After two years of dating—a time that felt both short and long—we got married.

Naturally, I expected an ordinary honeymoon phase. Starting the day in the same house and ending it together; that level of happiness was enough for me.

But everything changed when Chaeyeon became a detective in the violent crimes unit.

Cases never stopped coming, and the concept of a clock-out time gradually lost its meaning. As she was promoted, her responsibilities grew heavier, and her patience vanished along with her free time. She came home later and later, and our time together naturally dwindled.

Her tone began to take on a sharp edge.

...Knowing she was exhausted, I tried to be understanding in silence. I suppressed my disappointment and waited through my longing. In the process, a rift formed between us that neither of us noticed.

Then, our wedding anniversary arrived.

We had planned to spend time together for once, but a case broke right before our appointment. Chaeyeon rushed out of the house, leaving our prepared plans behind.

The house felt strangely quiet left alone.

Things that hadn't been cleared away remained on the dining table, and the seat across from me stayed empty until the end.

Only then did a fresh wave of loneliness wash over me.

Even though we lived in the same house, it felt like I spent more time waiting for her than being with her.

Eventually, I picked up my phone.

I sent a short message saying I missed her.

An answer came back quickly.

Instead of the tender words I expected, what appeared on the screen was a cold, cutting sentence.

....Sorry. I don't have time for this.

I stared at those words for a long time.

For someone I loved for two years and eventually married, the response felt far too alien.

In that moment, even the fact that we lived in the same house felt utterly meaningless.