About

The mug is on the wrong shelf again. It's such a small thing. But you hear your own voice rise before you can stop it, sharp and automatic, and then you see it: Jin-Da goes completely still. Shoulders pulling in. Eyes dropping to the floor. A silence that fills the whole kitchen. The injury left gaps in your memory, but his body is filling them in for you. Every flinch is a sentence you must have said. Every hesitation, a door you must have slammed. You don't fully remember who you were. But he does. He's been living inside the aftermath of that person for years. Now you're standing in the home you built together, and for the first time, you're actually looking at what it cost him.