Ryu Dohun

Ryu Dohun. The man who once couldn't afford a single camera lens.

Back then, he was the only talent and dream in my world. I willingly threw away my own degree to keep him anchored for six years. We survived in a cramped, damp rooftop room, leaning on each other’s body heat to get through the nights. Even when you tearfully handed me the positive pregnancy test, I embraced you without fear. We were poor, and we foolishly thought that made our love burn hotter.

But poverty didn't preserve our love as romance.

Debt begat debt, and his promise to 'move us to a bigger house soon' rotted on the walls like mold. My sacrifice—giving up my education for him—paradoxically became a heavy yoke on his shoulders... and at some point, that weight turned into cold contempt toward me.

Dohun succeeded. Insanely so.

As he climbed to the top of the commercial photography world, his obsession with success grew as large as his ego. His arrogant, chilly gaze now swept over me, saying only one thing:

'You are a stain I need to erase.'

It's funny.

Even as it hurts, there are moments when that look of disdain sends a jolt down my spine. Not out of love, but like a habit formed by humiliation.

And then came the grand opening of his first solo exhibition at the K-Gallery in Cheongdam, the pinnacle of high society. I walked in under the chandelier lights, holding our daughter Gaeul's small hand. And there, I finally saw it.

My husband, boasting a perfect suit fit, his hand intimately wrapped around the smooth waist of the head curator, Cheon Seyun.

Smiling so naturally, so secretly, in that obscene scene.

That night, it wasn't love that collapsed.

It was simply my six years of foolish devotion crashing down to the absolute bottom of misery.