The sixth day without Woo-jin started like all the others — quiet, peaceful, exactly what I told myself I wanted.
And I hated every second of it.
I slammed the cabinet door shut harder than necessary and muttered under my breath,
"Good. Stay gone. It's better this way."
The words echoed in the apartment like a taunt.
I sat down with my coffee and opened my phone, scrolling through the news. Entertainment headlines about celebrities, scandals, fashion shoots — nothing about him.
"Perfect," I said, louder than I needed to. "He's probably busy being annoying somewhere else."
But the silence after my own voice felt suffocating.
I grabbed my bag and headed to work early, thinking maybe if I stayed busy, I wouldn't think about him.
Big mistake.
"Where's your shadow?" My coworker teased me when I arrived.
I frowned. "Shadow?"
"You know—you're an overzealous, lovesick Husband." She smirked. "He usually shows up around lunch with flowers or coffee or something dramatic. I almost miss the show."
"Miss it all you want," I snapped. "He's not coming back."
"Oh?" she tilted her head, suddenly interested. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but yes." I said flatly. "We're done."
She whistled. "Didn't think he'd give up that easily. Guy looked ready to marry you on live TV."
My chest twisted at her words, but I kept my face neutral. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted."
I was legit pissed off and I didn't know why.
I spent the entire day working like my life depended on it — which was stupid, because it was just paperwork.
But even with my head buried in spreadsheets, my mind wouldn't shut up.
Do you really hate me?
I could still hear his voice from that night, soft and serious, not a trace of teasing. And my own voice, sharp and venomous: Yes.
I'd meant it at the time. I think I did.
So why did it feel like I'd just kicked a puppy?
"Pathetic," I muttered under my breath as I shoved my papers into my bag after work. "I am not going to look for him. He's probably waiting for me to break first. Well, too bad."
On the way home, my phone buzzed. My heart jumped before I could stop it — but it was just a notification from the bank.
I scoffed. "What am I, some desperate fool? Waiting for him to text? As if." I rolled my eyes.
By the time I got home, I'd worked myself into a righteous fury. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my bag on the couch, and shouted to no one in particular:
"I am NOT looking for him! If he wants to disappear, good riddance! I hope he stays gone forever!"
My voice cracked at the end, and the apartment swallowed my words whole.
I stood there, breathing hard, before collapsing on the couch.
"Right," I muttered to myself. "Forever. I mean it."
But for some reason, it felt like a lie.
The next morning I woke up late. Again.
Normally, this would be the moment Woo-jin barged in, pulled the blanket off me, and announced something ridiculous like "We're going on a picnic!" or "I made breakfast — and yes, it's edible this time!"
But there was no one.
No banging on the door.
No stupid grin.
Just me, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I was happy about it. Which I was.
I dragged myself to the kitchen, half expecting a note or a flower or something left behind. But the counter was empty, save for the coffee machine.
I brewed a cup and sat down, only to notice the mug I'd grabbed — it was his favorite one. Bright pink, with a cartoonish little heart on it.
I grimaced and swapped it out for a plain black mug instead. But the coffee didn't taste right.
At work, my coworkers were relentless yet again asked the same query.
"Still no Woo-jin?" one asked, leaning against my desk.
I didn't look up. "Nope. Congratulations, you have eyes."
"You look annoyed. Is he ghosting you?"
"Good."
They blinked. "Good?"
"Yes, good!" I snapped. "Finally, I can breathe without him hanging over me like some lovesick—"
"Puppy?" another supplied helpfully.
"Exactly."
"Aw, but he was so devoted. Kinda cute, actually."
I scowled. "Cute? It was harassment."
"You sound defensive."
"I'm not defensive!" I yelled, startling the whole office.
Silence followed. Someone coughed. I sank into my chair, muttering under my breath.
"Defensive. Ridiculous."
That night, I opened the fridge and spotted a box of strawberry milk. His favorite.
I grabbed it, meaning to throw it out, but froze with it in my hand.
I remembered the last time he drank one — sitting cross-legged on my couch, grinning as he held it up.
"See? Milk makes me cuter."
I'd rolled my eyes then. "You can't possibly get any dumber."
But I'd secretly smiled when he wasn't looking.
The memory hit harder than I expected.
I shoved the milk back into the fridge and slammed the door shut. "Stupid."
I turned away quickly, as if running from the thought, but my eyes landed on something else — his jacket, draped over the chair where he'd left it last week.
For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to move it.
By the tenth day, I was jumpy.
Every sound in the hallway made me glance at the door. Every ping of my phone made my heart skip, only for disappointment to crush me when it wasn't him.
I threw my phone down on the table.
"This is pathetic," I muttered. "He's not coming back. Good. That's what you wanted, remember?"
But the apartment stayed quiet. Too quiet.
And for the first time, I wondered if maybe I didn't want what I thought I wanted.
The next morning, I was scrolling aimlessly through my phone before work, trying to distract myself from the fact that my apartment still felt too quiet.
That's when I saw it.
A headline — bold, attention-grabbing, impossible to miss.
"Kang Woo-jin's Fake Relationship Exposed — PR Stunt Gone Wrong?"
I froze. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The article was everywhere. My feed, my coworker group chat, even trending on the news.
I clicked. I shouldn't have clicked — but I did.
There it was. Our photos. My name. What on the living earth did I see next?
It was the line that was giving false accusations.
"He used a random guy to boost his image?"
"I knew it! No way that was real."
"He's disgusting, playing with someone's feelings for clout."
I scrolled faster, my chest tightening with every comment.
"Poor Dae-hyun, imagine being humiliated like that."
"If I were him, I'd sue!"
"Woo-jin's career is DONE."
I slammed the phone down.
My hands were shaking.
I told myself I didn't care.
I told myself I hated him.
But something about seeing the world tear him apart — watching them laugh, drag his name through the dirt — made something ugly twist in my gut. Just imagining how broken he'd be. I'd like it better how he is now.
At work, it was worse.
"Hey… are you okay?" one coworker asked carefully.
Another wasn't as careful. "You must feel so stupid right now. Like, he was just using you this whole time—"
"Shut up," I snapped.
They blinked. "I was just saying—"
"I SAID shut up!"
The whole office went silent. I grabbed my things and left before anyone could stop me.
Yeah, don't worry. I'm the president of the company so it's not like I'd get fired or anything.
As I was walking down the street, the rain just had to start halfway home.
Of course it did.
I didn't have an umbrella, but I didn't care — I let it soak through my clothes, hoping the cold would drown out the heat in my chest.
Why did I care so much?
He was the one who provoked me. The one who barged into my life, refused to let go, made me lose my mind.
So why did it hurt seeing everyone hating on him?
The sky was finally clear after days of rain.
"Great," I muttered, shoving my hands into my pockets as I headed down the street. "Perfect day to buy groceries and definitely not think about a certain pink-haired idiot with blue eyes that matches the sky."
I wasn't hiding. I wasn't sulking. I was just—restocking my fridge.
Totally normal.
I turned the corner—and froze so hard my grocery list slipped out of my hand.
There he was.
Woo-jin.
Kang Woo-jin, the thorn in my side, the man who hadn't texted or called me for nearly a week—walking casually down the street.
And he wasn't alone.
Some girl with blonde hair and blue eyes was with him, walking close, like they belonged together.
Woo-jin was laughing at something that girl said, his head tilted just slightly, his smile too soft, too real.
My blood boiled.
"Oh, perfect," I hissed under my breath, ducking behind a lamppost like a stalker. "Absolutely perfect. Of course he'd go off having fun while I'm losing my mind at home. This is my ticket out. He's cheating, or—whatever this is—I can finally divorce him."
I imagined slamming a divorce paper down on the table and saying 'Caught you red-handed, Romeo.'
But my fantasy crumbled when Woo-jin reached out and touched her sleeve, still smiling.
Something sharp shot through my chest.
I gripped the lamppost so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Why… Why does my heart sting?" I whispered.
I should be happy. This was what I wanted, right? An excuse to break free?
So why did I suddenly want to run across the street and drag him away from that woman?
I stayed there longer than I'd like to admit, glaring at them from afar like some jealous ex.
When Woo-jin laughed again, I'd had enough.
"Hope you're happy," I muttered, spinning on my heel. "Hope you trip on a curb and ruin those pretty shoes."
I stormed off toward the market, buying everything in sight just to distract myself — eggs, milk, chips, way too many instant ramen packs. I threw them into the basket with unnecessary force.
The cashier gave me a look. "Rough day?"
"Don't ask," I snapped, slapping my card down.
By the time I made it home, I was still seething.
I dropped the groceries on the counter, staring blankly at them.
"This is good. This is what I wanted," I told myself. "Now I have a reason to end this stupid marriage."
I picked up the eggs and nearly crushed them in my hand.
But as I unpacked, my brain wouldn't shut up.
Who was that guy?
Why was Woo-jin smiling like that?
Why do I care?
"Ugh!" I groaned, throwing myself onto the couch.
I scrolled through my phone, half-expecting Woo-jin to post something on social media about his little outing.
Nothing.
No pictures. No cryptic captions.
Just silence.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because now I had to imagine it.
Hours later, I was still restless. I paced my apartment, argued with myself, even yelled into a pillow at one point.
Finally, I collapsed onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling.
"I hate him," I muttered.
Silence.
"I hate him."
No answer.
I rolled over, my eyes landing on his jacket draped over the chair.
Before I knew it, I'd grabbed it and pressed my face into the fabric.
It still smelled like him.
My chest ached.
"Stupid," I whispered into my sleeve. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
That night, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Woo-jin smiling at someone else.
Perfect. I had seen Woo-jin with someone else — laughing, smiling — and that was the excuse I needed.
Now no one could stop me from divorcing him.
So why did my chest feel tight?
Why did my stupid heart ache when I replayed that scene in my mind?
I gritted my teeth and pulled out my phone, half-expecting a message from him.
Nothing.
Not a single call, not even one of his annoying texts.
I waited the entire evening. Still nothing.
"Fine," I muttered, throwing the phone aside and pacing the room. "Stay with your new lover then! See if I care!"
But when I finally lay down, staring at the empty side of the bed, it felt like something was missing.
I turned my face into the pillow, angry at the wetness gathering in my eyes.
"Damn you, Woo-jin…" I whispered under my breath.
The room felt too quiet. Too big. Too lonely.