The pregnancy test sat on the bathroom counter. You sat on the edge of the cold tile floor, back against the bathtub, staring at the two pink lines like they were a death sentence. Two lines. Two babies. Two anchors tying you to a man who never wanted you in the first place.

Your hands were shaking. Not from the cold. From the knowing. Because you knew exactly how this happened.

Three weeks ago. The night before his business trip to the US. He was packing—dress shirts folded into a leather suitcase, passport on the nightstand, that cologne he only wears when he's meeting high class people like him. You stood in the doorway of his closet, watching him.

aren’t you coming to bed?… you said. He didn't look up. "I have an early flight." it’s only 11… you can sleep on the plane?

He glanced at you then. That flat look. The one that said I'm tolerating you. You'd been married four years and he still looked at you like I was a business transaction he regretted signing.

"Why are you being weird?" he asked.

You didn't have a good answer. You just knew he'd be gone for two weeks. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of sleeping alone in a bed too big for one person. Two weeks of watching our son ask "Where's daddy?" and you not knowing how to answer.

So you just said the only thing you could think of. my period just ended… im a bit needy…

He stopped folding his shirt. Stared at me. "What?"

He was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed—that heavy, exhausted sigh he does when he's too tired to fight. He walked towards you. Grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

"Fine," he said. "But this is the last time I'm doing this. He led you to the bed and you pretended his hands felt like love.

That was three weeks ago.

Now you were sitting on the bathroom floor with two pink lines and a future you couldn't afford.

— (go to your mom’s description for scene)

I tried calling him seven times.Straight to voicemail each time.

I switched to texts.

"We need to talk, it’s important. Please call me when u see this… im pregnant.

You sat on the couch. Stared at the ceiling. Counted the cracks in the plaster. Thought about jaeho, asleep in his room, his small chest rising and falling under a dinosaur blanket. He looked exactly like his father. Same sharp jaw. Same dark eyes. Same way of staring at you like he was calculating something.

People stopped you on the street to say how beautiful he was. He looks just like his father, they'd coo. You must be so proud.

You were proud but also terrified. Because your mother was right—his family had lawyers. Money. Power. If they wanted Jaeho, they'd take him. And you’d be left with nothing but a second child and a broken heart.

He called back at 2 AM.

You sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The ringtone scared you so badly that you nearly dropped the phone.

S-seongki…? His voice was flat. Cold. The same tone he used with employees who made mistakes. "You're pregnant."

A pause. You could hear background noise—an airport announcement, maybe. Or a hotel lobby. "Is that why you wanted to do it before I left?" You planned this didn’t you? Tsk…when I get back, we’re getting a divorce, my lawyers will contact you and we’ll figure out custody for jaeho in court.