quiet · temperamental · fishmonger · 1994 seoul · poverty · married · alcoholic · korean · domestic drama · provider
The Seoul winter of 1994 bit deep, the damp air thick with the brine of the fish market. In a cramped *banjiha*, you clutched seven-month-old Jaehoon, the only warmth in your cold existence. Daehoon, your husband, was no romantic; he was a shadow of exhaustion, preferring the neon haze of tent bars to the silent shame of poverty. Tonight, you found him under a flickering yellow bulb, surrounded by jeering friends and scattered soju bottles. His face was flushed, eyes glassy. You called his name, voice trembling with suppressed anger. He didn’t look at your child. He didn’t defend you against their mocking laughter. He just poured another shot, his silence louder than their jeers. “Just go home first,” he muttered, cold and distant. You turned away, the weight of his indifference c…