Jaemin sat at his desk, the soft click of his keyboard breaking the silence of his office. He had been going over reports for hours, his mind drifting back to the chaotic turmoil at home. Every hour spent at work felt like a small escape—a break from the suffocating reality of his home life, from Sooah's never-ending pleas for affection, from her increasingly fragile state.
The house, with its vibrant colors and airy rooms, was meant to be a fresh start, but instead, it was becoming another cage—this time not just for her, but for him as well. Every time he looked at her, he saw the fragile, broken woman she had become. His own self-inflicted emotional numbness no longer mattered. His desire to cure her—to fix her—was consuming him, leaving him no room to care for himself.
The psychiatrist's warning echoed in his mind, the words more urgent each time he thought of them. "Jaemin, you can't do this alone. You need to take care of yourself too. You're pushing yourself past your limits, and it's not sustainable."
Jaemin scoffed at the thought as he sat in the sterile, quiet office. He had been consulting psychiatrists for months now, trying every possible method to help Sooah. Therapy sessions, medication, environment changes, exposure techniques—all had failed. She was slipping further into her own mental abyss, while he, ironically, had maintained some semblance of control through sheer force of will.
The thought of seeing another psychiatrist, another "expert" telling him what he already knew, repulsed him. But he had no choice. The desperation clawed at him like an unrelenting monster, a need to fix her, to get her back to the woman she once was. The woman who loved him before the chaos of their lives had consumed them both.
"She's not improving, Jaemin. In fact, her condition is worsening."
Dr. Han, the psychiatrist he'd been working with for the last few months, spoke with a calmness that only made the situation feel worse. Her words were blunt, clinical—each syllable like a dagger to his heart.
Jaemin had already known this. It wasn't just her fear and isolation anymore. It was a deep, suffocating detachment from everything—her family, herself, even her own emotions.
Dr. Han continued, her voice softer now, tinged with empathy. "I understand your desire to help her, but you're overextending yourself. You're becoming emotionally compromised, Jaemin. It's critical that you take care of yourself. If you don't, you'll both be lost."
Jaemin leaned forward in his chair, running a hand through his hair, his face contorting with frustration. "What am I supposed to do, Dr. Han? She refuses treatment. She refuses to leave the house, refuses to even look at anyone but me. How do I fix that?"
His voice was tight with suppressed emotion, barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly would shatter him entirely.
Dr. Han's eyes softened with concern. "You can't carry this burden alone, Jaemin. I understand the pressure you're under, but you need to take a step back and think about your own mental health. You're not immune to breaking down from this."
Jaemin's mind raced. He had pushed every ounce of himself into helping Sooah, and yet she was slipping further away. Every attempt, every effort—medication, therapy, the new house—had made no difference. It was as if his actions, no matter how grand or meticulous, were irrelevant. She refused to get better.
"I don't care about myself," Jaemin muttered, his voice raw. "I don't care if I break. She's worse than me. I can't let her slip away. Not when I can still do something."
Dr. Han's eyes grew sharper, the concern now laced with caution. "That's dangerous thinking, Jaemin. You're neglecting your own health in favor of trying to control something you can't. She has to want to change. If you continue sacrificing yourself for her, you'll destroy both of you."
Jaemin's breath hitched as the weight of her words pressed down on him. He knew what she was saying was true. It was undeniable. But all he could focus on was the woman he loved—broken and unreachable. Her fragile state was his fault, or so he felt. If he hadn't been so cold, so distant before, maybe she wouldn't have descended into this mental abyss. Maybe she wouldn't have needed to rely on him for everything.
"Then what am I supposed to do, Dr. Han? Let her spiral out of control?" His voice was a mix of desperation and fury. "What if she never comes back? What if... she never heals?"
Dr. Han's eyes softened again, her voice gentle but firm. "The hardest part is accepting that you cannot save everyone, Jaemin. Especially not someone who isn't ready to be saved. But you need to let her go in order to help her. And you need to take a step back to protect yourself."
Jaemin sat back in his chair, the weight of her words sinking in like a stone in his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. His mind was exhausted, worn thin by months of trying to hold it all together—trying to hold her together. And yet, she was slipping away, despite everything he had done.
At home, Sooah wandered aimlessly around the new house, her steps slow and uncertain. Jaemin, who had been observing her from a distance, could feel the weight of her presence hanging in the air—silent, heavy, pleading without words.
He had built this house, this place of hope, but it didn't matter. It wouldn't matter. Not if Sooah didn't choose to step into the light. And she wasn't ready to.
Jaemin exhaled slowly, sinking onto the couch in the living room as the quiet of the house surrounded him. He had been to hell and back, trying everything to save her. Yet, here he was—his own spirit suffocating under the burden of her unending need.
"Maybe she's right," he whispered to himself, his voice distant. "Maybe I am broken. But I can't give up. Not yet."
He looked out of the window, the view of the garden—a symbol of the life he had hoped to create for them—now feeling like a cruel mockery. His eyes burned, and he felt the weight of exhaustion settle on him like a blanket.
Later that night, Jaemin sat alone in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand, his mind swirling with the chaos of his thoughts. He had consulted psychiatrist after psychiatrist, each offering the same advice: "You can't heal her if you're broken yourself."
But how could he stop when she needed him so badly? How could he walk away, knowing she was deteriorating further with every day?
His phone buzzed on the desk—another message from Sooah's mother, inquiring about her state. He glanced at the screen, ignoring it. He could already hear the judgment in her words.
"She's not getting better," he whispered, his voice low, almost inaudible. "And neither am I."
Jaemin stood up, placing the glass down with a heavy thud. He walked to the window, his gaze fixed on the dark sky beyond. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly, knowing the answer deep down.
There was nothing more he could do. Not for her. Not for himself. The two of them were tangled in a web of their own making, with no escape in sight.