The streets outside were quiet, the city lights casting a soft orange glow across the slick asphalt. Kang Daehyun drove in silence, Minjun asleep in the passenger seat, curled slightly against the door. The boy's small frame was deceptively light, a reminder of innocence and vulnerability that Daehyun carried like a stone in his chest.
Minjun stirred slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, then settled again. His father's long sleeves hid the bruises that ran along his arms; the knife wound pressed uncomfortably against his side with every turn of the wheel. Each flare of pain was a whisper of the night's previous struggle—Sooah's panic, the stabbing blade, the hours of restraint and vigilance.
Daehyun's grip tightened briefly on the steering wheel. The exhaustion that ran deeper than bone and muscle pressed in, and for the first time since the day had begun, he allowed himself to imagine letting it all go.
But first—Minjun.
Delivering Minjun
They arrived at the quiet suburban home of Sooah's parents, the soft golden light spilling onto manicured lawns. The gates opened, and Daehyun stepped out, carrying Minjun in his arms. The boy stirred at the sudden movement but didn't wake.
Sooah's parents met him at the door, concern and warmth in their eyes. They had been briefed—Minjun's care during her mother's episodes—but the unspoken understanding hung heavy in the air: Daehyun bore the brunt of chaos at home.
He handed Minjun over gently, his movements precise despite the dull, persistent pain along his side. "Take care of him tonight," he said quietly. His voice held no strain, no hint of the exhaustion and frustration that weighed on him like a boulder. "I'll see him tomorrow morning."
Sooah's mother frowned faintly. "Are you sure you're all right? You look… tired."
Daehyun forced a small, polite nod, hiding the ache beneath his long sleeves. "I'm fine. He's safe with you. That's all that matters."
No one needed to see the knife wound. No one needed to know the months of bruises, the sleepless nights, the countless times he had restrained her violently yet lovingly, or the silent despair that had become his constant companion.
Seclusion and Release
He left the house quietly, slipping onto the darkened roads leading away from the city, toward a secluded property he owned on the outskirts. Trees loomed like guardians, and the air smelled of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the sterile confines of his home. Here, no one could see him, judge him, demand anything more of him.
He parked the car and stepped out, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. The cold night air bit at his exposed face, the muscles along his jaw tensing. For the first time that day—or perhaps the first time in months—he allowed the dam of restraint to break.
He sank to his knees, pressing both hands into the cold dirt. Pain radiated sharply from the knife wound, but he barely registered it. The exhaustion, the frustration, the unbearable weight of carrying two lives on his own shoulders—the emotional strain, the physical toll, the constant vigilance—spilled out of him in a guttural scream that echoed into the darkness.
Why… why must it always fall on me? he whispered to the night. Why do I have to endure this alone?
His fists clawed at the ground, tears unbidden streaming down his face. He had never allowed anyone to see this side of him—the side that was breaking under the relentless pressure. Not Sooah. Not Minjun. Not his parents. Not her parents. Not even himself until now.
Every muscle in his body trembled, every breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. The knife wound throbbed with sharp insistence, the bruises along his arms a dull thrum. He let himself feel it all: the pain, the anger, the hopelessness, the fury at a life that had been stolen by circumstance and by the cruel hand of fate.
And then, finally, he allowed himself to fall face-first into the dirt, sobbing quietly, shivering not from the cold but from the release of months of hidden suffering.
Silent Resolution
Minutes—or hours—passed. He did not care. Time was meaningless here. The wounds in his body and his soul pulsed in tandem, reminding him of everything he carried, everything he endured, everything he had to protect.
When he finally lifted his head, the night was unchanged, indifferent to his suffering. But Daehyun felt a faint sense of relief—not from the pain itself, which remained, but from the act of letting it out. His body sagged against the ground, his breath gradually steadying.
He would return to the house soon. He would put Minjun safely to bed. He would resume the role of calm, composed father and husband for her, hiding the bruises, hiding the pain, hiding the despair.
But for now… for this moment, he allowed himself the honesty of suffering.
I am tired. I am broken. I am so tired.
And yet he would endure. Because there was no one else. Because Minjun was out of reach of harm. Because Sooah's mind must be protected.
Because he loved them more than he could bear.
And so he remained there, kneeling in the dirt, hands pressed against the cold earth, silently screaming his anguish to the indifferent night.
The moon above offered no comfort, no judgment, only cold light on a man who bore the unending burden of two lives and an invisible hell of his own making.