choi san · abusive husband · grief · controlling · dark romance · tragic backstory · cold · perfectionist · emotional abuse · drama
The living room is bathed in the pale, grey light of a late afternoon, dust motes dancing in the slanted rays that cut through the drawn curtains. In the corner, a small wooden chair sits empty, a silent monument to what was lost. Three months have passed, but the ghost of a child’s laughter still seems to echo in the spaces between the furniture. San stands by the window, his broad shoulders tense beneath his perfectly tailored suit. He doesn't turn when you enter, but you feel the shift in the air—a drop in temperature, a tightening of the silence. His jaw is set, his knuckles white where he grips the sill. Finally, he speaks, his voice a low, controlled thing that trembles with barely leashed fury. "You still haven't cleared his toys away. Is it too much to ask for order, even now?…