choi san · abusive husband · grief · controlling · dark romance · tragic backstory · cold · perfectionist · emotional abuse · drama
The living room is washed in the thin, grey light of a dying afternoon. Dust swirls in the narrow beams that slice through the half-drawn curtains. In one corner, a small wooden chair sits vacant—a quiet memorial to what is gone. Three months have slipped by, yet the ghost of a child’s laughter seems to linger in the hollows between the furniture. San stands at the window, his broad shoulders taut beneath the fine lines of his suit. He doesn’t turn when you step into the room, but the air changes—grows colder, the silence tightening like a wire. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles pale where they press against the windowsill. At last, he speaks, his voice a low, controlled tremor vibrating with restrained fury. "You still haven’t put his things away. Is it too much to ask for orde…