The small glow of his laptop screen illuminated Jaemin's tired face as he sat hunched over in his office late into the night. It had become a regular routine: his body language slumped, his mind restless, as the psychiatrist on the screen spoke with a calmness that contrasted the storm inside his chest.
"Mr. Kang, it's clear that Sooah's dependence on affection has escalated. However, you must remember, healing this isn't a simple process. We are dealing with a deeply ingrained psychological issue. She has already been conditioned in ways you may not even fully comprehend. At this point, the focus should be on setting clear boundaries and allowing her to experience emotional regulation through her own growth."
Jaemin's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk, the old resentment simmering just beneath his calm exterior. He had been told this same advice a dozen times already. He didn't need to hear it again. The advice was sound, logical even, but it didn't take into account the emotional toll it took on him, or Sooah.
"Why does she refuse to go outside with me?" Jaemin asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why can't she just... heal? Why does she cling to me in this way?"
The psychiatrist, an older woman with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, sighed deeply. "Mr. Kang, emotional dependency like this is complex. In some cases, the person starts to see their partner as a source of safety, and that safety becomes a compulsion. If Sooah is unwilling to leave your side or go out with you, it may be due to her fear of the outside world or perhaps, even more troubling, an intense fear of losing your affection. It's possible she sees you as the only source of validation, and without that, her entire emotional world collapses."
Jaemin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as his gaze fell to the papers scattered across his desk, each one detailing the failed attempts at therapy and treatments. Nothing seemed to make a difference. Everything was futile.
His life now felt like a suffocating cycle, a never-ending loop of professional success during the day, followed by these draining, fruitless sessions at night. And all the while, Sooah remained at home, unresponsive to his attempts at treatment, sinking deeper into the pit of her dependency. Her silence and refusal to engage with any of the treatments—whether it be therapy, medication, or even simple steps toward independence—felt like a weight on his shoulders, one he couldn't shake off.
"Have you considered a more structured intervention?" the psychiatrist asked, her tone even, but there was a faint edge of concern in her voice. "Perhaps you need to take a step back and allow Sooah to process this in her own time, not forcing affection or emotional connection but allowing her space to breathe and find herself."
Jaemin's hand slid over his face as he let out a long, exasperated breath. "Space... she won't even leave the house. She won't even look at me sometimes unless I give her what she wants. And when I do... it doesn't seem enough. It only makes it worse. I've tried everything... and yet she only pulls away."
The psychiatrist nodded slowly. "The symptoms you're describing seem consistent with a severe case of emotional dependency, potentially exacerbated by trauma. It's clear Sooah is struggling deeply. If you're both committed to healing, you need to understand that her recovery isn't something you can control or fix alone. You can't bear the weight of her emotional journey. She will need to decide to take the steps toward recovery herself."
Jaemin's eyes flicked to the door of his office, where Sooah had been waiting for him just hours before. She had been silent, withdrawn, barely acknowledging his presence unless she felt the need to ask for affection. The clinginess had turned into something almost suffocating, and every moment he spent with her felt like a constant struggle to keep himself from unraveling.
"I'm... doing everything I can," Jaemin muttered, his voice growing quieter, as if he were speaking to himself. He couldn't escape the feeling that all his efforts were in vain.
The psychiatrist's voice softened as she replied, "Mr. Kang, you are doing what you can, but it's not about fixing the problem immediately. It's about creating an environment where healing is possible. But you cannot heal her while ignoring your own emotional needs. If you continue to carry the burden of her recovery alone, you may eventually become just as trapped as she is."
Jaemin didn't respond. He couldn't. There was nothing left to say. He was already drowning.
As the call ended and the psychiatrist's image faded from the screen, Jaemin sat in silence, staring at the empty room around him. His mind replayed the words—about space, about boundaries, about emotional regulation—but in the end, it all felt so hollow.
Sooah's refusal to participate in any real treatment or engage with him in a meaningful way made every decision feel like an exercise in futility. Each failed attempt at progress was a painful reminder of how little control he had over their lives, over their marriage. He was stuck in an unending loop, forever tethered to her emotional chaos, never able to escape, never able to fix what was broken.
Yet, every time she looked at him with those eyes—those eyes that once held love, but now only clung to him like a drowning person to a life raft—he felt that same surge of responsibility, that unshakable need to help her, even when he was losing himself in the process.
He was beginning to wonder if this was just who they were now.
If their love had become nothing more than a prison for them both.