Hae-in's voice cracked as she hurled the words at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was the first time I had ever heard her raise her voice in anger. The air between us was charged with an indescribable tension.

"I know you want to say that it’s my fault!” she accused.

The impulse to pull her into a comforting embrace was overwhelming. I wanted to tell her that I had never—and would never—blame her for what happened. But grief was a heavy shroud over both our shoulders, she had built walls around her pain, walls that also shut me out.

Unable to bear the distance growing between us, I responded more harshly than intended. "Forget it. I can’t talk any sense into you." The words were out before I could stop them, reinforcing her fears rather than soothing them.

Regret was instantaneous, but the damage was done. There was no taking back my outburst, not when I felt so ignored, so invisible in my own agony.

Frustration boiling over, I left the room. Each step towards the mansion’s grand exit felt like an escape from a suffocating cage. Hae-in, the person who once promised to share all burdens, now seemed distant, her emotions shuttered away. I slammed the car door behind me, driving off, desperate for solitude.

Driving without direction, my initial anger began to dissipate, giving way to clarity. Deep down, I knew Hae-in was also in pain, even more than I was. I should be considerate, think of her, put her needs before my own.

She knew how much I had wanted children, how overjoyed I had been about her pregnancy.

I also understood that her seeming detached was her way of coping, her way of dealing with trauma—by throwing herself into work and removing any physical reminders of our loss.

So why did I walk away? Why was I moving out of our bedroom and into another room?

Just this once, I wanted for her to truly share herself with me. We are married and I wanted her to find solace in it. I’m her husband, not her servant. The fact that she was unwilling to tell me anything made me feel less in her life.

I yearned for her to meet me halfway, to find comfort in each other’s arms.

As I drove back to the mansion, my heart weighed down and my eyes raw from crying, I found myself outside our bedroom. But I couldn’t face her just yet. Instead, I retreated to the spare room, where there was no bed, only a couch. I lay down, overcome by exhaustion, and let sleep engulf me, allowing myself to weep for our lost child.

Let me mourn for both of us, Hae-in. Let me carry the weight to honor our child.