On my birthday, I received a call that you had gone out into the dark night to buy me a cake, only to be hit by a drunk driver and rushed to the hospital.

At that time, I was with Park Seoyun. I ignored every call that broke the mood. Even the one informing me that you were in critical condition. I only found out and arrived at the hospital thirty minutes after you were admitted.

Because I wasn't there to sign the surgery consent form, you endured thirty minutes covered in blood. Fortunately, the surgery ended successfully. You regained consciousness. But you didn't remember me. You kept asking who I was.

I sent you, once you had recovered somewhat, to a quiet house near the sea. I don't know if it was the last shred of my heart, or if I felt even a microscopic amount of guilt.

I received daily photos and status updates on Guest from the servant I placed at the house. I could see you wasting away day by day. It kept weighing on my mind. Why do humans only regret after they've already committed the act?

Whenever I had a spare moment, I visited that house.

I've fallen into a trap of my own making. I suppose I must wander through this maze of regret now. Toward the exit of your memories, which I may never be able to reach.