Read the title carefully. Read WIFE'S POV Chapter 21 before reading this.
Every little effort he puts into our relationship just breaks my heart more. His warmth, his trust, his innocence. Everything wraps around me like a blanket I don't deserve. And still, I shamelessly take shelter in it. He still trusts me, still believes that I'm the same woman he fell in love with. I don't know how he does it. Or maybe I do.
It was time to sleep. I could tell the stress was wearing him down these days, even if he tried to hide it. He changed and slipped under the blanket. He barely said a word. His breathing had already slowed, gentle and calm, his chest rising and falling with soft breaths. He had dozed off quickly, like someone desperate to escape the day.
Eventually, I turned off the lights and made my way to the bed. He was deep in sleep. One arm tucked under his pillow, lips slightly opened, his face calm. Peaceful and pure.
I slipped in beside him slowly, careful not to wake him. The cushion pressed slightly under my weight, and I turned toward him, folding my hands beneath my cheek. I watched him in the dim light for a few moments. His mouth twitched slightly, and I smiled. His face had that relaxed, squishy look he always got when he was deep asleep—like a sleepy potato.
I reached out and gently poked his nose. Just once. It twitched, and his lips puckered slightly. I had to press my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. He always did that. Every time I touched his nose in his sleep, he'd react like that. It was such a small thing, but in that moment, it felt so big. Like a memory I didn't deserve to have anymore.
I brought my palm up to his cheek and brushed it softly. He leaned into the touch, completely unaware. The warmth of his skin, he leaned into it without even knowing. My thumb brushed over the soft skin just below his eye, and I felt a lump rise in my throat.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, very softly.
The words didn't fix anything. They were selfish. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't have the right to say anything more. They weren't enough. But I said them anyway.
I closed my eyes, still facing him. His scent was warm, familiar and safe. I let his breathing guide me. Maybe I can still make things right. It's still not too late.
Early morning already, the scent hit me before I had even opened my eyes properly. Warm, rich, savory. Not the cheap scent of takeout or something burning like when I'd messed up rice. This was different. This was… made with care.
I blinked, slowly sitting up, and rubbed the last traces of sleep from my eyes. My stomach growled, my nose twitched.
The smell grew stronger as I stepped into the hallway. I could feel the warmth coming from the kitchen. My feet moved on their own, and I followed it like a sleepwalker chasing a dream.
The scent was so lovely, and to be honest, I couldn't even think straight. I was just being pulled toward it, whatever it was… I kept moving, as if the fragrance itself was calling me.
That's when my feet suddenly stopped, because I saw—
The table.
Set for two.
Steam rising gently from the plates.
And him, standing near the table, with a hopeful smile directed at me. His hair was messy, sweaty and he was wearing those ridiculous loose boxers that always rode up at the sides. But he looked so proud. So genuine. So happy to be doing something for me.
My eyes flicked from the food to him, and the weight of it all dropped on me like a stone.
I frozen, unable to breathe properly. It felt like someone had covered my mouth and nose shut and my whole body had gone numb… completely paralyzed. I couldn't move, couldn't think. Just frozen in that moment.
A single tear slipped down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it. What was the point?
More tears followed and it didn't stop.
He stepped closer, gently, concerned. His voice came softly, like he was afraid to break me. He said something—I barely heard it.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I just moved toward him, my body on autopilot, and wrapped my arms around him like I'd fall apart if I didn't. My face pressed against his chest, and the second I felt the warmth of him, I broke down.
Tears spilled out freely now, hot and fast. My body shook with each breath. I clung to him desperately, like maybe I could squeeze out the sin that had infected me. Like maybe I could bury all of it in his kindness. I said I loved him. Over and over. Because it was true. Because it was the only truth I still had.
He held me back, whispering it in return, like none of this was strange. Like I was just a woman overwhelmed by love. He didn't know.
And that made it worse.
Because if he did know… if he had seen me with the old man… if he had heard what I said, how I sounded, how willingly I had started to fall...
Would he still be holding me now?
I wasn't crying from happiness. I was crying because he was too good. Because I didn't deserve this man. Because every little act of kindness from him now felt like a punishment.
He started saying his usual stupid and cheesy things which always worked to lighten my mood. His ridiculous, childish jokes that normally would've made me roll my eyes. But today, it broke the dam inside me in a different way.
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
But because it was him.
Because his very presence, his effort, his innocence—it was enough to break through all the darkness in my chest, even if just for a second.
And the laughter came loud, sudden and ugly.
He cracked another joke. Then another. I couldn't stop laughing. The tension inside me snapped and spilled out through those gasping breaths. I laughed so hard it made my eyes teary. It was a mess.
He tripped and fell off the chair like an idiot.
I burst out into a new wave of giggles.
He looked so ridiculous on the floor, arms flailing like a cartoon.
I rushed to him, still wobbling from laughing, and knelt beside him. I leaned into his chest and just stayed there, my forehead resting against him, feeling his breath, his warmth, his stupid heartbeat that still raced for me.
He wrapped his arms around me.
And in that embrace, I cursed myself.
I wanted to scream at myself for ever being tempted. I wanted to rewind time and slap my own face before I ever stepped foot in that old man's house. I wanted to burn every thought I'd had since that moment when this all began
How do I tell him I don't deserve any of this??
He had woken up early. He had cooked everything himself. He had thought of me first thing in the morning. He still believed I was someone worth doing this for.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I hated myself.
No. It was more than hate.
It was disgust. It was grief. It was shame so deep it burned through every inch of me like acid.
I was about to betray this gem of a husband. How could I even think of doing that? He's here, working so hard day and night for us, putting every bit of effort in this relationship and there I was—ready to throw it all away like some... What the hell was wrong with me? When did I become this… this person? Just look at him. Look at this face. Look at this smile. This heart that still beats for me, even when I don't deserve it.
Maybe I can't undo what I've done. Maybe he'll never know the things I let happen. But watching him smile at me like I'm still his whole world… I know one thing for sure. I can't keep going down the path I was on.
I have to be better. For him. For us. Because this love—it's still here. And I won't let it slip through my hands again.