to find a way to break through the impenetrable wall he's erected around himself.
"That's not true," I whisper, my thumb brushing away the stray tear that clings to his cheek. "You've already given me everything, Yul. Your love, your devotion—that's all I've ever needed."
His eyes fly open, and the anguish I see reflected in their depths steals my breath away. "Please, Yena," he repeats, his voice a rasp. "Please, just let me go."
I stare at Yul in disbelief, my grip on the divorce papers tightening until my knuckles turn white. A surge of anger courses through me, hot and unrelenting, burning away the sorrow.
"No," I growl, shaking my head violently. "Fuck this."
With a sudden, enraged motion, I tear the papers in half, the sound of ripping paper echoing through the tense silence like a gunshot. Yul flinches, his eyes widening as I continue to rip and shred, the tattered remnants fluttering to the floor in a rain of confetti.
"I will never consider it, Yul," I snarl, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of rage and anguish. "When I married you, I committed for life. Do you understand me? For life!"
Yul opens his mouth, but I cut him off, pressing forward until I'm mere inches from his face.
"I would rather die than lose you or Inha," I hiss, my words laced with a ferocity that surprises even me. "You're my family, Yul. My everything. And I'll be damned if I let you walk away from that."
Yul's expression crumples, the mask of stoicism he's been clinging to shattering into a thousand pieces. His shoulders slump, and he sways on his feet, as if the weight of my words has finally broken through the last of his defenses.
"Yena..." he chokes out, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I... I can't..."
"You can't what?" I demand, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "You can't stay? You can't fight for us?"
He shakes his head slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor as a single tear tracks down his cheek. "I can't keep hurting you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "It's better this way, Yena. For both of us."
A bitter laugh escapes my lips, sharp and incredulous. "Better for who, Yul? For you? Because I can promise you, it's not better for me."
I reach out, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet my unwavering stare. "If you won't meet me halfway, then fine. But I refuse to let you slip away into this self-imposed exile. Not again."
Yul's jaw tightens, and he tries to pull away, but I hold fast, my fingers digging into his skin with desperation.
"Yena, please..." he begs, his eyes glistening with a torrent of emotions. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
"Harder?" I echo, shaking my head in disbelief. "You think this is hard? Try watching the man you love slowly slip away from you, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but a hollow shell. That's hard, Yul."
His breath hitches, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the man I fell in love with, the man who has been slowly fading away before my eyes.
"I can't lose you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "Not again. Not like this."
Yul's resolve wavers, his features twisting with anguish. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, only a ragged breath that seems to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken sorrows.
Then, with a suddenness that steals my breath away, he turns on his heel and strides towards the door. My heart plummets, and I lurch forward, grasping at his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him.
"Yul, wait!" I cry, my fingers curling around his wrist. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."
He pauses, his back rigid, but doesn't turn to face me. "If you won't let me go, Yena," he murmurs, his voice heavy with resignation, "then I'll stay as far away from you as I can."
The words are like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I grasp at him, tears streaming down my cheeks as I plead with him to stay, to reconsider, to fight for us.
But Yul doesn't falter. With a gentle but firm tug, he slips from my grasp and strides out the door, leaving me standing amidst the wreckage of our shattered dreams, my heart splintering into a thousand pieces.
I feel my knees give way, a searing pain cutting through my chest. I collapse into the mess of shredded paper on the floor, heaving, feeling like my lungs are collapsing. I can hear the high, keening noises that wrench from my throat, but I'm past caring. It's too much. All of it. All I've known for months now is loss. I look down, and below my hand is a ripped shred of paper. "Petition for domestic separation" is printed in stark black ink, staring up at me. Mocking me.
I can't take it anymore. The grief, the stress, the constant ache in my chest that refuses to fade—it's all too much. Yul's rejection has left me feeling hollow, a shell of the woman I once was, and I'm not sure how much more I can endure.
As the last of his words echo through my mind, a cold determination settles over me. If I can't have Yul and Inha both, if I can't have the family I've fought so desperately to hold onto, then what's the point?
A wild, unrestrained fury and desolation takes over. I launch off the floor, sobbing as I stumble through the room.
With a grim resolve, I make my way to Yul's bathroom, my footsteps heavy with the weight of my decision. I stand before the mirror, staring at my reflection as if seeking answers in my own eyes.
But there are no answers, only the harsh reality of my situation.
I turn to the medicine cabinet, flinging open the door. It swings and cracks against the bathroom wall, revealing an array of bottles and pills that promise an escape from the relentless pain.
Without hesitation, I begin to empty the contents of each bottle into my shaking palm. Painkillers, cough syrup, sleeping pills—it's a lethal cocktail, one that will ensure I never have to face another day without the love of my husbands.
As the pills spill from their containers, I think of Yul, of the man who has captured my heart and shattered it into a thousand pieces. I wonder if he'll ever know the depth of my love for him, the lengths I would have gone to in order to make our family whole again.
But it's too late for regrets, too late for second chances.
With a deep, steadying breath, I lift my hand to my lips and toss back the handful of pills. They taste bitter on my tongue, a harsh reminder of the choice I've made, but I swallow them down, one by one, until the last of them has disappeared.
My vision begins to blur, the edges of the room softening as the pills take effect. I slump to the floor, my back sliding down the cool tiles of the wall as I sink into the welcome embrace of oblivion.
As the darkness closes in, I imagine Inha and Yul, of the life we could have shared together. But the pain is too great, the loss too profound, and I know that I can't go on without them both.
And so, with a heavy heart and a quiet resolve, I let go, allowing the darkness to consume me as I slip into the welcoming arms of eternal sleep.