The house had fallen quiet again.
Not the peaceful quiet that belonged to ordinary homes, but the fragile stillness that always came after chaos had burned itself out. It was the kind of silence that felt like walking across cracked ice—thin, temporary, waiting to break again at any moment.
Kang Daehyun stood alone in the kitchen.
The wooden chopping board still lay on the floor where Sooah had dropped it.
A faint smear of blood marked its edge.
He stared at it for a long time.
His chest rose and fell slowly, though every breath felt heavy, as if the air itself had thickened around him. The pain in his ribs had sharpened since the blow. Beneath his shirt, the bandage wrapped around his side had grown damp again. He could feel the slow warmth of blood spreading along the fabric.
But he didn't move.
He just stood there.
The kitchen lights were dim, casting long shadows across the marble counters. Somewhere deeper in the house, the soft hum of the air conditioner whispered through the vents.
Everything looked normal.
Everything looked like a wealthy family's home.
Everything looked peaceful.
And yet he knew how much violence had happened in this room just minutes ago.
He bent slowly and picked up the chopping board.
His fingers trembled slightly as he placed it back on the counter.
For a moment he just stood there, staring at his own reflection in the dark window above the sink.
He barely recognized the man looking back.
The reflection showed someone tall, lean, controlled. His body had long since shed the softness it once carried years ago when he had been a lazy, childish heir who spent his days immersed in games and idle comforts.
Now his frame was sharp.
Hard.
Carved by relentless training and exhaustion.
His shoulders were broader, his waist narrow, the lines of muscle beneath his shirt visible even through the fabric.
To anyone else he looked powerful.
Successful.
Even intimidating.
But the person inside that body felt hollow.
Empty.
Broken in ways no one could see.
His eyes lingered on the faint stain spreading along his shirt near his ribs.
He should clean it.
He should change the bandage.
He should do something.
Instead he leaned forward and gripped the edge of the sink.
The pressure in his chest had been building for hours now. Days. Weeks. Months.
Maybe longer.
It had started as exhaustion.
Then frustration.
Then something deeper.
Something darker.
His shoulders trembled.
A small sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
At first it was barely audible.
Just a shaky breath.
Then another.
And suddenly the control he had forced himself to maintain all night cracked.
His body folded forward against the counter.
A broken sob escaped him.
The sound echoed faintly in the empty kitchen.
Daehyun pressed his forehead against the cold marble surface of the sink.
His hands gripped the edge so tightly his knuckles turned pale.
Another sob followed.
Then another.
He tried to quiet himself out of instinct.
Minjun was asleep down the hall.
Sooah was sleeping on the couch.
He couldn't wake them.
He couldn't let them hear this.
But the tears came anyway.
Hot and uncontrollable.
For a long time he had convinced himself he could endure anything.
That pain was temporary.
That exhaustion could be ignored.
That suffering was simply another responsibility.
But standing here now, the weight of his life pressed down on him in a way he could no longer ignore.
His voice came out hoarse and broken.
"How did my life become this…"
The words barely formed through the tears.
Once—long ago—his life had been stupidly simple.
He had been an overweight, childish heir with no direction, no ambition, no responsibility. The world had been a playground. His greatest concerns had been games, hobbies, and avoiding the expectations of his powerful father.
Then Sooah had entered his life.
Bright.
Beautiful.
Brilliant.
She had dragged him into the world.
Forced him to grow up.
Forced him to graduate properly.
Forced him to stand beside her.
He had loved her for that.
He had loved the way she believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.
He had loved the way she laughed.
The way she scolded him for being lazy.
The way she kissed him when he finished assignments on time.
The way she had looked at him when she proposed to him before graduation.
That life felt like it belonged to another person now.
Now he was standing in a dark kitchen at two in the morning.
Bleeding through his shirt.
His wife attacking him because she thought he was a stranger.
His son hiding in his bedroom because Daddy told him Mommy was "playing."
His hands trembled.
Another sob broke out.
His shoulders shook harder now.
"How did it get this bad…"
He had tried.
God, he had tried.
He had reshaped his entire life to protect her.
He had taken over her corporate responsibilities without telling her.
He had built his body strong enough to restrain her without hurting her.
He had hidden every bruise.
Every wound.
Every scar.
He had sacrificed the life he once swore he would never live.
Boardrooms.
Corporate wars.
Endless work.
Endless responsibility.
All of it just to hold her world together while her mind slowly betrayed her.
And yet somehow things were still getting worse.
She hurt him more often now.
Her episodes were becoming more violent.
Minjun was getting old enough to notice things.
Old enough to ask questions.
Old enough to remember.
The thought twisted something deep in his chest.
He pressed his hands over his face.
The tears wouldn't stop.
"I'm so tired…"
The words came out in a whisper.
Not angry.
Not dramatic.
Just exhausted.
He sank slowly to the floor.
His back slid down the cabinet until he was sitting on the cold marble tiles.
His head fell forward into his hands.
For the first time in months he allowed himself to feel everything he had been suppressing.
The hopelessness.
The loneliness.
The crushing weight of responsibility.
The fear that this would never end.
That this might be the rest of his life.
That the woman he loved more than anything might never truly come back.
That his son might grow up remembering nights filled with screams and confusion.
His chest tightened painfully.
Another quiet sob escaped him.
"I didn't ask for this…"
He whispered it like a confession to the empty room.
Not blaming her.
Never blaming her.
Just acknowledging the cruel randomness of fate.
Minutes passed.
Maybe longer.
Eventually the tears slowed.
His breathing steadied.
The storm inside him quieted again.
He wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand.
Then slowly pushed himself back to his feet.
The man in the window reflection looked the same as before.
Calm.
Controlled.
Strong.
No one would ever know he had just broken down on the kitchen floor.
He adjusted his sleeves.
Tightened the bandage beneath his shirt.
And turned off the kitchen light.
Because tomorrow morning Minjun would wake up.
Sooah might wake up smiling.
And when they looked at him—
They needed to see someone who could carry everything.
Even if it was slowly destroying him.