Jaemin's office had become his sanctuary, the place where his mind could momentarily escape the chaos that had consumed his home life. He'd thrown himself into his work, focusing on the company with a level of precision that was almost robotic. His days were filled with meetings, negotiations, and executive decisions—each one more demanding than the last. But through it all, he maintained his impeccable composure, his sharp focus never faltering.
Yet, no matter how absorbed he was in his work, his thoughts always drifted back to Sooah. He could feel the weight of her presence even when she wasn't there, like an invisible force that clung to him. She needed him—no, she demanded him—but he had already given everything he could. The more he tried to help her, the more she withdrew, like a scared animal retreating into the shadows of her mind. And with each passing day, her condition only seemed to worsen.
It was becoming unbearable.
But Jaemin knew something had to change. His psychiatrist's warnings had been clear—he couldn't continue this path, couldn't sacrifice himself completely for her without losing his own mind. It wasn't just about helping Sooah anymore; it was about saving himself before he fell into the same abyss she was drowning in.
For the first time in months, Jaemin made the decision to undergo treatment for himself.
"You can't do this forever, Jaemin. You need to take care of your own mental health."
Dr. Han's words still echoed in his mind, and despite his initial resistance, Jaemin now realized the truth in them. He had been so consumed with saving Sooah, with doing everything in his power to heal her, that he had neglected the one person who could make a difference—himself. He couldn't continue to walk the tightrope of emotional restraint without losing his footing.
And so, he took the first step toward his own recovery, scheduling regular therapy sessions and taking medication to help him manage the overwhelming stress. He continued seeing psychiatrists, this time focusing on his own mental health, and he learned to give himself the space to heal—something he had long forgotten.
At night, after the chaos of his workday, he would push himself physically—working out, running miles in the dark, his body aching from the exertion. It became his release, his way to push back the mounting tension in his chest, the fear that if he didn't keep fighting, he would snap under the pressure.
For the first time in months, Jaemin began to feel the smallest flicker of relief. The heavy weight that had been pressing down on him slowly began to lift. It wasn't an immediate transformation—he was still haunted by Sooah's worsening condition, still tethered to the relentless pull of her need. But he could feel himself coming back, piece by piece, from the emotional and mental breakdown he had been slipping toward.
As the days passed, Jaemin's physical condition improved rapidly. His body grew stronger, his mind clearer. His work as CEO continued at its usual impeccable level, his decisions sharp and confident. He was becoming the man he once was—or at least, the man he could be—if he allowed himself to take control of his life again.
But it was a bittersweet transformation. While he felt himself healing, Sooah was slipping further away. She refused to leave the house, barely spoke, and hardly ate. Her eyes were vacant, her spirit broken. He had hoped that his efforts—moving to the new house, creating a more peaceful environment, giving her space—would help her find her way back. But nothing had changed. She was beyond his reach, and each day, the distance between them seemed to grow.
One evening, after a long day of meetings, Jaemin walked into the house, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors. He had been spending more time at the office lately, immersing himself in work to escape the suffocating reality at home. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind always returned to Sooah.
He found her in the living room, sitting on the couch, her gaze fixed on the empty television screen. Her expression was hollow, her hands clenched in her lap. The sight of her like this still struck him with an intense wave of guilt. He had tried everything—everything he could think of—and yet she was still trapped in the prison of her own mind.
"Sooah," Jaemin said gently, his voice soft but steady. He couldn't force himself to act indifferent anymore. He had come too far in his own healing to turn back now. "I'm here. You don't have to be alone."
She barely acknowledged him, her eyes flickering toward him but quickly retreating back to the blank space in front of her.
Jaemin sat beside her, careful not to crowd her, giving her the space she so desperately needed. "I'm not going anywhere, Sooah. I'm still here. I'm trying to help you. But you have to try too. You have to fight, for both of us."
She didn't respond, and for a long moment, Jaemin simply sat in silence beside her. It hurt—more than anything had in a long time—but he couldn't allow himself to give in. He had to be strong, for her and for himself. He had started this journey to heal her, but now, he realized, he was healing himself first. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the only way he could help her in the end.
As he lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, Jaemin's thoughts were a whirlwind. He knew he was making progress, but it was hard to ignore the overwhelming sense of loss that clung to him. He was getting better, and she was getting worse.
The contrast between their two states was like night and day. His body was stronger, his mind clearer, but Sooah was withering away before him. It was as if every ounce of energy he put into himself only made her more fragile, more distant.
A quiet, bitter laugh escaped Jaemin's lips as he closed his eyes. "I'll never be enough for her." The thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind.
For the first time in months, Jaemin was starting to feel like himself again. But no matter how much he healed, how much he improved, it would never be enough to save her if she didn't want to be saved.
And that truth—the brutal reality of their situation—was the hardest pill for him to swallow.
Jaemin's own healing had become a quiet rebellion against the suffocating despair of their lives. But the deeper he went into his recovery, the more he realized that even his best efforts might never be enough to fix what was broken inside Sooah. And that realization, more than anything, was what threatened to break him.