Her brows twitched. She made no remark. Sehun didn’t expect her to tell him she could forgive him.

He pulled her out of the water, found a towel, and draped it around her. Then he led her back to the bed and tucked her in. Namjoo drifted back to sleep wet hair and all as he dressed and laid down over the blanket beside her.

She slept the rest of the morning. Dressed when he left the room. A driver came to pick them up mid-afternoon and they returned home without sharing a word.

ꜛꜛꜛꜛꜛ

Of all the things in her life, Namjoo was always confident about what she was doing. Today was not one of them.

She didn’t know what to do. What to say for herself. What to say to the man that had become her husband.

Every emotion was so blurred and unclear in her head. She felt like a piece of a puzzle that didn’t fit. Since returning, she had done nothing but sit on her bed. Around her time waned. Shadows switched directions. The room got a little darker, but she felt stuck in time. She was the second hand of time that had stopped ticking.

Who exactly, she wondered, should she be angry with?

The father who sold her in place of Hea? The step-mother who had stolen her mother’s spot? Oh Shiwoo who had forced her into a helpless position? Bestowing her into a powerless marital role? The mother that had died without her?

The plastic cracked beneath her hands as she crumpled up the plan B pills.

Who, who was she supposed to hate the most?!

Namjoo gritted her teeth so hard it felt like the bones might break. The tears burned at the back of her eyes. She cursed them all to their last breath. Hoped they each would die torturously. For making her a woman with a voiceless role in society.

The plastic popped. Slicing her finger.

There was a knock at the door. “Madam? Will you be coming down for dinner?”

Namjoo drew in a shaky breath. She could stay in here, cower, and hide or she could go out there and fight.

“I’ll go.”

Getting up Namjoo started toward the door then turned back to the bed. Picking up the packet of pills she tossed them into the garbage.

Indeed, the table was set with a nice feast. The smell of food made her stomach rumble. Sehun was at the table resting his head against his hand going through his phone. Hyesoo and her mother were in the kitchen plating the rest of the food. The younger daughter first noticed her.

Gasping first. “Madam! Your hand is bleeding!”

Namjoo glanced down. Seeing the cut from earlier. From the corner of her eye Sehun sat up in his chair, eyes in her direction.

Hyesoo was fastest. Running over, wrapping her hand in a big napkin. “How did this happen?”

Tugging her hand away, Namjoo clutched onto the napkin. “Don’t overreact. I’m not dying.”

“Where’s the first-aid kit? Go find some ointment,” Auntie Park called out.

“Yes.” Hyesoo darted away.

“Come here,” Auntie Park directed.

Deciding it best not to sit down and face Sehun, Namjoo walked over to the elder woman.

“Let me see.”

Her motherly hands removed the napkin, touched her injury to observe its seriousness. The warm hands of hers were so tender. Namjoo grew soft momentarily. Envious that she was mom to someone. A warm body, alive and healthy. Namjoo wanted to hug her. Growing emotional for no particular reason.

“What’s wrong?” Auntie Park asked.

“What?” Namjoo perked up.

“I swear you looked like you were going to cry.”

“No, of course not,” Namjoo denied afraid that if Sehun heard he would think something was wrong and would feel the need to say something to her. She didn’t want him to become all touchy-feely with her. “I have no reason to.”

“Wash the cut. Infections are nasty.” Auntie Park told. “Go on.”

Moving toward the sink Namjoo turned the water on. She felt weird and uncomfortable. More awkward coming downstairs to see Sehun. She wasn’t as pissed as she thought she would be. The idiot being quiet like this was more unnerving for her. If he acted like the victim how was she supposed to lash out? Stupid Sehun always complicated every schedule she’d planned.

Hyesoo returned with the first-aid kit. Rummaged through the tiny handler box. After cautiously squeezing some ointment over her cut and sticking a band-aid on she was forced to sit with Sehun, finally. Dinner served at last.

As with every other meal, they rarely spoke. Each absorbed with his and her own plate. A little way through eating Sehun asked without looking up, “Are you ok?”

Namjoo’s spoon paused midway in the air. Experienced a weird tingle from hearing his voice. Could still feel his heated breath bouncing off her ear and she wanted to slap herself.

“Fine.” She snapped.

Namjoo went upstairs first after finishing dinner. Closing the door and listened to Sehun walk past her room. Disturbed by the fact that he simply passed without stopping. Namjoo wondered what was wrong with her.

She should be angriest with him.

Slumping down to sit on the ground she stared at the cut on her hand. She should despise him of all people.

“I’m sorry.”

He had apologized again.

Sehun should be the first person on her hate list.

But…he wasn’t.

She hated herself for realizing it.

ꜛꜛꜛꜛꜛ

Sleep was impossible. There were countless things on his mind. All of them from the source of one person.

He had apologized, but why did it feel like he hadn’t accomplished his part? What more should he do?

Groaning, he buried his head under the pillow. It was already too late thinking about what ifs. He really didn’t know how to face Namjoo. What was he supposed to say to her from now on? What if things changed because of him?

His life would continue to be as meaningless as it had been from the start. It was all his fault. Entirely his fault!

He woke up feeling more like than when he’d gone to bed.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” the kitchen lady commented putting a plate down.

“It’s obvious, huh?” he asked.

Smiling, she nodded. Her eyes moved behind him then grinned teasingly, “I won’t say a word though.”  

He turned around to find Namjoo approaching. Their eyes met for a split second before he turned around. Feeling awkward. Nervous. Anxious. Just as silent, Namjoo moved around to her seat. They ate quietly.

Namjoo disappeared after breakfast. He had assumed he’d catch a view of her even from afar, but she was good at hiding. He wouldn’t expect less.

Slipping into his shoes he opened the front door. Now it would start; the regular routine of work, home, dinner, bed. Maybe he might see Namjoo at the dinner table. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe she would head out again. Meet with Eunwoo, and he wouldn’t have the galls to call her out on it. After all, he had destroyed any possible chance of them getting along again.

Spotting a figure at the corner of his eye he halted. It was Namjoo leaning beside the door kicking at her heels. Surprised she was outside. Not in her room. Hiding, because she didn’t want to see him.

Realizing he was staring too long he looked away.

The breeze brushed between them. Invisible hands lulling them further apart. Sehun really had no clue what to say. Idiotically repeat his apology? What was there to say? He knew that made him look awful, but to Namjoo, what could he owe her when they neither wanted each other?

“I’m not angry with you,” Namjoo said.

He glanced at her. Noticing she had clipped her hair back. Giving him a good view of her side profile, the jawline, and her ear where little diamonds hung. Her long hair hung down her shoulders. Past that he caught view of her neck. Remembered the small curve of it when she had dipped her head back. His throat tightened at the memory.

“Have a good day.” She scurried back into the house. Leaving him more dumbstruck than he’d been the entire night.

He blinked, felt a small smile across his lips.

So they were ok.

All that worrying had been for naught.

Namjoo wasn’t withdrawing. He peered over his shoulder into the house. His heart was lighter now.

ꜛꜛꜛꜛꜛ

That morning after the board meeting, Sehun filed out of the conference room with the dozen or so suited men. Planning to head back to his office when his father caught him in the hallway.

Linking an arm around his neck, “Lets go out for lunch. The Chairman has reserved a spot for us.”

Seated at a four cornered table in a dim room with a traditional set they waited for the waitress to finish pouring their tea. An entire set of traditional cuisine was laid out on the table from brim to brim. All seafood delicacies. If it was a joke or not there were several types of eels cooked in various styles.

“Eat up, eat up,” his father encouraged with a soft laugh. “How did the weekend go?”

If they were trying to inquire whether he and Namjoo had done the deed, he wasn’t going to say. He was only lucky Namjoo hadn’t sliced his guts and put it on a platter for the world to eat.

Sehun looked at Namjoo’s father. Wondering if Namjoo’s heart could warm up, why was her father so cold?

He was curious, under what kind of condition had a fierce willed Namjoo married him? What did her father do to make it possible?

“What is Namjoo doing at home?” her father asked poking at the food.

“I’m not sure.”

“She’s not mixing with the house work?” he said with disapproval. “Tell her not to lower herself. It’s embarrassing, especially for you. A well-born lady needn’t lift her hands to do heavy work. That’s for others. I did not raise her to become incompetent in your household.”

His father turned to eye him. Quietly chiding him to give the only answer appropriate. When he said nothing his father added, “Hard work will be bad for her body, especially when she gets pregnant, which I hope will be soon.” Looking at him expectantly, “We should hear good news soon, right son?”

He lowered his eyes, “Yes, sir.”

On the way home from work he sighed. He thought the pressure had been the worst when he and Namjoo had been engaged. It was only getting worse recently.

Pulling up to the house he parked the car. Stepping out he stopped in the yard, took a good long look at the three-story building he had started calling home. Staring at the third floor. Curious if Namjoo was laying down on her bean bag chair and watching a movie. Or would she be in the backyard in the grass? Today had she cleaned?

Was she happier here than when she lived at home?

He turned to see Namjoo’s car in the garage. Whatever she did, she advocated for herself. He didn’t know her well, but he saw that she liked being independent. Helping when and where she was able. Enjoyed new things, like learning to make a meal, set the table right, how to work the washing machine. She liked burning the world whenever possible, but Namjoo was more than the hard shell she wore.

Sehun walked into the house. First making a pit stop into the kitchen. Hoping he’d find her. Washing the dishes, going through the fridge, or taking a cooking class from the kitchen lady she seemed to have gotten close to. There was no one there.

He went through the house. Passing each room. Pausing at every entryway to look inside. Wherever he stopped was empty. Down the corridor near the lounge room their families took over each time they visited he heard humming. Sehun recognized the melodious tone. Following the sound he slowly closed in on the room. Wondering what the name of the tune she was humming. Coming to a stop beyond the entrance he watched Namjoo standing on a chair wiping the wall sized window. Paused to spray and wipe again. Unaware of him she continued. Arm working frantically.

A smile wove its way across his lips. Namjoo still seemed her usual self. A plus for him. Good to know that he hadn’t affected her as much as he worried.

Her working arm slowly stopped. She seemed to stop breathing altogether. Lowering the spray bottle in her hand she looked over her shoulder at him. The way she did it so flawlessly made his heart stop for a second. The innocent eyes quick to turn embarrassed made his insides flutter in a way he didn’t expect.

He looked away unsure how to react.

Stepping down from the chair she muttered, “Oh…you’re home.”

“Yea…” he replied still looking elsewhere. “I left early after meeting…” he hesitated, “with our fathers.”

When she said nothing he looked at her. The news didn’t seem to daunt her.

“You must see them everyday anyway,” Namjoo said walking by. She smelled like the cleaning ladies. He innocuously thought about her perfume from the other day.

“I try not to.” He turned around to see her feet coming to a halt. She glanced at him and he thought she was very pretty for the first time. She said nothing, as if to point out that he’d already said it all. He just didn’t quite want it to end.

Because…because she wasn’t angry with him.

“Do you want to go to work for me?” It was kind of a joke. Kind of not. He tried to imagine her businesslike. Classic white blouse, pencil skirt. Maybe not the skirt. Pants were more like it. And good old black heels to go with the outfit. It was a good look for a starter.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Namjoo asked.

“What? No.” he hurriedly replied. He didn’t want her thinking he was trying to insult her.

He may have missed the small smirk on her face as she wheeled around to walk away. “I don’t think they would kindly look on me if I did.”

Sehun followed with a distance between them. Making an abrupt turn Namjoo opened a cleaning supply closet he didn’t even know was there. She really seemed to know her way around the house now, which kind of surprised him. Maybe she knew of hiding places, too.

Namjoo turned around. Bumping into the shelf when she saw that he had followed her. If it hurt her head she didn’t show.

Suddenly, she looked anxious.

“Oh…oh I was just…” he looked at the closet. “I didn’t know it was here.”

Her eyelids fluttered. Squeezing past him she excused, “I’m going to go change.”

Biting down on his teeth he sighed, reprimanding himself for being an idiot.

ꜛꜛꜛꜛꜛ

“You’re home early. I’m just about to start on dinner,” the kitchen lady said when he walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. “Where is your wife? I’m sure she said something about helping.”

Dinner? He looked at her over the rim of the cup. “Did she work all day?”

“Oh, she’s been around,” the woman sing-songed. “She’s handy. I think she likes it.”

Pressing his lips together he tried not to smile for no reason whatsoever.

“Did you two make up?” she probed. “You two have been fighting recently.” Teasing him, “Looks like that weekend getaway was a good idea. Maybe we’ll get a two-legged thing running around soon.” She giggled. “I love babies.”

He hoped his face didn’t go red. “No.” He turned, hesitated, placed the cup in the sink, and walked out of the kitchen. Embarrassed. Wondering if the old lady knew.

He fidgeted at the dinner table uneasily. Still bothered by the kitchen lady who had grinned at him one too many times over Namjoo’s shoulder whenever she put down a plate of food. Namjoo was oblivious. Shuffling her utensils around, fixating the position of her plate

Finally the last plate landed on the table and they were left alone. The silence set in very fast. Kind of awkwardly. It lingered over them waiting, waiting, waiting.

He could feel his heart ramming into his ribs. Wondering, now what? Today was the first time they’d had any kind of conversation. Pointless as it had been. Since she’d talked that morning he had come home feeling more confident. Like the husband he was.

And he kind of wished they could do more than this dilly dallying. Dancing around each other all the time. Careful about not treading on ice.

After all, what was there to keep them back anymore?

“Namjoo.” Upon her name she looked up from her empty plate. His throat went dry. “Come sleep with me.”